She had become
so small,
her body slid through the eye.

Escaping from a world
that only sees,
but never knows.
A world of surface reflections
never questions.

They beat her down
so for know,
she finds herself
in the shadows.
 

The pitch black blanket of night,
swaddles me with comfortable bliss.
As night owls stalk their prey in silent solitude,
I lay atop a bed--
Sleep weighing hea
                                vi
                                             ly 
                                                       upon my eyelids,
I listen intently to the wonders of nature 
that flow from my unrestricted window.
soothing troubled thoughts
in a melodic lullaby.
Breathing in the crisp breeze;
carried in on refreshing waves
filled with purple promises,
and scattered with morsels of adventure. 

All is dreamy, until….
Blaring beeps
-------slice-------
through my world
tearing paradise from my startled grasp

I jump 
then tremble.
Heart frantically pounding as
panic seizes my chest.

The phone on my bedside table,
noisily dances the jitterbug

The awkwardness coats us like a blanket. Uncomfortably warm, we are too close for comfort. 
Too close to each other and too close to ourselves. Rustling papers accent the silence. I 
politely clear my throat, unfortunately I do so with a brittle sounding gurgle. Adding another 
layer of embarrassment to the already multi-layer, ready-to-topple cake. Our voices seemingly 
ripped from our lungs. My pencil does a jig. Dancing between my fingers. Mocking my 
unnecessary discomfort. The clock ticks constistanty from several feet down the hall. Getting 
louder and louder like a horror movie scene. The tension in my chest reaches its climax. 
Flooding my lungs with air, I almost drown. Aggressively I push breath out my nose, with a 
short shrill whistle. Resurfacing to my calm, relaxed demeanor. With newfound courage,  my 
fingers quickly flip through the pages of my notebook, acting like jittery imprisoned man, 

Caged, I am no different than the hundreds of animals around me. We are on display. Judged on first glances and brief interactions. Bumbling bodies crash consistently. One can only dream of a luxurious square foot of space, without the eyes invading. Always assessing, they are cause for social fear. Needling my back, they poke and prod. Yet surrounded by so many, I am more solus than ever. Dizzy with the pain of acting, my head rattles. Foul thoughts plaque this space with a putrid order of hate, jealousy and contempt. There are few Zookeepers who would ever dare to try and wipe this cage clean. Those who do, barely scrub an inch before one of us animals spits on it, stomps on it or bleeds on it. This cage will forever be stained with the grotesque suffering of all inside. The sunshine that filters in, is a flower growing through concrete. Strong and determined. I bask in its heat, feeling, even if for a second, that I can do the impossible. Then reality happens.

Like the clothes you wear,
a persona you put on
tailored to “fit in”.

Your exterior emotions
crafted as a sculpture --
something abstract
with just a hint of its creator.

When the curtain is thrown open 
and the room of eyes
Scrutinize,
they’ll only see,
what you want them to.

Whether it be 
LiEs,
fries,
disguise,
or half truths…

It won’t be you.
Not all of you.

The imperfections you smooth over with a brushstroke,
are the loveable quirks 
that make you:
Relatable
Exciting 
Awesome
Loveable

The secrets we hide 
just burrow deep into our minds,
Tying thoughts into knots -- 
a tangled web of guilt and pride
where we stay, waiting 
for someone to come and find

Till we feel like no one
Could ever
Understand.

Watch the jewelry
as it slides across my skin.

Calm heat, the breeze, rolling out stresses. Beginning lap one around the house. Annie, running fast in doggy bliss. Lazily turning the corner, my daze broken as I watch in horror, my beloved dog ferociously barking at a bear family of three. Fearful, twin cubs scramble up the nearest tree. Their mother, has other ideas. Standing up on hind feet, she tripled in size. My pup, getting closer. Curiosity doesn’t just kill cats. Clapping like a broken cockatoo, options few, I scream Annie’s name in repetition. Annie, indecisively runs back to my side. Stubborn as ever, I drag her inside. 

*****
In creative writing we just had to write a story in 100 words. It's harder than I thought. 

 

War.
Twenty years of death and gore.
Two countries,
bonded in the blood of battle.
America, the upstander,
supporter,
friend,
assisting Afghanistan,
our brother in need,
a relative in desperate circumstances,
RELYING on us
as we once relied on them.
Bringers of hope,
carriers of the message ...

Fight for your freedom,
the reward everyone deserves.
Conquer those who oppress you.
Take back your human rights.

For so long we encouraged the Afghan people –
a relationship of convenience slowly baked
into one of love.

Then ...
in the press of a trigger,
a command resounded.
Like it or not, American troops dropped back,
leaving millions of innocent people
susceptible to the whims of the barbaric Taliban.
Not only did we abandon our Afghan allies
but more than 15,000 Americans' as well.
Executions started nearly days later.

Torn apart by an ice storm
all who enter be fare warned,
a stifling path cut in the corn,
together we'll find the way.

Your mental labyrinth I travel through,
running blind not sure what to do,
all I want is to find you,
my honest, funny friend. 

Uncertain as to what has caused this divide
I scoured our world far and wide
while waiting for you to finally decide
to trust me.

A year has gone past,
everything broke really fast,
my heart supported by a cast
at last, we are healing.

Will we ever be the same,
as our picture, in the frame
or will our lives become a game
of avoidance?

I wote this poem in honor of my favorite libaraian ever, Deborah Lundbech, who has just retired.

****
Bluebird,
Bluebird,
At my window

The verse,
Sends warm
Fulfilling sensations
Into my heart.
Attached,
Are treasured memories,
All harboring moments
From time spent
At the New Haven public library
With no other
Than the
Amazing,
Kind,
Thoughtful,
Caring,
Intelligent,
Deborah the Librarian.

Now before I go on
To sing her praises
I must first share
One of my earliest
And clearest memories
Of her at the library…
*****
Young heads block my view.
Shifting to rug burned knees,
My line of sight cleared,
I listen…

Bluebird,
Bluebird,
At my window

A woman sings,
As the guitar
Sitting on her knee
Plays along in blissful harmony.
The rocking chair beneath

a fist
a fight,
Anger.
my bark
my bite,
Anger.

I bite through my bark,
what do you do?