If I married a man we could stay within each others hearts,
But if I married a lady, the world would end up in bits and parts?
So if I held his hand, no one would think or wonder,
But if she held my hand, all the mountains and hills would fall and plunder?
And if he kissed my lips, my toes would tingle and heart would beat,
But if I kissed her instead, all the children would be living on the street?
And if I loved her instead of loving him,
Our economy would fall and the communists would win?
So I'll dream about his eyes instead of her smile,
Because for sure if I did the sun would hide for a while.
Every time I thought of her, the ozone would thin,
But loving a boy instead, will help the earth spin.
So maybe it's true, I'm in love with a boy,
But if a girl wasn't, what would it destroy?
The sky would still be blue and the grass would still be green,
Even if a girl was dating the homecoming queen.
So breaking my heart is the worse thing they can do,
Because the boy that I'm in love with, he's in love with a boy too.
These past days have seen an explosion of green
Vibrant green buds and tender leaves
As flowers of color fade and drop
In favor of summer’s classy trees.
Watch the sudden, exponential growth
Bare bones of winter and delicate spring
See the new lushness of the world
As gaps upon sky and ground fill in.
See the changes in the light,
The ways of drowsy summer morns
Direct rays no longer pierce the sky
At horizon’s clearing by the sun.
Filtered through the thickening leaves
Diffused to dimmer, summer green
Summer of growth, and languid dreams
When summer storms rise and split sky’s seams.
All in the sudden greening of trees.
“Oh dear Cupid, what have I done to thee
to make me love such a monstrosity?
Her blood-red eyes, so void, yet full of life
(the kind that fondles gently with a scythe).
Yet I still gravely cling onto that scythe.”—Says he
“Oh foolish man, you feeble-minded soul--
who can’t dodge an arrow, as big as a pole?
And after it hits, have you no mind
to just take it out, than to keep it and whine?
Even a baby can do what you cannot!”—Says He.
“But why shoot at all? Have you no shame
to spread your vile disease just for the fame?
Do you enjoy the fights, the screams, the tears?
Are they to you pleasant to see and hear?
I hope your cherished bow snaps with a shriek,
and I can proudly laugh at the end of your streak.
But sadly, such a sight is impossible to see.”—Says he.
“Am I also a human, who enjoys such crimes--
who, at night, deeply longs for those times?
(Though, I admit, my arrows might be the cause,
for they bring up jealousy, and other flaws.)
But have you thought that, instead of a poison,
my arrows are rather a remedy for reason?
Your answers are not in me, but in her.”—Says He.
Today was the day she would share with the world,
Eyes gleaming with curiosity and hope.
Armed with a large white canvas backpack full of
The baby pink frosted angel food cupcakes that
Her loving mother swaddled with supple white silk and
Tied with sparkling silver ribbon and enclosed in
Tiny glass boxes which she tucked away in her knapsack.
They were beautiful and the girl loved them more than any treat,
So her mother crafted hundreds and hundreds of cupcakes.
Consequently there were entirely too many, more than
Any little girl should have to carry so she was sent to
Share her pristine possessions confident that she could
Brighten all sad faces and cure any broken hearts because for
Her these packages were the greatest gift she could offer.
But you see, the very same hopeful day,
A boy set out in search of something different.
Armed with a small tattered and stained sack full of
Absolutely nothing but a few inevitable specks of dust because
Where he comes from, sweet goodies don’t exist so he set out to
Find something to change his life even though he had no idea what
He was looking for perhaps he would know when he found it.
Of course it would eventually happen,
Both traveling with no predetermined destination of course they would meet.
Her baby blue eyes glowed and her smile quickly lit up as
She cautiously unshouldered her large white bag which
Left behind deep red marks with black and blue undertones on
Her shoulders from the straps that repeatedly rubbed against them and
The continuous weight of the packages she’d never put down.
She eagerly removed one of the fragile little packages that she
Trusted would be very well received by the boy.
He looked at it with a perplexed gaze for he had never seen such
Strange and entirely foreign little morsels and when the girl with
Her careful hands passed it gently to the boy, the force of
His hands at first cracked and then crushed the package as
The cupcake and its trimmings shattered like the glass box that held them.
The silk and ribbons were torn to shreds,
Jagged shards of hope and frosting flew in every direction possible.
Blood streamed from his hands and the cuts on his arms while
The blood on her face blended with sugar and tears leaving a small river of
Salty sweet blood trickling down her cheeks and onto the floor where
They then mixed with the remains of the shattered package and
Created images that she would never be able to erase from her mind.
The boy, relatively unphased did not say anything but,
Shrugged and casually continued along the path.
He had neither the obligation nor the inclination to clean up for
This was simply not what he had in mind when he set out
That day so the girl watched him go while wiping away
The red stained tears and crawling around on the dirt floor trying to
Gather in her arms as many of the shards and remains as she could.
When her frail little arms could hold no more,
She picked herself and stood still for a moment while her eyes adjusted.
Still carrying her large white bag now soiled with dirt she looked upon
The disaster she had left behind and the blood that she let
Stain the earth and she felt the weight of the bag still strapped to
Her back only now it felt just an ounce lighter than before so she
Wiped the last red tear from her cheek letting the shards from her arms fall to the ground.
I was on the A train pitying the car on the parallel track for the mariachi band it
carried:
Three full-grown accordion players and one child, a little girl collecting coins in a top hat.
I was grateful just then that my fellow passengers were silent and unimposing;
that they asked nothing of me but that I reciprocate the silence. I was grateful
not to have to refuse anyone money and I was grateful that nobody minded my
business.
Then at 14th Street a preacher boarded. He began to talk about the lord and the
like in a bombastic mumble. I couldn’t decipher the words but I could tell that they
were scripted. I chuckled in spite of myself till he turned his torso- a perfect
rectangular prism- towards me.
“Folks,” he cried, as a prophet might cry, “Does Jesus lie?”
I considered this earnestly. Does Jesus lie? How am I to know? I’ve never shared a
barstool with him.
When the train reached Chambers St. and the minister made no indication that he
was leaving, when none of the passengers acknowledged his question, he asked it
again.
“Folks, does Jesus lie?”
“Well there was this one time-” I blurted to put an end to this repetition, to drive
out lunacy with lunacy.
Without taking one step towards me, he responded to my heresy.
“No! Jesus does not lie.” Then he added, “If Jesus says that you’re going to get
pregnant, then you’re going to get pregnant.” And with that, he stepped off the
train and onto Fulton Street.
Still, none of my fellow passenger adjusted their expressions to this extraordinary
happening. No one’s eyes fell to mine and I was grateful. I was grateful, though a
strange and rectangular man had just threatened me with pregnancy.
It’s a formidable threat, after all, when it’s men like him who decide whether or not
my insurance covers birth control.
My feet momentarily touching the ground
Been more than forever since shoved from cloud nine
A lie that you beautifully shoved passed the line
Just for a moment, I’m once again found
If just for a moment, before you reply,
Regret to confess my heart’s still in the sky
There it remains, on the stand side our bed
Along with the promise of bliss in my head
I guess I was blind from the fog of our love
Or faint from no oxygen miles above
I guess the light shining around us was fake
Bound by the halo you took time to make
Guess I’m momentarily trapped by your spell
Forging a heaven that’s clearly a hell
In settings somehow just a breath from sun’s shine
Fooling my eyes on exquisite cloud nine
Through years since I’ve fallen, I’ve morphed to a soul
That’s practically soulless, a vapid black hole
Is now momentarily filled in my chest
But solitude’s pain is, in truth, for the best
‘Cause, moments ago, when I saw my reflection
I realized that I now decide my direction
I don’t need your lies to protect my frail youth
From this moment on, I’m defined by the truth
Your ice walls are crumbling, melting at last
But now I have vanished, the moment has passed
And you’ll walk this earth with a tear in your eye
And each moment wonder and glance at the sky
Alone I stand
No one by my side
Everyone has left me
When I needed them the most
Like a beautiful flower standing alone in a desert
No one to notice its beauty
And no one to love and care for it
My eyes twinkling at twilight
With all the tears falling
like rain drops from above
beating on a beautiful red rose
with all its beauty on its outside
its inside is hidden and with the thorns it carries
just like my tears falling
a face that is trying to smile
ignore the truth
but inside it does not match the outside
I am hurt and broken constantly
I haven’t felt real happiness in a while now
Everyone stares me down
With hate, jealousy, and ignorance
They don’t know who I am
They look down on me and believe I am nothing
But it is hard to ignore for a lifetime
Everything, every world that is said
Either kills me like a sword going through my heart
or makes me happier than ever
Yes you can say that I overthink
But that’s life
Everything is killing me inside
Cutting through my heart
Leaving me alone wanting to cry
Wanting to even die
But I don’t know who I am any more
For I have changed a lot
i can hear my heart beating beneath this cage, hidden from humanity
sounds so distant, seems farther than arms length
even if it's not even a fingertip away
this enclosure of bones embraces more than an organ;
whims made of dreams escape my lungs with every breath
and are expressed through every contraction, push, and pull made
by my heart, haphazardly contriving a beat
but i am unerring, it is too remote and outlying from society
nonetheless it is so much: it is life
yet we as earthly beings hinder all that our moralities are,
all that we as absolute mortal existences are,
and we always look twice before going on this adventure called love
what is love anyway?
how would we even know if we keep our hearts so jaded and far
for us to possibly learn
I heard a Bird chirp -- When I was born --
The Light pierced my Eyes
With an Inviting Warmth--
Like a double-edged Sword--
My Eyes -- for the First Time
The World Revealed Itself--
Fear grasped me with Cold Fingers --
I wailed without End--
The Men In White -- their Sterile Hands
Brought Me Away -- Away From the Warmth--
I waited--for almost an eternity -- But I
soon heard the Sweet Song of a Bird--
A red cardinal -- calling to Mother
Nature-- Singing Between Me --
And the outside World-- Closing windows--
And then Silence ------ I miss mother.
"The Words that Used to Come Easy to Me" by Max Lauring
The words used to come so easily to me
They blossomed patiently, waiting to be picked
But now they deceive me and always have me tricked
We laughed and danced together and cooperated naturally
But now I can’t take it any more as we always disagree
The words used to come so easily to me
Lost like a blind-folded blind man
The tragedy that suddenly began
Memories of brilliance and harmony
Now memories of afflicted debris
The words used to come so easily to me
You have become a plague of derision
No longer waiting to be summoned
The spark of inspiration and ardency
Has now rotted away and turned ugly.
The words used to come so easily to me
They are choppy and serrated
Apathetic like a balloon deflated
Once a reservoir replete with ingenuity
Drowned and suffocated, polluted undersea
The words used to come so easily to me
One time I even poured them into the palm of my hand
And watched as they graciously glided through my very fingers grand
Beleaguered by effluent language that once agreed
But that was when the words used to come easy to me
Dear Silly little insecure boy that fell in love with me,
Whether or not the world decides to believe this is true, all love stories have happy endings. In the end everything ends up ok. If it is not ok, then the end has not come yet. I know it seems like our love story ended, ended with tragedy, ended for nothing. I’m not ok, and even though you act strong, I know that the little boy I fell in love with is not ok either. He fell too hard for it not to hurt when he tumbled toward the ground. So breathe in the pain, because the end hasn’t come yet. If “the end being ok” is really true, then real love stories will never have endings.
I have written you this letter a thousand times. I have read it over, and over. Then, I would think just a little too hard, or see your smile in a memory and feel the need to write it all over again. The other day I thought I finally had it finished, but my heart could not take over my brain and let me move my shaky hands. It was impossible to surpass the prison slates of your peeling, painted, old locker. I saw you standing there a year ago, just a few strides away from me, close enough to smell the heavy cologne that wafted off your shirt after gym class. The problem is that now you locker is new, and I forgot your combo.
But, these words you are reading right now, that I can imagine are running through your head in my overly familiar voice, are the final ones I will write. I have always been the playwright, the one with the reassuring lines, the inspiring stories, and the tragedies laid down in black and white. Now it is time for me to be an actress, and stop narrating my life. Like any true writer though, I must graduate my pen with a grand finale. I have one more story to be read, and you are the only audience. Don’t hate me if my writing is terrible, and don’t hate the characters for making stupid decisions. They are only humans like you and me, but they decided to live their lives with several ‘oh wells’ than many ‘what ifs’. It starts of very simple, with a girl just like me:
~
My hands were trembling, ice cold, motionless. I dared to take a glance at my fingernails; purple as my joint-locked knuckles. Veins were raised, lifting my pale, worn flesh from the surface of my hand like roots of a tree raise funny looking patterns in the ground. I turned my hand over and stared at its palm.
My palm was empty though, when it used to be full. I can still feel your big, warm hands brushing against the surface of mine. They tingled my palm like freshly cut grass tickling bare feet. I could never forget the gentle motion of your fingers lacing themselves through mine fitting together perfectly, a zipping jacket keeping me warm. You were so shy, I thought you would never hold my hand, and now I fear you never will again. When my hands are cold like today I chuckle remembering you bumping into them ever so slightly and casually. You must have loved when the bus hit that small bump, sending my arm just a jump to the right, landing in the perfect position for you to be able to make one small motion and be holding my hand. It did fit perfect, felt to natural, so I squeezed my fingers to let you know that I knew you were there. Then you sneaky, sly, little boy, you gathered my entire arm and held it against your heart beat giving me no choice but to lean my head against your shoulder and leave my hand in the trust of yours, exactly where it was meant to be. So I let it.
Then I took a step forward.
The sun was just cresting over the horizon, playing peek-a-boo with the world. Its newly rising rays stung my retinas and I had to squint to make out the city skyline this morning. It was strange to think about the sun and you at the same time. I was too accustomed to watching the stars with you. The sun was only one star, and we used to lie under a thousand. But, a star it is, it was, and always will be.
I tried to look up and a glare caught me dead on. My head jerked seeking shelter in the shade, but still a tear rolled from my wounded eye. The tear rolled around my cheek, then plummeted toward the ground with an unknown destination.
You weren’t there to wipe it away like you had so many times before. The first time, I was sitting on your couch, waiting for the night to catch up and call me home. You looked up at me with those beautiful light blue eyes, clearer than day, deeper than night, and grabbed my hand. “Goodbye. One day I’ll have to say it. I’ll have to say goodbye for good,” you whispered into my ear, then dropped your head faking death. When you opened your eyes to see my reaction, a solemn tear rested on my face. “Never say that, you aren’t allowed to leave me like that,” with those words I squeezed my eyes tight, and more, hot tears fell. They were only rescued by your hand, which you lifted toward my face, and used to brush them away. Then your hand dropped to my heart, which was rushing like the wings of a mocking bird, nervous and reckless. “Breathe, it’s ok, I am right here.” Your hand patted my heart and then dropped to my waist. I could feel your other arm now engulfing me in a hug so comforting that the world could have fallen down around me and I would not have minded. Your hands remained around my waist, enough like a gentleman, so I let them.
“Breathe, it’s ok, I am right here.”But it isn’t ok I thought, and took another step.
My stomach was turning now, I felt sick, like the remains of last night’s dinner were going to reappear on the asphalt before me any minute now. I grabbed my sides, squeezed hard trying to help the gut wrenching pain subside.
All at once another memory, the most prominent one of all appeared. I remember when your hands were at my sides, so awkwardly, so nervously. You were all dressed up in some funky little monkey suit, and I playing adult in my mama’s pearls and a grown up dress. It had been an incredible year, and now in a few minutes, the year I had known would be over, and I would be finished with the life I had known. But at the time, it didn’t matter to me. All that mattered was that you kept your long arms around my waist, and I kept mine around your neck. We swayed back and forth, children playing dress up trying to dance. That’s all we merely were. I’d glance up and see those incredible blue eyes that I knew so well, then smile shyly and talk to the floor. I had thought the moment would last forever. It didn’t. The music stopped. We all clapped, I like a robot, not aware of my surroundings. You hugged me goodbye and we all left. The night came to an end. The clock let it.
Now I lurched forward, heaving out all the contents of my insides, coughing and stumbling, creating a mess the DPW would dread cleaning. Gosh, I can’t do anything right can I. No I can. I will do what I came to do. I’m so close to you I can feel it.
What can I really feel? I can feel the warm summer heat bleaching our hair, calling our freckles out from hiding. I can feel the strange sensation of seeing you out of session, in a world abstract and simplistic, with no thinking involved. I can feel the grass pricking my toes as I chased you around the yard. Then I felt a coolness overcome me, created by the shadow of my house. I kept running, straight into you, then stumbled back only for you to catch me. In one swift motion you caught me and pulled me toward you. Your arms wrapped around my entire body. I wrapped my arms around your thin waist, pressing myself against you. My ear landed on your chest, and I listen to your breaths carefully. Never in my life had I felt that way before. I had felt so safe, so calm, so at peace with the world. Holding you on the side of my house, not caring who may have strolled along and caught a glace is the one memory I fear losing today. There is no word in the English language, correct or incorrect to describe that feeling. It was simply wonderful, the way things should be. But no one lets them be.
Now tears are pouring out of my eyes, stinging my dry face, creating puddles on my cheeks to be jumped in on a rainy day. I think of how you hated the rain because it reminded you of my tears. I start steadily walking forward now, avoiding my mess, running my fingers through my hair pulling out most of it. I pull my hands away covered in hair and blood and wipe them on the sweatshirt that you never got back.
The rest of summer was a blur, fogged teary eyes. You were taken by the headlights of a drunken idiot, and I was taken by the absence of you. Everyone said it would heal with time, but nothing was broken, everything was gone. When I kneeled, I prayed to everyone I could think of even with my lack of steady religion. I prayed to God, to his son Jesus Christ, to St. Jude the patron of lost causes, and to past love ones taken for other reasons. But, the only person who could ever get me through this was lying in front of me, pale and cold as snow, without blood left his veins. I leaned forward, kissed your hands that were cold for the first time in your life and closed the casket. I walked away, my mind made up. My heart had taken control of my mind, and I was to worn to care. So I let it.
Now I looked down, I did not have to walk any further, I was exactly where I needed to be. I wiped a tear of my cheek, and captured it on my finger. Holding my hand over the edge, I shook my arm and let the tear roll off and fall towards the Hudson River below. It was a long fall and gravity held its hand the entire trip. I remember, Albert Einstein said, “Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.” He was right, and I don’t think that there is any explanation. But, gravity could help me today. I reached out and it took my hand. Then, I looked down at the body of water below. I looked up knowing that soon enough you could switch places with gravity and hold my hand instead.
“Breathe, it’s ok, I am right here.”
“I know you are,” I placed my hand over my heart, my voice cracking, “right here.” And then I jumped toward that sunset, finally all the way over the horizon, too late to go back.
~
That’s my final story, but I wish it wasn’t. Such a tragedy tragedies are, aren’t they? Sometimes I think it’s harder for me than the girl in my last story. We have all of the same memories, yet she is at peace while I have to stare at your face every day. I hear your voice, but do not understand it. I see your smile, but cannot smile back. And I feel your touch, but the feeling is gone.
I don’t understand as much as you think I do. They say that everything happens for a reason, so there must be a reason for everything to happen. Sometimes we have to move on, let the things we love go, and when we don’t have control we have to let them be.
I am not sure what happened to us. Sometimes I forget that everything is different than last year when you held my hand for the first time, wiped my tears away, danced with me, and held me so close. It hurts to see you now. I die just a little on the inside whenever I see your face or hear you laughing. Those used to be my laughs. “Used to be.” What a funny term, because things used to be a lot different.
In the end I’ll be fine. You will too. You already knew everything you just read. I know you did. So when I see you the next time after I’ve slipped this into your locker I will probably just say, “Hi,” because I’ve learned something very important:
As a writer, words seem to make a lot more sense on paper, but as a lover they are a lot easier to understand out loud. So speak up Boy, I know you have a lot to say, and I miss hearing your voice.
This thick fog, obscuring sight
Symbolizing time's lost flight.
What's before can still be seen,
Close to you vision's sharp and keen.
But travel further into the fog,
And you will find all clarity lost.
For in this fog of time and smoke,
Illusions are worn as a cloak.
Evermore will time pass by
And more and less than meets the eye.
‘Twas a Monday and all was in harmony
Where I sat at the Lunacy Pharmacy
Filing papers and potions
Till Denmark arrived with a ghost at his side and said
Madness have I been prescribed
I replied:
Not if you wish to survive.
He cried:
Doubt thou this green will stay the white season?
Doubt thou the virtue of the newly crowned?
That slaughter appears fair beside treason?
That light waves travel at the speed of sound?
I laughed and laughed
As though unmoved by his mask
It was time for the tasker to be tasked
I asked:
So you want to go mad?
You with a rapier’s wit?
You whose heart beats split?
So you want to fool the court
In a comedy of sorts,
So you want to go mad
Here’s the method:
Marry this here ghost against the laws
Of state, country, and physics
Pine away for a love you have not and would not,
For you’ll grow sicker by these gimmicks.
And he thanked me as ever
And we said our goodbyes
It had always been too late to advise:
Murder is no sport
In the Elsinore court
And eyes for eyes
Are taxed with their lives.
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