You don’t mean to hurt me.

You only

want to love me and

to be loved in return.   And I do.

I love

the way you tickle me with light

touches and the way you explore

my body and the way you

are so happy and excited

when you see me.

But you do not


the pain

you cause

when I am

without you.

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A room full of people and I

know no one.

I know one –

but you have left me


And I am


stuck here where

I know no one



I know no one.
I know myself.

Therefore it follows:

I am
no one.

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I wish I had

pretty handwriting,

the kind that looks

graceful and fluid

on the page,

the kind with letters that

dance and sing

like a work of art,

or even

the kind that


can read.

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There is a pile of important
papers crammed beneath the monitor
in my computer hutch.  Looking through them,


for something important I find
scraps of my life, cryptic notes,

lists and plans, and

random numbers scribbled
on odd bits of paper.

I love you.
Lights off.

I have no idea
what that was supposed to mean
but now it haunts me in my search

for something




(No, I never did find what I was looking for.  I did, however, find notes for a novel that was published last year…)

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Not a rage, but nonetheless
an urge,
a need,
to strangle someone, to
stab them over and over again
pain for pain until
the blood washes away
the helpless fury (not tears!) that
burns behind
my eyes.

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The birds sing the morning into
existence. I cannot see it
in the darkness
but they know that
dawn comes, that the sun,
called forth by song,
will rise.
are the birds that will sing
to my heart?

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Train Wreck

Can’t stand to look.
Can’t stand to look away. Always
I return to see more
disaster in the making.  I

I could stop looking

for you, stop

what happens next,
but no matter what

are my next
train wreck.

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