how time flies.

i moved into your neighborhood,

now you moved onto my street.

the tension between being close and far simultaneously;

time like a rubber band catapulting into the future,

then oscillating between the future and the past.

i dont know what advice to take;

some say plan for your future, 

while others say "live in the moment."

my therapist says there is no present, just past or future.

the present is a headspace, as life blooms and dies all around.

i used to bike away from the sunset for so long,

now i bike towards it as if it's the prettiest view.

i can't keep up but i'm trying

because it makes me realize life is beautiful no matter what.

even if i'm far behind you,

please promise to never move off of my street.

waiting for midnight,

like a kid on christmas morning.

i got tired of waiting for you to gift me peace,

so i gifted it to myself.

i asked you if there's any last words,

you said you understood but wouldn't say goodbye.

when god closes a door, i lock it.

this is goodbye, block and delete.

california gold rush

last year, i quit my job and headed west,

looking for a gold trophy, but

never wanting to be the gold trophy.

but all i've "accomplished" was being rubber banded to you,

stretching the elastic so much it will soon snap under pressure.

every sunset brings me both closer to and further from you.

the other day, i tried to build a sandcastle in the sand,

but the wave quickly came and took all my efforts away,

the sand remaining but incomprehensible below my feet,

getting wet by the cold pacific ocean water,

a shock like ice baths after practice when i was sixteen.

california brings out my inner child,

maybe that's the gold rush i was seeking all along.

how long until we have to grow up?

july

since i moved here,

the city lights from my balcony

have been my stars at night.

i'm slowly checking them off,

been there, done that,

now the places I've been 

suddenly look dimmed. 

i don't want to ruin the mystery.

i want to remember it fresh.

i'm sitting at a table for two

waiting for god knows who.

i want to get a map of the world

and throw darts at it. 

that's how i got here in the first place.

overconsumption

i strike a match,

it burns bright as i hold it

between my fingers,

enjoying the bright light of hope and newness;

enjoying the heat and intensity of the strike.

i can't let go, 

i can't bring myself to blow it out. 

the flame descends closer to my skin,

and burns the tender flesh.

why couldn't i bring myself to let go sooner?

mulholland drive

now i only leave the house at dusk,

drive through the hollywood hills,

making sure i breathe in the fog and not the smog,

streetlights blurry like colorful christmas lights.

everyone's moving, putting lights on the curb.

it's almost may...

i don't want to be down here anymore,

everyone's getting their halo, but me.

if you haven't guessed i'm impatient.

the only time i can relax is when i'm in patient.

spending everyday buying loubs for 30 cents,

trading it in for living and breathing,

a cheap trade for living in california.

it's better than being back home, wherever the fuck that is.

both the home ruined by war and the one ruined by people i love(d).

i'm driving around endlessly into the night, peering through the fog,

looking for a new light signaling home.

lost love

you never brought me flowers,

but on my walks the flowers come out for me anyway,

roses, birds of paradise, staring back at me.

hummingbirds softly grazing the petals,

there's beauty in everything and i can have it all.

only fools believe beauty is what money can buy.

but the most beautiful things are free;

like grazing my cheek with your hand,

holding my heart in your hand.

but you squeeze too hard, to bruise.

then you don't hold on enough, and release.

you never seemed to get the right hold.

sometimes i feel like I'm back in high school,

sitting, contemplating, analyzing, talking to a wall;

the soft animal inside me wanting to

run down the flower paths and dive into the ocean at sunset.

6 mo in LA

Waking up after dusk,

where did the time go?

Baby brother is 21 tomorrow,

clock hand spinning so fast it flew off.

He starts drinking just as I stopped.

We are on different pages, different time zones.

I'm at the grocery store buying a plastic bag to hold a plastic bag.

Everyone is telling me to fix my face,

but I just want to fix my mind.

I'm out here on my balcony everyday,

looking at the Hollywood Hills at night,

looking for a sign.

Mental Health

Met a girl named Aubrey at a Jiffy Lube.

She tried to set me up

with a guy from her church.

Maybe I should have stayed in Texas.

Coulda had a loving spouse,

a large yard and a big nice house,

but I went to the doctor for allergies one day.

He asked me if everything was fine.

I told him that my mom was slowly dying;

I couldn’t get it out of my mind.

My eyes welled up with tears.

He gave me Prozac;

I flushed it down the toilet.

Why am I not allowed to feel 

raw emotion?

I don’t want to be baby,

I just want to be someone’s,

(but I’m not ready).

Life slipped by as I was distracted watching

everyone fight. As a child,

our house burned down with all our possessions,

but now I just want to get rid of everything I own;

show that nothing owns me anymore.

I guess if I wanted love,

I shouldn’t have focused on the wrong things.

Shouldn’t have admired the leather sofas on your porch,

shouldn’t have gone off the grid so often,

should have bent over backwards like women do,

should have let you touch me when I didn’t want it.

Go ahead and find someone young,

but you can never come back. They've never not come back.

I just want some peace, maybe some love, too, but that’s too much to ask.

Kind of want to live the simple life, kind of want to take it day by day.

Kind of want to be someone’s girl with flowers in her hair.

Never Hungover Again

I used to be your favorite t-shirt.

Now, I’m at the bottom of your pile of dirty laundry,

waiting for another day; a day to get layered

as the crisp autumn wind pierces through the fabric

of your sweater. I’ll always be close to your heart.

Autumn evenings are a game. I only drive to get food at dusk,

when I start to count how many times I can floor it

on a yellow light and still get away with it.

Someone once told me if I want to stop getting triggered,

I should keep my hands off the gun. 

But it’s too familiar. Pain is all that I know.

I’ll never stop driving up to the lake at dusk,

lowering all of the windows, and watching the sunset.

Another day wasted. Maybe I can do better tomorrow.