Keys

I look for love like I look for my keys.

I start from where I began,

Without pants.

I empty my pockets filled with trash,

A hoarding habit born from my youth.

I say I’ll dispose of my garbage,

But I pick up more along the way.

Gum fills my life,

Because I like the smell and the violence.

I imagine my worst enemies ground beneath my teeth,

And the taste dulls with each bite.

I treasure empty wrappers; every wad of gum needs a home.

In the end, my trash lies forgotten in a sticky mess I regret.

I retrace my steps

Keys don’t just disappear.

If I’m desperate, I call out to them,

And shake my head at the silliness.

I’ve prayed to a god I don’t believe in,

And I say if you help me just this once I’ll be more careful next time.

I know it’s a lie, but God is mute like my keys.

I always find them eventually,

Yet I’ll lose them the next day guaranteed.

I’ll curse and stomp my feet,

But I’m the only one to blame.

Keys are tricky to find,

Small, unnoticeable in my chaotic life.

I’ve punched a wall in the morning,

I know I can’t go home if I don’t find them.

There are times where I look for hours and hours,

And they’re usually resting in plain sight.

Why I Read

I’ve heard people brag about how little they read,

as if their abstinence is admirable,

as if words could cloud their coolness,

as if books would weigh down their minds.

I joke about my carnivorous diet,

How vegetables are for cows,

And I say I’m well and good,

but I’m not healthy.

and I remember the days when strong was sexy,

still true

and to be studious was hysterical.

So I lied,

I said I didn’t read, didn’t do the homework,

And I skipped class because I don’t remember why,

But I remember falling in love with Eliza Doolittle

And I yelled at Henry Higgins, she’s an angel and you blew it.

I remember practicing my Mr. Darcy voice,

pretended I was a gentleman,

But I’m a Long Islander.

I remember striking an Atlas pose

Flexing my baby fat

Because Edmond Dantes spurred my testosterone,

And I left my blinds up.

My butt blindly waved hello

And my ninth grade crush ran away.

Flannery O’ Connor made me cry,

Tillie Olsen too,

Raymond Carver always,

Jerks.

Books make good weapons,

but better pillows.

Brothers Karamazov bruises.

My old roommate can attest,

We fought about something I can’t remember,

And I grabbed my book and beat him,

But books house dreams and you wouldn’t break your house.

I heard the spine snap as I slapped my friend.

I said sorry to Fyodor,

Curled up in bed and held my breath

When Ivan went insane.

I read because the words tell me I’m ok,

Even if I’m not,

They tell me it’s ok to feel,

But guys aren’t supposed to feel,

Never in public.

The words carry me like a mother and her newborn,

And show me the world in a fresh light,

As if I had been blind all along.

I just wanna.

I’m told to follow the rules,
To stay on the straight path,
I’m told that things will work out if I just follow the plan,
If I work hard, go to a good school,
Get a pretty degree,
Get a high-paying job
So I can take care of a wife and kids and a dog
and I hope there’s no cat,
And they can grow big and strong and do the same things as me,
And I can happily retire.
Then I can die.
People lie to me to shut me up.

But I don’t want to do any of that.
At least not yet.
I don’t want to follow the plan that I never made,
And I’d rather not follow a plan that I made,
Because I’m good at making bad decisions,
Or so I’m told.

I just wanna.
I just wanna do,
Do because I can,
And I won’t restrain myself any longer.
I just wanna dance,
Strut down the street,
Step in time to my internal beat
Imagine a world where people aren’t ashamed to move,
Move their bodies
Sensually,
Awkwardly,
Provocatively,
A world of booty shaking and head banging,
Disco poses and pirouettes.
I just wanna shout myself hoarse,
Sing out of the shower,
Rip open my shirt and show my vocal power,
Be off key and squeak and groove
And sound terrible but it’s ok,
Because everyone sucks at something,
But it doesn’t mean we can’t try.
I wanna sing some show tunes
And not know the words
And hum the bridge and try and whistle,
Snap my fingers, beatbox a little,
And I’ll dance some more,
Become a human tornado
And collapse in exhaustion
And for once, sleep without dreaming of seriousness.

I wanna feel like a man,
Not a slave to rules and expectations and nonsense,
Feel powerful,
Not impotent,
Not a face in the crowd,
A statistic, easy to erase.
I wanna feel like I can change something,
Do something meaningful with my life,
Because I worry that when I die,
I’ll wish I could press replay.

I wanna stop hearing grown-ups say I don’t know what love is,
They say I’m too young to feel so deeply,
That I should wait and date and eventually mate,
That until I have kids, I’ll know what worry is,
Because then I’ll understand,
But I do know what it’s like to need someone,
I know what addiction feels like,
Like life as lost its color,
Like a headache and backache and heartache,
Like there is no such thing as too much,
Like life’s only worth living if loves is there.
Because sometimes my heart feels like a stretched water balloon,
Bursting, squirting out liquid love,
Love that turns to mist that I can semi-see,
Breathe in the sanguine fumes,
And exhale like it’s the last breath I’ll ever have.

I want a lot of things,
I probably won’t get most of them,
But I’ll try,
And damned if I live given goals and objectives,
And take life as presented.

PBR Sonnet

Free me from these dreams of divinity
My muse, oh the temptress of my soul
Disappear from my mind I beg thee,
Your absence leaves my heart but a hole.

It is your dazzling fashion, your hipster clothes
You have a body sculpted by God, an ass befitting of a queen
A face blindingly beautiful, from your ears to your nose
It is to this I write my poem, it is to this I sing.

I plead to thee, reveal thy naked eyes
Remove your prized glasses, your facade, your mask
Do not be ashamed, the insults are jealous lies
Gaze upon me, for I give you this task,

Return to my life; I am truly bewitched.
This is say lover; you are a sexy bitch.

Missingno

A species existing only in the gaps of fantasy
A glitch
A programmer’s error
A non-entity
Has fame only in its fakeness
But it is free
Free from the rules, the confines of the world
The limitations upon growth
The limitations of letters
It delves into symbols unused
It has no merchandise, no television show,
It is a spoken secret between gamers,
A corrected flaw.
But it is not broken
Just a shard of imagination.

(Honestly) To No One in Particular

When I say I love you, what I mean to say is fuck it.
Fuck the games we are taught to play
By copycat rom-coms,
By anyone who says being hard to get is what guys want,
Because sure, part of us does want a challenge,
Wants to chase you,
Wants to be confused,
Wants to want and not simply receive.
But guys tend to lie to themselves.
Because we don’t know what to do if the woman of our dreams,
Comes right up into our face,
With heart in hand,
And fragile feelings stomped down too many times,
And she just says I love you.
Because we are all afraid that we don’t know what we will say,
We pretend we are afraid of commitment,
Of feeling suffocated,
But we're afraid of feeling in the first place.
And we are scared of that.
So I’m saying I love you,
And I don’t want anything from you in return,
Right now, I don’t want to give you flowers,
Or chocolates
Or jewelry
As if things will make the statement anymore true,
I’m not trying to convince you of anything.
This isn’t a court case,
I’m not providing evidence
And it’s not a medical study,
Because nothing really shows love,
I can arch my back,
Self groom,
Look down away and to the left,
And people say this means love,
But what they mean to say is infatuation.
Right now, I’m not going to compliment you,
Because I’m not trying to win your heart,
Like a 4th grade spelling bee,
Like a lottery ticket,
And I honestly don’t know where to start,
Do I start with your stunning physical qualities?
Your eyes,
which twinkle when you talk about things you care so deeply about,
which light on fire when anyone hurts the things you care about,
which blacken when you are sad,
And I hate when you sad,
Because I feel helpless,
I say to myself that I want to make you happy,
But that’s because I heard someone else say it,
And it’s bullshit because it implies that I can control your emotions,
And what I actually mean,
Is that I want to share your pain,
And my eyes may blacken with you,
And I will hurt with you,
But you are worth it.
People say to compliment a woman’s emotional characteristics,
Because it is more likely to incite an emotional response,
But fuck that,
Because you feel far stronger than I could ever describe,
Because when you say I wish you would be happier,
You mean it with all your heart,
And I can see your hand shake a bit,
But that doesn’t mean as much because I can feel your soul shake
When you talk about hope,
Ambition for a better future for all,
It’s not the lie that beauty pageant girls or slimy politicians say,
But it’s because you rage when you see injustice,
And you tear up when you see agony,
And you smile the most when you see your friends succeed,
And I love that about you.
No matter what compliment I say,
I’m sidestepping the truth.
I love so many parts of you,
And I could go on and on and on about you
But I don’t,
Because you are here,
And all I want to say is “I love you”,
But what I really mean is “This is me.”

Smile just because.

I heard a guy say that friends were the most important part of his life.
I heard a guy say that he had friends who knew him better than he knew himself.
I heard a guy say that he didn’t know what he would do without his friends.
I heard a guy say a lot of things,
But I’m not sure he heard himself.
Because I’ve heard all these sayings from other people,
And I’m not sure they heard themselves either.
They talk about friends like an abstract concept,
Something ideal, defining,
Something they cherish,
Something they love,
But all they are talking about are things.
I see you.
And I see a man,
And I see flaws,
See problems in your life,
See mistakes you have made,
See you hurt,
And I stop seeing after a while,
Because I don’t have to look back on memories,
And talk about things you’ve done,
Or who I think you are,
About how incredible you are,
About how amazed I am at your inner strength,
Because it’s not strength you possess,
Because you can lose strength with the passing years.
I’ve seen your pain,
And I wonder how you smile sometimes,
Smile to make others smile,
Smile because it’s good to smile,
Smile for no reason
And you become something more than a smile,
Grow past your pain
Live life, not living in the past,
But being in the now,
Because you are so much more than things I can see
Or feel
Or remember.
Because your very being is more than life can contain.
And I smile,
Because you are here,
And refuse to not be other people’s thoughts,
Just a thing they talk about,
Something they say in passing,
Something they don’t hear themselves.
You are,
And I know I can be,
Someone, not something
No matter what happens.

Talk

Talk



Let’s talk about something.
Let’s talk about how ridiculous the weather is in Boston.
About how much work we have,
About how we have no idea what we are going to do after graduation,
About how our parents are certifiably insane,
About how one of our professors smells like rotten cheese,
About the new band that nobody’s heard of
About this stupid Youtube video
About the crappy economy
About the depressing news
About how the Red Sox are a disgrace.
Actually let’s talk about something else.
Enough with the complaining,
Let’s talk about things we really care about.

Let’s talk about life
How it’s this chaotic rush of emotions,
How it’s nonsensical, unpredictable,
Scintillating, Abysmally boring,
Difficult,
Impossible
And absolutely wonderful.

Let’s talk about fear.
How to most of the people here,
The scariest thing wouldn’t be
an alien attack
Or some Nazi Zombies
Or Chihuahuas
But the look of disappointment our parents give us
when we don’t live up to their expectations.

Let’s talk about joy.
Now I’m not talking about the joy you feel
when you see the Red Sox finally win a game
That’s more like surprise
Since it’s such a rare occasion.
I’m talking about the joy you feel
when you see your best friend succeed,
when you get an A on a test you studied so hard for
that you may have suffered a minor stroke.
I’m talking about the joy you feel
That you can’t keep it in,
You hug everyone in sight
You jump around the hallways
The joy when you get your first kiss
The joy when you finally get that diploma
The joy when this weird kid finishes his incredibly long poem.

Let’s talk about regret,
That thing we wish we could take back
But we just can’t
That thing that keeps you up at night
That thing you pray to God to forgive you,
Because you can’t forgive yourself.
Let’s talk about how regret is universal
And we have to forgive ourselves
Because we will always screw up,
We will always say hateful things,
But we are also capable of incredible things
We can lift each other up,
Give a warm hug
A gentle pat
We can whisper that everything is going to be alright
And suddenly it is.

Let’s talk about the most important emotion.
Let’s talk about love.
About how people are falling in love
In this room
Right now

But some women think that they aren’t
Pretty enough
Skinny enough
Funny enough
Smart enough
Popular enough
Normal enough
Important enough
Noticed enough
Loved enough.

Let’s talk about how the men are too scared to talk to you ladies
Because we can’t even begin to tell you,
How time freezes when you enter the room,
And how every frozen second with you sends invisible shockwaves across our skin
How we go dizzy and faint from the euphoria
And how the charming words we wish we could say
Get stuck in our throat,
And all you hear is our infinite idiocy.
How when your eyes crease when you laugh,
How when you are nervous you talk too much
How when you are embarrassed, you fiddle
With your pencil
your paper
your hair
With anything in reach
How these little quirks are not imperfections
How we melt when you smile awkwardly
How there aren’t enough words in the English language to express our feelings,
heart-throbbing,
mind-numbing,
soul-stopping
feelings.
How you are better than any angel sent from god,
How you stole our hearts,
And we want you to keep them forever,
How you are here,
Right now,
And we can’t breathe,
But we’re not sure we want to,
We pinch ourselves to make sure we aren’t dreaming
Pinch harder and harder
But we are sure we are dreaming
Because no one can be as lovely as you.

Women of this room, know this.
We notice you.
You are important
You are funny, in your own goofy way
You are beautiful,
So incredibly breath taking.
You should know that men don’t want normal,
We love your uniqueness,
your quibbles,
your strange habits
your crazy laugh
We wish you knew how many people adore you,
And how we want to drop kick the dozen other men after your heart
We wish you knew that men could care less about how much you weigh,
How much make-up you have on,
Or what clothes you wear.
You could be in a paper bag and we’d still love you.

And to the men of this room, I say this.
Man the hell up.
You could have the princess of your dreams next to you,
The person who completes you,
Who makes you happy beyond your imagination,
And you’re too scared of rejection to even ask her out.
Instead you’ll go home,
Play some videogames
And sob into your pillow.
Ask her out.
She’s waiting impatiently.

Let’s not talk.
Let’s sit in silence and appreciate how good we have it.
Let’s look around.
You’ll find people who would do anything for you,
Take a bullet for you,
Or worse, talk to your parents.
Let’s understand this.
This is the time of our lives,
Let’s not waste it.

Questions

I told you I would write you a poem.
I lied.
This isn’t some glamorous sonnet,
Or a complicated villanelle
Or a depressing Emily Dickinson rip-off.
This is me, answering the question why.
Why are you the way you are?

You should know,
You remind me of food.
The zesty kick of salsa,
The musical crunch from an apple bite,
The bloody fierceness of a rare steak
The invigorating scent of a freshly brewed pot of coffee
The sweet scoop of vanilla ice cream
The gentle fuzz on a sweet peach
The hidden mysteries in a box of chocolates
You are delicious.

This is me, answering the question, where are you,
When are you coming back,
And why aren’t you here already.

Omegle

You type
I read
I see your words but
There's more
Stranger on my screen
What make you tick?
Do raisins make you sick?
I hate raisins.
Where does the sun shine brightest in your life?
Has the sun set far too early?
I know only what you show me
Stranger on my screen
It seems that you are a mystery
worth solving.