I don't understand
why it's so bad to be single.
I have tons of friendships and love floating around
without all the romantic entanglements,
and the drama that inevitably comes from them.
Why do I need to have someone perpetually glued
to my hip or hand?

Everyone treats it as a requirement for a happy life,
like I as a person
am not whole,
until I share someone's name and bed.

Why is it a problem,
that I can spend my time how I please
without having to feed someone else,
or work around their schedule?

Single-dom is a perfectly acceptable state of being.
It shouldn't be seen as sad or lonely,
because I can order a pizza,
and then eat every single piece without having to share.
That, in my opinion,
is pretty damn close
​to pure happiness.

Have you ever felt the world stand still?

Somehow, the rhythm of the cars driving by,
your heartbeat,
the birdsong above your head,
drops of rain from the storm the night before,
everything pulses in time for a moment,
becomes clearer,
shimmers in harmony.

It's as if you can feel the earth breathing
in those everyday things.
Like you can hear its voice whisper in your ear.

A voice like the wind through soft spring grass,
and the soft murmur of distant thunder,
with the gentleness of a grain of sand shifting in the tide,
and the warmth of the first rays of the rising sun.

"Isn't it beautiful?", it asks.

Before you can respond,
something jolts you from your trance.
The blaring horn of a disgruntled driver,
or maybe a hungry child screaming.

Everything seems normal again,
without the clarity.
But you still remember the peace you felt,
and that voice.

I search for it daily,
hoping that it will grace me with its comforting sound once more.

When I can't write,
I feel deficient.
Defunct.
Dead to the world.

If I can't muster up the brainpower to write a simple poem,
then what am I good for?

If I call myself a writer,
then what am I
on the days that I can't even do that right?

When my words dry up,
does my identity
and worth wither away with it?

If that fountain of energy and inspiration no longer flows,
am I just a cracked,
empty vessel,
destined for the scrap heap
or a Goodwill donation?
Do I have just as much worth sitting here,
not writing,
as I would be
shattered upon the ground?

I'd like to think
I have more value
than that.
But sometimes,
it's hard to feel that way.

I feel like I've always been walking on this tightrope,
tiptoeing across a wire
drawn taut through thick air,
constantly shifting,
tipping this way and that.

I'm so afraid of falling,
that I barely even move.
For weeks, sometimes,
I'll freeze, only allowing my chest to rise and fall by inches,
terrified to try
and fail.

I only bring my feet up
just enough to not catch the rope wrong
and go tumbling into the space below me.

I don't know what's down there,
or long it would take
my bones to shatter against it.

Or if there's anything at all.
Because it could be
just nothingness after all.
A void just waiting to swallow me whole,
and trap me in darkness.

The tightrope sways gently beneath me,
my arms outstretched,
above the unknown.
I've always been afraid to fail.
Afraid to fall.
maybe it's time for me,
​to run.

A Phoenix food truck,
a toaster on wheels. I'll be
medium-well soon.

Something about me
makes the biting, stinging, pinching bugs
want to get a piece of me
whenever they possibly can.
I haven't figured out why yet.

Maybe I have the perfect combination of pheremones
that they just can't get enough of?

Mom always joked that all the sugar I eat
makes my blood too sweet.
Maybe they've got a huge sweet tooth(proboscis)?

Either way,
I've covered in the tiny red mountains
they leave behind,
and every moment I'm awake,
they're begging to be scratched,
leaving me to wonder
how vital are they really,
to our ecosystems?
Wouldn't it just be easier,
to exterminate them all,
and save us this itchy torture?

Why can't we all just be kind to each other?

Why do people have to claw and tear at one another,
shredding hearts and self esteem
pounding them into dust and splinters,
when even the tiniest glimmer of confidence is in view?

Why do we pride ourselves on our divisiveness and spite,
when love and compassion
are the things that actually improve the world?

One moment, we're happy we've got a community of friends,
the next, whoever is the odd one out
gets taunted and mocked for their view on the world.

And when you're the one plucked from your friends,
shown what it's like to be isolated
and laughed at,
told that what you experience doesn't matter
is invalid,
because it differs from the group,
you wonder why you even chose to leave your bed that morning,
if even your friends
have decided you're not worth listening to.

At first, your senses are just in shock,
as you're caught between a pulsing bass,
flashing lights,
and bodies shifting around you.

There's too much for you to take in,
so you simply stand there,
stunned and sticking to your friends' sides,
trying to ignore the elbows of those walking by.

Eventually, you may start being able to experience more.
Interesting people stand out to you,
or the songs are recognizable again,
and you can enjoy swaying or jumping in rhythm.

Either that, or every loud noise,
nearby sudden movement,
or environmental change,
jerks you back into the present again,
where the music's too loud,
and the crowd's dense enough to squeeze your lungs,
making air difficult to draw in.

Your heart starts pumping,
and you need some air
that hasn't been exhaled by a hundred others.
Space to move and shift
where you won't bump into half a dozen people at once.
Where the night is cooler
than a struggling air conditioner can compensate for.

Melty deliciousness, found in so
many flavors and forms. I will
never tire of tasting you.
I can't pick favorites.
Don't try to make me.
On earth, or in
space, I'll find
yummy
​cheese.

Today, heat won. The
sun reigns eternal. I'm a
puddle in my skull.