The first time I saw him I was sitting on the bowling alley steps. He came strolling up, looking dishevelled and distracted and so incredibly good looking. And one thought shot to the front of my mind; Oh God, I picked the wrong guy. -a pillowbook but not

one hundred billion stars in the galaxy, and we have one to share. for sarah.

crack open my ribs and take it.

and maybe it still is. /collection-fp pennames/

personality is obsolete. pillowbook.

and trying to drink it as it runs through your fingers.

So explain to me how this - both freedom and captivity, will destroy us.

your skin is raw & perfect underneath society's labels.

and i don't know what to do.

and if memory serves, i'm addicted to words & they're useless. --Motion City Soundtrack, LGFUAD

and i know what you need.

are also the two best things about music & life.

because sometimes we all have to return to our fairy tales to get our point across.

because what else makes turning the pages worth the effort?

can you hear it when my breath catches in my throat?

and trace the millenniums on your skin

then you're what sustains me during the nights.

when you come home and go to bed, and wish you had someone to come home to.

Sleeping Beauty on an operating table.

as if every word in every cell god gave me isn't for you.

but sarah, i think that's the most insipid, silly thing i've ever heard.

i would kill to write like you, would live to kiss like you

wrote it on a bus in florida around 5am. R&R, let me know what ya think, thanks in advance

standing perfectly still

c a n ' t want. c a n ' t need. c a n ' t love.

Oh, Icarus.

I'm tired of seeing pathetic paltry girls...

Curtain twitcher. Plz r'n'r

Biting down until my teeth should shatter.

Fumble for the doorknob in the dark.

expecting the world to treat you fairly because you are good is like expecting the bull not to charge because you are a vegetarian. a pillowbook .

-insert creative summary here-

my blood fizzles pleasantly, speaking of the glitter in my veins...

I am reduced to scratching shadows on cave walls.

This really had no title, but the Samson reference needed a counterpoint. Don't ask me why.

Poetry Excercise Question: 'Have you ever found money in the street'

when one struggles with feelings at a hospital, they tend to question the very meaning of life.

i am still so sorry.

we kept so many secrets.

have you ever lost yourself in someone else? did they sing your insomnia to sleep and paint you in words that you'd never heard before?

“do you sometimes forget she isn’t here?”

i don't feel like watching stars die tonight.

oh, the dusk falls so hard these days

the world was bigger and the sky went on forever.

People can be so blind.

the part nobody sees

free-verse nonsense.

and you see, i am terribly afraid of that horrid cheshire cat

if you can't hold yourself together, why should i hold you now? /pillow collection #2/

I coated my insides in alcohol, and then I found the box of Band-Aids

like only we know how. she loves her little white commas, & i'm just a singular parenthesis.

This poem was the result of high levels of stress, a sore throat, and too much sudafed.

From my hospital room, I can hear the painful screams of anonymous friends. I can look out my window, beyond the red, neon heart on the building facing it, and onto the stars. I wonder about their stories: the stars and the screams. Does anyone care?

transgender childhood has never been the happiest story

For Sunday

Reality bites.

I don't want to wake to bathe beneath the light that emanates from the broken bodies that walk this Earth.

Intense burn or intense frost, either way you end up numb.

bottoms-up to palm trees...

Prose: Are you an Author or a Writer? What does it mean to answer this question? Check and find out.

she's seen some hatters in her day.

today was the most beautiful day.

Competition doesn't kill, some children need to be left behind, and your hippie flowerchild preschool mentality politics do NOT belong in my baby's public school.

sorry my poems havent had the most original titles lately...

There once was a girl.

Visiting Jim Morrisons grave