day two hundred three: nights like these...

i wish i didn't exist.
it's sad,
yet true
i wish i could see
how the world would look
without the color "me"

day one hundred seventy: the word waste.

such waste
squandered space
shrinking breaths
wilting dreams
fading days
atrophied muscles
shrivel and die

this is me.

day one hundred fifty-nine: 1:58 A.M.

i'm outside
1:58 am
the sky
it sparkles
the night
so clear
the darkness
is invisible
i can see
i can hear
everything breathes
the trees sigh
and i must be crazy
but to see the stars
i lie
on my back
on the frozen ground
so frozen that it sparkles, too
it reflects the sky
like water would
and breathes a ghostly breath
and when i lay
beneath the cold silver stars
i lay atop the cold silver blades
of grass that mimics the sky
and it's alright
to be slightly confused
if i'm human or alien
because i'm neither here
nor there
i'm in limbo
i'm thinking
of where i will be
in the near future
and who will find me
and take me up from this deep sleep
in the silver studded sky
on the silver blades of grass
and let me steal their heart
and keep me
with my silver wrapped finger

day ninety-two: i am in love.

i am in love.

and i will tell you with whom

let us begin by admiring the toes

the second toe, on the right foot is just longer than the others,

the perfect ankles connect the feet with amazing calves,

the left one marred with a beautiful imperfection that i simply adore,

the perfect calves lead up to knobby knees, inherited by generations before, i'm assured,

maybe our children with have them, (i sort of hope they do)

the knobby knees connect the toned calves to the meaty thighs, wonderfully full and strong,

the thighs rise up and widen into the most beautiful hips you will ever witness walking by,

(trust me, i know...) and those hips support the largest curve protruding off the rear of this skeleton

yeah, that booty... (i sort of hope our daughters get that, too...)

the rounded rear leads into the niftiest back, a most favorite feature that i simply adore,

the back is muscular but not intensely so, just enough, to support body, but also enough that a had in the small of that back is a most sensual touch

that back wraps around to a most soft and warm tummy, not small, not large, it does exist, and it does change with the times of the week, month, and year, but it is a most amazing canvas for such a sincerely cute belly-button...

due north of that belly-button live two mole-hills, hardly enough to be considered "breasts" but still anatomically considered as such, enhanced by a brassier during the day, and let free to be by night, the poor darlings, still just enough for someone such as this, this person we are admiring...

above the breasts comes a particularly strong collar bone connected to shoulders and a neck.

let us go east and west and look to the biceps of this beautiful creature

the wingspan wide and strong, but not as strong as in years past, the muscles have disintegrated from lack of intense use, but that is okay, they show what used to be, they are very capable of hugging, squeezing and comforting, three of my favorite things.

above the crook of the left elbow there is a dark, brown, perfect freckle.

my favorite to examine, my love, has learned to like it, too.

thin wrists connect to fingers that play instruments and write poetry, capable and talented hands, i love and adore. they are very good for hand-holding.

now back north to the neck, the neck really only supports the head, i have nothing poetic to say about such a body part...

the rounded chin and small nose, coincide well with the tiny ears that will never stop growing,

the eyes, both different sizes, visibly when no makeup is worn,

but the deepest blackish brown you shall ever witness, with a blackish-purple ring around the iris, it is such a treasure to see...

oh! eyebrows! how enviable, when tamed by the wax and the tweezers, the eyebrows naturally

arching where they should, just needing occasional attention, this i do love.

above the eyebrows comes the strong, tall forehead,

topped with brownish-blonde, sometimes called dishwater blonde, hair.

the hair is in perm recovery, but smells like before, it has the most wonderful aroma like a rare flower in springtime bloom, year-round, when not chemically taken from it,

the person?

well, i am looking in a mirror,

because i have come to love my body,

because it deserves it,

just like me.

i deserve love

that only i can give to me.

day eighty-four: interrupting myself.

choking on self-hatred--

self-demise--

wishing life would quit--

or i could just quit life--

oh, melodrama

bouncing inside my brain

(at least you seem to rhyme

and that's the only good thing

i have to say about you)

sometimes i feel like i'm crumbling--

stumbling and tripping

through my own thoughts--

and sometimes i think what people thing

about me is the truth

so when i hear the things that hurt

i pretend they are fact--

and so i use that as an excuse

to feel the way i act

and i pretend that i am

all they say i "am"

and that makes me feel less

like a human being in the end-- anyways

i'm not a knock off of another

i'm one unique indiv--

what?

unique?

okay, so everyone is.

now there's no point.

so, have a nice day.

day eighty-three: the ruiner.

it's funny how

some of the best things

in my life

were ruined by others

but now,

as i've aged

i've become

the ruiner

i watch the movies

i read the books

i see what "love" is

and i know

that i've had

many chances

to "have" this type of

affection

but i've become the ruiner.

i've taken bloody handprints

to Mona Lisa's smile

and i've let children color

on ceiling of the Sistine Chapel

only it's not even that

my sins

are that innocent and

forgivable

i've become the ruiner

of my own happiness

and i hate myself for it

with a hatred as strong

as the hunger that kills it

so, thanks self

for royally screwing up

again and again

i'd hate to see how happy i might be

if i hadn't ruined it all

with my own hands.

day eighty-two: alone.

i want to be alone

i want to be secluded

i want to be left alone

until i get there

then i get so alone

that i feel lonesome

it's quite sad

because i used to know what to do

when i was alone with me

now i'm just not sure

what to do

other than wish i had someone to talk to

sometimes i guess

it's just wanting something

that i can't have

and when i get it

i don't remember how much

i didn't love it like i thought i would

so, i want to be left alone

and i want to remember

how to be myself with me

and just be happy here

alone

again.

day eighty-one: could you just...?

could you just

really listen?

could you just

really hear me?

could i just

follow my own rules?

could i just

make up my own mind?

could i just

breathe for a minute?

before you run me over

with your endless questions

and trivial statements

about who i am

and what i've done.

would you mind

ignoring my bull-headedness?

because that mass behind my eyes

(brain?)

it hurts

from all these thoughts

and all this frustration

and because i'm just tired

of assumptions

being thrown at me

and i'm tired of assuming

i know who i am

because i don't have a clue.

honestly.

day seventy-six: my missing word.

i'm writing

wasted words

pointless phrases

silly syllables

rhetorical rhymes

lying lyrics

and it's okay

because it's what

you want to read.

well, news flash

this is about me.

me finding me

becoming me

and being me

and i'm me,

don't get me wrong,

but i'm still searching

for something

a missing

(word.)

(something.)

(description.)

(word.)

i'm on the search

for my word

in this world.

day seventy-five: please stop.

please stop.

please just stop

trying to force me into

a silly cardboard box

and trying to make me fit into

the container you want me to look like

please stop.

brain, stop screaming

hormones, bug off

thoughts, stop repeating

eyes, focus please you're making me irritated

please go.

go away for a little while

let me be alone long enough

to really miss you

not you,

the other one,

the one behind you.

the funny thing is

you'll probably read this

and you'll ask me if this is about you

but it's not

because it's really about me

thats the beauty of poetry.

you is me are you,

or at least it could be.

day seventy-four: mental well being.

things to think on

things to pray

things to sing

and things to say

so much whirling

around inside my skull

but there are deadlines to meet

and things to do

so i'll just have to find

something to think on

something to keep me focused

on anything but you.

day seventy-one: my own me.

my own me

who is that

exactly?

i've never seen

that megan before.

does she live around here?

must be from up north...

or maybe west

maybe she's out there

in the desert sands

being happy herself

and hiding from this

insanely sad world...

or maybe she's not even

from this planet

maybe she's on mars

being happy alone

finding joy in alienation...

where do you think she is?

i think there's a slight chance

that she's just buried

under all this pressure

and worry

and that she's inside me

i know she is

and she's busting out

so watch out

because you might not like

to see her smile

i hear it breaks hearts-

that truly happy smile.

day fifty-nine: time.

please,

don't go

wait,

we had plans!

why are you running

so quickly away?

why are you slipping

right through tightly clasped fingers?

because that

is your "job"

always moving

always changing things

forcing people

to make sacrifices...

well, what about

me?

i've sacrificed

but not enough,

i'll admit,

i miss you.

i miss having so much of you.

and so little of you.

so i'll stop wasting you:

i'll make a list

right now

and you'll make all those dreams come true.

thanks, Time, for not waiting on me

but making me run to catch up

to you.

day: fifty-five: you aren't what i need...

i refuse to be sad

for more than three days at a time

because three days

is just enough

to go through the motions

of the depression

that sits inside my rib cage

in three days

i manage to

sleep too much

cry too much

frown when i'm alone

drown when i'm alone

by day three i need you

then it's gone

it passes on the third night

i sleep and that animalistic desire

to talk to you

that has become embedded in my brain

it vanishes...

and i am okay

when the sun comes up

there is a hope in my soul again.

and i smile.

because i have it wired into my brain

to look for a companion

sometimes i just want yours

even though i know its not what i need.

day fifty-two: things i cant see.

i've noticed

that i can never love myself

exactly where i am in time

in the present

i look at photos and think

"whoa, i was pretty"

or read old poems and think

"man, i've got a gift"

but i never can look at something,

oh, say myself, in the mirror

and say, "whoa, there. you're beautiful."

i can imagine where i'll be

in ten, twenty, fifty years,

i see happiness

and i think

"oh, man i cannot wait to get there."

i see myself so happy that do not care

what my face looks like

or how big around my thighs are

and i think to myself

"in the course of a lifetime what does it matter?"

and i smile to myself

because i cannot wait to be there.

happy.

with me.

why cant i just be that way now?

something's wrong

with the wires in my brain

when i see a mirror

i see a scowl

i don't think happy

i think "what now?"

there's something blocking

the happy synapse in my brain

from firing this second

instead it's striking back to the beauty

and looking forward to happiness.

help?

day fifty-one: plans?

see,

there are these things

they are called plans

and we've never needed them...

so why

am i trying so hard

to plan

when i let my heart

be yours?

because i'm afraid.

i'm terrified

and i've been told that

that is the point of love

to be terrified of the newness

and the oldness and the perfection that will never be there

to be open to heartbreak

and to help one another

i'm afraid that i'll get lost

i'll lose myself in you

and i wont be able to come out

not whole, not safe, not me.

i'm terrified of

ending up like those before me

of jumping this gun

of ending... us... ever.

of being judged.

i'm basically scared

and i'm finding my faith

and my trust

and my reasons to be brave

just wait,

i'll find them soon

i can feel it in my

shaking hands

there's something just there

just out of reach

something that will make me realize

its okay for me to be

happy.

day forty-eight: when i was younger

i was better

at many things

when i was younger

like loving

without question

without wondering

without doubting

like coloring

in coloring books

and not fretting

if a color i needed was missing

like accepting people

my family

my friends

without judging

like pretending

and imagining

(i'm still good

but i used to be great

i remember

but i fear it's a lost talent.)

like being blissfully unaware

of horrible truths

that fog my mind

every single day

of my adult life

things that

i was better at not knowing

when i was young

when i was younger i was better

at being ignorant

(or at least pretending to be.)

day forty-six: curves.

i have curves

perfect curves

beautiful curves.

theres a curve here--

that touches this one here--

and theres a bend here--

that rolls into this one--

like the foothills

of a mountain range

my body is full of curves

some more prominent than others

there's this one

that is my particular favorite

because i dream that someday

there will be a person growing inside of it

and its a simple, sloping curve,

that gently touches the nurturing parts

of my body and connects them

they are for one purpose:

someday bringing another life

into the world.

some days i wonder how

that curve will grow

because there might be life behind it

someday

to push the curve

make it steeper

make it rounder

make it fuller

make it perfect

that little life

that not even my abundant curves

will contain.