I Love You?

(written 6/2011, collaboration with Chase Wiggins)

I never requested that you said you love me

but I liked the way it sounded,

the way those three small syllables

could become so monumental as they

slid past your tongue, between your lips,

nestling themselves behind my ears in a whisper

so faint that I could hardly hear them.

I screamed I love you from the rooftops.

Not because I really understood the words,

But simply because I wanted to be heard,

And still all you heard was a whisper.

I did not, however, realize that you had

strategically placed these 'I love you's

in crisp breezes around the city

to be heard by anyone that caught your eye.

Years of subtle love, expressed in quiet actions,

Had left me alone and ignored in this city.

So I began to shout, and like most urban artists,

Sent up toxins and beauty, in equal measure, to the winds.

And yet I never really liked the way it sounded,

So much as I was simply afraid of the silence.

I was too smitten and distracted by your beauty

that I didn't notice when

"don't" and "anymore" joined

"i love you" gently behind my ears,

deaf from the details that screamed for me to 

walk in the exact opposite direction 

the moment the world around us became too 

beautiful to be real.

I was too busy drowning in my loneliness

To notice that the sounds of my love

Had changed completely.

Too desperately attached to being alone,

To notice that you had been listening.

And as I limp towards the moment this world

Starts to feel real again, I stop to wonder:

If anyone had told us from the start

That we both deserve much better,

Would either of us have listened?

Sometimes

(written 6/2011, collaboration with Chase Wiggins)

Sometimes, you don't need to know what time it is

because as we lose track of the minutes,

we have more moments to let go and find ourselves

in places beyond the simplicity of where we are

and who we are when the clock strikes on the hour.

I wish I could tell you that it will all get easier

that if we lean against each other,

we'll stand strong enough to handle any wind

that could knock us down, but we will falter

and fall, and we'll cry and rebuild.

Let me be your rock, for I am heavy with

people's secrets and anchored down,

ankle deep in people's tears, and I 

may not know where we are going,

but I can try to get you anywhere but here.

Or maybe it’s you who will finally take me away,

Because I think you know me well enough

To realize that it’s really me who desires change,

And I hope you love me well enough,

To turn my desire into your will to hoist anchor,

Set sail. Go. Anywhere but here.

Here. Where, earthbound as I am,

The ticking of the clock beats out the monotony

That defines my life. As mundane as worms,

Making dirt and dirt making up the earth.

Yes. I am an anchor, but I hear you have a jetpack.

And while I doubt that it’s big enough to move me,

I’m still excited for you to hit the ignition.

And even if I cannot fly there with you,

In watching you, I find myself, as I dream of a place

Where the wind doesn’t seek to knock us down,

But instead catches us in its updrafts.

And I hope that you will think of me,

And know that even shooting stars,

Have somewhere to come home to.

"Sinning" together.

I wrote this on August 1, 2011. I don't remember writing it, but I wrote it back when I was more full of rage and less complacent, and I like it quite a lot.

I don't mean to disappoint you
or your beloved god almighty,
and I know that you claim to
"Love the sinner, hate the sin,"
but quite frankly, I've never
believed love to be a sin,
and though fornication is frowned upon
in some random section of your holy book,
I can't help that my neighbor's wife covets me
and well...I like the way she tastes,
and how she moves,
and how she smiles,
even when she is doing something
as simple as doing the dishes,
walking, dancing, sleeping,
but I especially love the way she moves
when we move together,
and how she giggles,
whispers, yells,
because...we move well together.
Your book also tells me not to lay with a woman
as I may with a man, but damn
laying with her feels better than any man has,
and it feels even better to love her,
so if this is me sinning, then
I will gladly burn in hell with her
beside, over, under, on, with
me.

Home

Perhaps it is the sound of my mother's laughter at late night talk shows after I've gone to bed,
or memories of whimsical ponytails and naps in oversized beanbags,
late night jam sessions, Top Ramen, Oreos, and Def Jam Poetry marathons,
but I miss whatever the feeling of 'being at home' was before
I began to wander emptily and aimlessly around hoping
that I could grasp onto something or someone for long enough
to bring back the warmth that accompanies feeling safe,
but instead I've landed in a place I've never been before
surrounded by my own cynicism and self-doubt,
And as I lay here during nights of insomnia,
feeling as though each of life's mishaps are both miracles and tragedies,
that propel me to work harder but ground me so firmly in reality
that I've forgotten what it feels like to dream.
I hope that my internal battles and my indecisiveness
will rock me to sleep each night until memories of
home become present feelings, and I can truly acknowledge
that my brain is a home to my thoughts,
my life is a home for my potential,
and home is not nearly as far away as it seems.

I know...

Written with those who have put their entire hearts on the table for someone who cannot/will not do the same in return in mind. 

I know that for a very long time
I was the person that came to your mind
in the late hours of the night when you were all alone,
and you so longingly wished that someday
it would be your bed that I fell into at night,
not for sex, but for the simple action of holding,
me holding you in my arms, or
you holding my heart if even for a second,
hoping that I will make you feel more complete
and less alone, but I am a machine,
evolved to take in and spit out hearts,
attaching myself most devotedly to those who
will sting the most, because I guess I
like the way it hurts, and the knowledge
that commitment doesn't exist when picking from
a pool of fish that always have one foot out of the
door in every relationship since the one that broke them,
and if they aren't broken yet, we'll break each other,
and I'll never be yours, because you like me too much,
because you respect me, maybe even love me,
because I don't like how you misspell things,
and quite frankly, you aren't my type,
no, not because you aren't pretty or smart enough,
but because I am accustomed to being
disposable and I don't think you
have it in you to treat me like I like it.
And I prefer a challenge.

Dating the Moon

I thought I liked the relationship we were building,
because, quite frankly, we are both very busy individuals,
and sometimes folks only have time for building relationships at night,
but I fell for you at your fullest,
and lost a little piece of you each day until finally
you became your best again,
not knowing that your gravitational pull is moving oceans
all over the world and
during the times that you were only slightly shining for me,
somewhere else, you are shining as brightly
and beautifully as you ever did here,
and all hours of each day aside from the 24 hours
that I get you once a month,
you are charmingly peeking over the horizon as unexpecting
strangers fall in love with you, not realizing
that this is a one night stand as they've howled and swooned
themselves exhausted until 27 days later when you return.
I thought I could deal with sharing you with the rest of your adoring fans,
but having the best of you only once a month,
for one cherished night only is beginning to wear me down,
and though you are the loveliest thing I've laid my eyes on,
whether it's a night you're all mine,
or a night that I can only catch a glimpse of you,
the night time you come to my window,
glowing and calling out my name,
I will avert my gaze and close my curtains,
for mine has never been the only name you called.

Graduation 2011

I was asked to write something for the Commencement Baccalaureate at my school this year. The theme was Community, and this is what I came up with. Sorry to those who won't get all of the random Willamette references. I guess I am more of a Bearcat than I realized. 

This is for the seniors,
for the football players,
for the sorority sisters,
for the long boarders, cyclists, and rock climbers,
for the pint night drinkers,
the acapella group singers,
the late night procrastinators,
the early morning wake and bakers,
for the only person of color in your classes,
for the loud kid that thought he knew it all,
this is for the Willamette Class of 2011.

There are some people who are socked that their four years
are over and others who thought they'd never end,
some who aren't ready to let go and
others who want to leave and never look back,
but no matter how each of you feel about leaving,
there are things that you share, that we all know well,
things that you have experienced that are coming to an end.

No more wandering around Goudy hoping you'll find someone you know,
no more Tessie's wraps,
no more having to choose between walking over the skybridge
or dodging traffic on the street,
no more late night dates with Mark O. Hatfield,
no more putting on shorts because it's sunny outside
just to be caught in a rainstorm 15 minutes later,
no more ResLife and JBoard or risk of being written up,
no more meeting people at the Bistro, study groups in Smullin,
or walking up the 4 flights of stairs in Eaton,
no more lengthy peer bong tournaments on nights
when you know you should be studying,
no more aimless procrastination on facebook, twitter, youtube, stumbleupon, tumblr,
and whatever you think might be interesting to look up instead of writing your papers,
no more people blasting their music during quiet hours or people telling you to turn your music down,
no more sweaty, drunken fraternity dances, and
no more President M. Lee Pelton.

But whether you wish you had a bit more time or are ready to leave,
I encourage you all to breathe this moment in,
to know that this is one of the final times you will all be
together in this room, but not the final time you'll be together in spirit.
From this moment on, push and pull for each other,
let your experience here crash into the walls of your heart and move you,
whether it be to make someone as happy as you were here
or to make sure that they will never be as miserable.
And I hope your lives are seriously funny, spontaneously planned,
and most of all devastatingly happy,
so when the world comes knocking as it is right now,
you'll turn the doorknob excitedly, knowing that
you were somebody, are somebody, and will become somebody amazing
as you open the door with 440 amazing graduates standing beside you.

Congratulations Class of 2011. You will be missed.