a poem to my father

I can’t change you
But I want to.
That’s not what I want, though
     you’re not helping.

I don’t need you to tell me that
This is stupid.
I don’t need you to text me that.

Your ropes are like

               ribbons

Wrapped around the gifts you want to give me.
You should know
I just want [a new] you.

You could be better 
With different laces and—

I don’t know

Do I need you?

I’ve made it this far

               holding my tongue,

And I want to go father

But the ropes are like
strings, wrapped around

     Your timorous soul—protecting it

              From bleeding out.

Time’s an old friend

Time has come for us,
It’s waiting at the door, ringing the doorbell.
Now it’s let itself in, it’s waiting by the table where we left The keys, in the foyer, at the bottom of the stairs,
As we scream,
“Wait! Wait a minute. Wait just a minute! We’ll be there in five!”
Five minutes pass and we’re still not at bottom of the stairs,
We’re still not at the top, we’re still looking in the mirror.
Time is growing impatient, time is wondering if we’ll ever come down, Will we ever be ready?
Even you—aren’t you a little tired?
Maybe we should call it a night.
Maybe we should tell time to go home, get some rest,
Try again some other time.

manic run-ons

I have a tendency to talk a lot even though I recognize that nothing is ever learned by talking but that’s just something I can’t help because I am by nature a very passionate person and I have very strong opinions but I want others to challenge me and mold my point of view and change the way I see the world or at the very least debate with me about it because change is so intrinsic to living and I believe it’s so very important to not only let life change you but to also work to reform and build yourself into the best person you can be. But this all takes practice and work and time and the thing is I want to meet new people and experience new situations and live in different places, sometimes I just get overwhelmingly excited to take life in and to me, learning is at the core of this, discovery and searching for truth and justice and just plain understanding is growth, which is precisely the point, to better ourselves as human beings. And I apologize if I’m sounding pretentious going on about life and humanity when I’m just a 17 year old but these are honestly the things I think about and the aspirations I have—to live and learn and discover the how the be the most authentic version of myself that I can be. And even though I’m ashamed that I talk so much, it’s like I said, I’m just a passionate person, and I don’t want to hold back. Because it doesn’t serve anyone to hold back, and there’s no way a person can grow if the wings of their genuine personality are being restrained.

This is what I look like, 
[But is that who I am? 
And how do I compare?
And where do we get air?

The smiles on your faces,
Tell me nothing’s new.
This is still the year of
Throw-downs, show-ups, and—
you.

The time is changing,
But then it always was
(that I could not have a name
for something even so done). 

Cause we are finished
& I don’t care if we never started.

A face, a name, a person (inside)
The key is not to blink.
That way, you see the ones who look at you
Yes you yes you yes you yes, you…]

But is there more to me than the person I am to other people? 

You live in spaces that do not exist.

Water doesn’t just drip down a waterfall,
it drops, thousands of feet, gallons upon gallons
—and you think you can just wait.

A car motor is not the right comparison
(it can be turned off.) 

So stop wasting my time—
Stop looking me in the eye—
Stop telling me what I want to hear.

Because once you learn reading, it won’t go away
and I certainly can’t just (stop my engine).

The spot where water lands-
The hole where you place the key-
I’m not a goddamn carburetor

Label: Feminist

Everyone’s so obsessed with labels. Feminists. Gays. Jocks. Jews. Christians. Democrats. Republicans. Blacks. Whites. I’m not a Feminist, I simply care about equality for all, justice, the truth. It’s simplification, it’s evolution, it’s wrong. When you label people, it brushes them away. Oh they’re Feminists, of course they’d think that, there will always be factions of the population with an unreported point of view. No. That’s discrediting and it’s plainly not okay. Labels have the effect of trivializing opinions, quieting people, and discouraging change.

Underneath your umbrella in the rain at night, you stand and without really going anywhere, you walk in the street, maybe hoping a car will come, maybe not. You walk and you continue to skip every few breaths and it is the irregularity that you crave and are fighting to maintain. What is regular makes you sick and feel much heavier than the rain that pours down around you but not on you, but it’s wet outside and that’s also what you crave.

To feel something different, something new or happening, like a hurricane interrupting a calm and perfect season, there needs to be something to live for, some reason to believe that things won’t go on the way the have forever. I want to be on a plane, I want to be a bird, I just want—to feel new, but an umbrella will only keep you dry for as long as you hold it.

You are born and then you die.

I have two friends with boys in their lives. One is rational and the other isn’t. But that’s what love does to people, isn’t it? Love makes you irrational. See I don’t know, because love can be such a concrete word. When is it real? The passionate, reality altering, I-could-never-live-without-you love, or the keep-it-simple, easy, I-just-want-you-to-be-happy kind? And which will last? I just don’t know. What I do know is that you are born and then you die, and the people you choose to spend the in between with are what really count.

I cried in the fireplace until you cared.
But you never came nor
Cared to come to
See what the tears were about or
Why I wanted you
(to be more than what I thought—
—I knew you weren’t capable of)
Running to my rescue
In the fireplace under the chimney in the dark
(it couldn’t be helped couldn’t be stopped couldn’t be kept to living without oxygen)
And waiting for a change—anything—but
Making some of my own instead
Like I’ve been doing all along. 

Expectation. I suppose I’m passed the stage where people expect much from me; I threw that out quite some time ago. So what do they expect? What do you expect? Is it respect? Responsibility? Dare I say success? I don’t know what you want from me, or what I want to give, it just isn’t clear anymore. Give my best, well that’s a challenge, and I wish it wasn’t, but there’s no use to wishing, dreaming, expecting. There’s something to be said for standards, and how high you set them. Do you set yourself up for failure or do you rise to the occasion, and what makes you happy? Understand that chasing answers only leads to more questions, more questions and more still. So, where does that leave you, can you even answer that?