"Oh my God, he knows."

"How the hell does he - Abele! Did you tell him?!"

"What, no! I haven't seen Rhys since, like, a week ago!"

"..calm down, calm down, Alleta. It'll be oka-"

"Like hell it will! How can you be so calm about this, Priscilla?!"

"He's my brother. He knows literally nothing."

"Except how to drive!"

"He got a speeding ticket last week."

"..how to breathe?"

"Abele, Rhys has sleep apnea."

"Oh, I remember that."

"How the hell do you know?!"

"..."

"ABELE!"

"It was one time, Alleta! A birthday party! Ow, don't hit me! Priscilla, help!"

"Alleta, calm down, he'll hear you."

"Oh God, you're right."

"..."

"...."

"Happy birthday!"

"Abele..that's just Cordelia."

look at me.
i made it.
12/30/19, and i'm still standing
still repairing myself, but still here nontheless

my foundation is patched,
scaffolding still up
up with people, myself
working to repair cracks and smooth edges

my eyes are slowly opening, slowly opening to the new dawn
to the future, to the fact that i had one
the light is oh-so-dazzling

i am not alone
i can advance
i can redo; i can repeat
this life is mine for the taking

sometimes it gets confusing,
the water, murky, air heavy
but i must push on
cannot allow ice to trap me in inaction

i'm here to see the new dawn, here to witness
the sun coming up into 2020;
a year i cannot quite fathom exists
but
it does. and i do. so i'll be there to see it

alone or with family, i'll see it no matter what.
 

this is an assignment for my psychology class, on the musical dear evan hansen.

;

never alone, but lonesome
constant company, but by myself
surrounded by people who love me
but not for who i am

it's a façade, a false persona
i'm not this! 
i'm not confident, i'm not social,
i'm not this fake person everyone sees

bundled up inside, i can't let
anyone see this
but i have to, 
don't i?

vines crawling, hardy leaves open to the sun
all up and down your body, curling around all the muscle
and underneath your hat, pulling your hair

but you don't protest, eyes ever shut as they writhe
and grow as the days pass you by.
your skin never tans as Helios runs

every once in a while, he visits you
you, on your stone slab, hand outstretched
with a white bud blossoming in your palm

he'll pray, pray for forgiveness
you've both lost friends, friends in that fight he had to win.
and now you stay, a testament to them

one day, your eyes will open, black as pitch
onto the green, green grass of the world he created [home]
and he will be waiting, lithely relaxed, waiting for you.

it takes two to tango
three's a crowd
and four's more

shouting uno! is fun, yes
but is it when you're sitting alone
at your worn, wooden table, cards set for your friends that didn't show?

five's a jive
and six - a mix
but seven? heaven.

a solo sounds pretty
but a full orchestral sound
with layers reaching as numerous as players; that is what's pretty

eight, bring a mate
nine - wait, he's mine!
ten, let's do it all over again

one foot in front of the other to move
slow, aching steps
but movement once again

one, you're done
two, we're through!
three, don't ever look at me

a pure painting is not painted with one color, one stroke
style is not mastered with one lesson
to mix it up, there's gotta be more

four - no more
five, how am i alive
six - a bag of tricks in disguise

this is an assignment for my psychology class.
;


i don't think it that bad,
but that's just me
perhaps it's just a fad
we shall see

a place for me to post my writing
a place to like others
maybe it's not exciting
but to me and my brothers

i can look at art
i can look at those that
you can't tell apart
from characters; they don't fall flat

but i know that some
find themselves 
coming undone

they see women, men
looking so great
again and again
and it is themselves they learn to hate

for they are not them,
those models and actors
they're people, thinking themselves dumb
because they do not look like them.

or, sometimes
people will cry themselves to sleep
for people, oftentimes, are so 
terrible that they can do nothing but weep

attacking, scathing

would we wake
from our never-ending slumper
when the world shakes and tears?

were we alive, were we walking
where would we be? where would we go?
would you offer me your hat against the rain?

the world is a lot more different now
no more gloves to your wrist, dresses to your knees
not that i mind, of course, i'm still a swinger

your coat is still dashing, even after all these years
buttons bright against dark ink
coattails riding ever so gently with each step

these streets are bright, this place you've chosen
bright with people and bright with light
time doesn't matter, surely, but no one sleeps in this city

no one can see us. or can they?
a few looks, more of questioning than disgust
as my old hoopskirt becomes more of a burden than not

we find a place, colors never seen before
music never heard. i take your arm
and we dance away all these years

doesn't matter how hard it is to get up
doesn't matter how much you sleep through your alarm
you wake up and punch the sun
scream, "I'M ON MY WAY!" and hop out of bed

keep rockin, rockin on
your limbs feel heavy from fatigue
nothing seems worth it
but you did it. you beat your sheets

keep going, one foot in front of the other
school, work, doesn't matter
you're going, you're going
you're gone, out the door

keep it up
keep flippin out your hand, finger to the sun
glaring against your eyes
you're beating it too, don't worry

keep on going
getting those small victories
for one day, you'll win the war.
 

bells ringing
off-beat, off-tempo
piano keys answering

it doesn't sound like music
no
dissociating

girth of a heavy cello swing
not exactly unwelcome
foreboding

a timpani hit
quick dash of the keys
the cello is back

introspective
something falls in the distance
you are not pieced together

thoughts as unconnected as notes
screech of a violin
as that something gets closer

the cello draws near, 
backing away to let the piano 
through

and all of a sudden, 
it's gone


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