Siri. Type this:

More memories.
Less Facebook moments.

More seas of lighters at concerts.
Less phones sticking up with their waves of blue light that keep us from sleeping at night.

Our phones, it looks like we’re all telling one big ghost story around the campfire — our faces lit up from underneath in the dark.

It’s like a part of our bodies, a mollusk’s shell,
That we won’t outgrow until it’s torn from us and we’re eaten, still alive.
Or run over like turtles in the road.

It’s like we call it Facetime because that’s what we need, but don’t have.

Since when is being viral a good thing?
Viral means an infectious disease.
I feel like I need a condom just to surf the web.

I honestly can’t have a conversation with a person
without toying at my phone anymore.

We post our beautiful stories on Snapchat,
the colorful blurred days of our lives,
and let it slip away into nothing.
Friend, your stories are still interesting even after 24 hours.

Seeing that red notification, knowing I’m special, I’m wanted,
when it turns out to be another Farmville invite.

Nitze called religion a crutch but at least religion helps people walk. Phones make people run into stationary objects.

I wonder if the New Messiah will have a social media account.
I wonder how many followers he’d have.


In fin it e.

Her eyes were like infinity.
well not infinity,
but a diagonal figure 8.

She’s half way there, to the meaning of life,
it wasn’t quite love but it was quite something,
i made her smile a few times,
and i wrote about her right before i fell asleep,
so it’s not like she’s the girl of my dreams,
but we got close.

I want to take an ice cream scoop to my brain,
shave out the parts that itch,
that can’t let me be happy,
because she makes me breathless,
but i’m not ready to die.




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Beauty is a Narcissist

Oh, midnight lake.
Nearer to the moonlight
Than a mirror to a narcissist,
Tell me what it’s like–
To reflect beauty by your own nature.

See, humans are a very different creature:
The only similarity I have with the night is when I black out –
I have to poison myself,
To let beauty out.

I repeat the words “alone” so many times that it finally sounds like home.
Poe tried — Look how he ended up.

Caffeine speeds up the heart,
Booze slows it down,
sometimes at the same time,
like a Chinese finger trap that’s nowhere near strong enough and is ripped apart.

In the sleepless heat of 5 a.m.,
My heart asks who I am,
And I answer “you drank to much,
Have some water.”


What is Life?


Life is getting out of bed tired this morning, snailing to the bathroom, and finding out that my sister has left the top of the toothpaste dirty again. Life is drinking orange juice with that toothpaste taste still in my mouth.

Life is driving to school and missing the right ramp to get off of the highway.
It is cussing loudly in an empty car.
Life is coasting down the highway in-between two huge, Moses-parting-the-Red Sea concrete walls.
It is reminiscing about magnificent popsicles from the ice cream man.
Life is realizing how dirty the ice cream man’s van really was.
Life is being that one kid whose dad bought him a pink bike at a garage sale when he was younger.
Life is losing the reader before the poem even began..
Life is “Santa Claus is real, but not in the way you thought he was honey.”
Life is being too obvious or too inscrutable.
Life is having the correct answer on a test then changing it.

I look out the window and see the night sky — millions of blinking glass shards on black pavement. 
Life is craving to drive on that endless mily road instead of the road you are driving on to get to your school at three o’clock in the morning.
Life is driving an extra ten minutes because you missed the right exit on the highway.
Life is the High School Cafeteria.
Life is your best friend who stabs you in the back.
No it’s not, life is not having a best friend in the first place but lying and telling your parents you do.

Life is stopping. And turning back at the last minute and driving home to probably fail the test and class the next day.
Life is the divorce rate in America.

Life is the same boring line of a start over and over again.
Life is people politely nodding and saying “Yah” even when they couldn’t understand what you just said.
Life is teens throwing handfuls of coins at each other’s (parents’) cars for fun at the stop light by the highway after school.
Life is the beggar watching them from the side of the street in the cold.

Life is not noticing that there are actually a lot of other cars driving on the highway with you at this time of night.
Life is driving home at four o’clock in the morning.
Life is imagining your warm bed while you drive.
Life is the mellow rythem of the highway humming underneath your wheels.
The music rocks on “Life is life, na na, nanana.”
Life is sould-stirring music making you tired.

Life is a small brook bubbling silently through some far off woods.
Life is closing your eyes while driving for only three seconds.

I JERK my eyes open just as sheets of heat from the air conditioning cover my body.
Life is the confidence that you can stay awake with your eyes shut longer this time.
It’s closing your eyes for 6 seconds. Then another 6 seconds.
Life is the reader knowing that you will close your eyes for 6 seconds a third time. It is them reading on excitedly.

Life is splattered all over the side of the highway.

Then, life is the traffic flying past the spotless side of the highway the next day.

“What is life?”
Life is the disappointing last line of a poem.


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Growing up, I Thought Dancing Was Just For Girls




Your eyes, they speak,

I’m trembling, so weak,

your hair, seems to dance,

your touch, what a dance,

like a ballroom,

and two, intertwined,

humans who, become more,

more than two, become me,

becomes you.

But I doubt, my stare,

my desire, my care,

will get you to dance,

or say hello,

or even glance my way.


So for now, I’ll write,

about you, and the night,

till the day, you look my way,

and I give you my hand,

and ask you, for this dance.

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