Go Ahead

seal my windows with the

blackest of curtains
force night
upon my heydays
and then
when the zen
of night commences
and stars glimmer
on a cerulean ceiling
drown me
in caffeine
shine me
with white lights

but remember
a part of me
is still circadian

there is a sun
in my skull
and there is a moon
in each eye

there is a song looping
through my veins
there is percussion
setting my bones
and the city beat
drums on
against my endless
heartsky.

Deal Breaker

It's not worth the pain

if our laughter was never loud

in the eye-rolling crowd.

After Four Years

I’m picking hearts off the wall

pink ones and yellow ones
made of construction paper
symmetrical and scattered

and with them go my postcards -
Spain, France, and England -

my portraits in red ink
(in constant self-revision)

and love poems and bumper stickers which say concisely
precisely what I believe.

I’m picking stars off the wall
each one filled in sharpie ink
with words of the greats

and then I take down letters
and cards, decorated so artfully
by people who were even there
through the tearful nights
they never saw.

I’m putting all of this in a narrow box
that fits every shape, size, and color

and I’m leaving it open

because I know nothing will fall out.

I’m sitting on this sheetless bed
and staring at walls I forgot were white. 

Five Stars Without a Twinkle

The mood right now isn’t coffee-shop

or fancy-elevator-ride,

Darling, it’s raining neon colors

and flooding liquid gold outside!

Sorry, I couldn’t get my dress tailored

or buy those achromatic heels,

but I bought these flip flops freshly tattered

for special occasions like these!

So please, let’s leave this tinted glass

and barge through the chiming door;

this napkin of silk you’ve draped across my lap

is setting us up for a lengthy bore:

Look, it catches the spills and rifts in class

but it can’t catch the thundering breeze;

and the polished silverware on the marble tabletop?

It’s just too hard to please.

Poem Transfer

I've decided to transfer everything I wrote for pedij.tumblr.com to this blog. Sorry for not posting anything for so long - I've been writing, I swear! :) First, I'll post everything I wrote in June/July, and then I'll gradually get to things I've written afterwards.

The Distant Past

I shiver
I sit
as all of winter
condenses
on my window.
I keep feeling
like you're hogging the blanket.

But I heard you're somewhere sunny
dipping feathers in indigo ink
writing words
sending notes

that haven't reached me yet.

Fashionably Too Late

(inspiration: this article)

It’s best that bull’s-eyes

stay pixelated,

not painted onto tangible targets –

wooden, shaped like black hollow hoodies

with a pack of skittles up one sleeve

and a threatening bottle of iced tea in the other  –

kept at a distance

that you choose.

It’s different in this dimension –

this isn’t a video game.

You can’t just stop

push the plastic button

under your thumb

take those shots back,

reload.

Here, on sidewalks you can feel

under your walking feet,

bullets fire

get lodged

and stay

in wood, in bone,

in flesh,

in memories –

and it’s not romantic nostalgia.

It’s crimson pooling at your feet.

It’s a pair of rolling eyes flashing white.

It’s the wetness of tears in winter air.

It’s angry cries, it’s sniffling pleas –

some last loud and long

and the silent ones

blare only with helpless frowns,

endlessly.

[check out more at http://www.pedij.tumblr.com]