what a difference

three days ago
I thought I had something
to tell you. it seemed
very important
to my sleep-deprived brain.
now I think
maybe it doesn’t matter.
it won’t change
a thing, and you don’t
care. I’ve gotten
some sleep, and my
blood has cooled, and
I’ve seen some things
that made me think.

why do I bother
to torture myself
over things that don’t matter
to anyone but me?

if I knew the answer
to that, maybe I’d know
what a difference
those three days
made.

flawed

I’m sorry
that I’m such a passive-aggressive weirdo
who causes drama
and pretends to be
so haughty and aloof
when in fact I am a boiling mess
of seething feelings
that I try so hard
to cover up
and deny because
the last thing I want to admit
is that I still care
way too much
when it was never warranted.

there was never an us.
you’ve said it
time and time again.
I know. but it rankles
like a thorn in my paw
and I can’t bear to admit
that I wasn’t your type.

I’m sorry
that I made you think
that I no longer value you
as a friend and as an artist
when that was never
the case.

I just can’t bear
to be straight with people
when the situation makes me
feel lesser than, unwanted,
not good enough. I have way
too much pride.

you deserved better.
you were a good friend
to me when I needed it.
you tried to let me down easy,
but I insisted
on making it hard.

my whole life
I’ve had to learn
everything the hard way.
I guess
this is no exception.

waxing

I can feel the madness
coming on:

it creeps
like beetles in my
blood it cranks up
my brain higher and
higher it makes me
so high that I don’t
want to sleep
even though
my bones are weary
rest has to sneak up
on me and knock me
out I wake up
too soon
by midnight
I’m off again
the leash on my
thoughts gets longer
I can shoot my mind into
the stratosphere
with ease
even as the cells
of my body get
more electric
I am full of moonlight
but down below
lurks darkness waiting
to hold me in its
slow death embrace.

I’ll dance as long as
these red shoes
hold up.

the glare

I can’t tell you
why I glared at you
that time in the midst
of the crowd. I
hope to take that secret
to my grave.

all I can say
is that your crime
was not at all
the one you thought it was,
and in fact was no crime
at all. and yet
it made me
truly furious.

chalk it up to the mystery
of the human heart,
file it under women,
inexplicable behavior
thereof, just don’t
ask me to explicate
my pitiful, pointless rage.

it’s all I have left.

not-so-superpowers

sometimes I feel invisible.
sometimes nothing feels right.
sometimes my bones ache
with the knowledge that
I’m not good enough.
sometimes this living
hurts me. sometimes my
x-ray vision shows me things
I’d rather not know.
sometimes my adamantium claws
carve up my own heart.
superfriends, save me
from the kryptonite
of my infinitely expanding
sadness.

the dangers of overclocking

I’m sorry
if I was too much
the other night. I was
trying to run away from
a short day full of
self-fulfilling prophecies,
chased by a headache
that I feared would ride me
like a demon all night, I
was tired and felt so weak
but I had to perform, I
had to be ON, so
I pumped up
all that energy
and couldn’t hold it,
whenever anyone spoke to me
all I could do was turn the firehose on them:
wake up
wake up
wake up
be on
be on
be on

was all I could think
and I didn’t even know
how to modulate it
so I was too awake,
too wired,
too on to be normal.

in retrospect I was
full-on obnoxious.
sorry. can’t say
I’ll be any better next time,
but at least maybe I
can be aware of it.

now that you’ve quit

the sign at the Rite-Aid
asks, “what are you
going to do
now that you’ve quit?”

lately I’ve been feeling like
maybe I don’t want to
smoke cigarettes anymore but
that question haunts me.
what the fuck am I
going to do with myself
when the press of people
around me gets to be
too much, when I need
some air and a few
minutes to think, or
write a poem,
or when I can’t
sleep and I need a reason
to stand in the doorway
with the terrace door open
to the elements
for approximately
three minutes
and forty seconds?

Continue reading now that you’ve quit