It wasn’t your roommate’s fault, I was the one who dropped your photo album. I was just so shocked to see how happy you used to be.

I'm just giving you a head's up

When you’re dead-
Not like I’m planning or anything-
I’ll keep myself from crying
By telling myself that
Your decomposing body
Will one day help birth new grass

God, and that plaid on plaid you wear is making me want to vomit

When you speak
I only hear jackhammers
Tools that break down my grip on reality
And my sympathy for the world
Won’t you just hush for a second
And leave my headache alone

A Blasphemous Claim Destroys Everything (Class Exercise 4)

Actually, it’s after hours around these parts and
Boy, your beat box booms too loud.
Couldn’t you keep it quiet?
Do you desire decay of order?
Do you enjoy the idea of everyone eventually
Falling far from forming lines?
Go on and get your good laughs in:
Hinder us from holding honesty
In our hearts and in our eyes.
Go on and jest and joke about our justice,
Keep calling names and causing commotion,
Let your language call out lies.
Maybe making memories will magically wake you up
Not only to your nonsense notions of the norm,
Or to your obnoxious observations of others,
But possibly to the potential of becoming a productive person.

We'll call it a "Love Ruckus"

When the sunlight slips back through the blinds and makes patterns on the floor
When we can open our doors again without fear of Mother Nature
When things come up from the ground instead of down from the sky
That’s when we’ll attack
We'll set out with our glitter gluey fingers and our marker marked up arms
And we’ll tie-dye the hearts of the people who say they don’t like to smile.

Assignment 2

This doesn’t seem to be working right,
This thing I call my body.
Bits and pieces
That are supposed to follow orders
Are acting as if
They’ve suddenly fallen illiterate.
My hands twitch guiltily.
My lungs shut their doors.
My heart illegally downloads the latest techno remix
And tries to choreograph a dance to keep with the beat.
But maybe it’s the general who should be taking the blame-
A mind that can’t seem to focus on the literal
The exact
The real
And instead fills it’s time watching movies by dead directors
With soundtracks in upside down languages
Either way
No one is performing up to par
Maybe I should hand them their two weeks notice.

Assignment: Terza Rima

I find myself standing in front of your white wall;
The one that you pay no attention to.
The same one that makes me feel so small,

So insignificant and empty and askew
In my own body, in my own mind-
Like I’m falling with nothing to cling to.

But it’s stare doesn’t seem to make you feel blind.
It doesn’t seem to make you nauseous
Or claustrophobic or trapped or confined.

So maybe I’m the one who should be cautious.
Maybe I’m the one who’s nuts and crazy-
Maybe it’s me with a guilty conscious.