Hello...?

And I know nobody is reading this. Hm.
So I don't know why I actually do this. Hm.
Maybe I'm just looking for some strange satisfaction. Hm.
Hm.
Great poem, eh?
Who am I talking to?

are you here yet?

when he was a boy,
he would make sure she was asleep
and they would go out driving
on the interstate.

i have been across afghanistan,
but only because my teacher told me to.
eleven pages read,
two hundred eighty-nine to go.

he is mixture of
degraw, barnes, mayer, and mraz.
and i have a signed record.
road tunes?

*secretsecretsecret*
you'll find out when we get there,
don't worry.

arthur
is still the best teacher.

though it always has ended up
where it needs to be,
i have lost my phone about twenty times
in the couch cushions.
it didn't matter, though.

jackpot was hit at
goodwill.
if only you were there.

"matamoros.
texas.
tuscaloosa."

i have
one hundred and ninety-two
hours of things to tell you,
so hurry back home.

I'll Be Home

The diesel is tangy
On my tongue.
The music flees from
The speakers and into
The morning air.

You hands grip the
Steering wheel,
But you are relaxed--
Your knuckles aren't white
Yet.

Hair mixes and mingles
As the midday sun roasts
Our faces.
You flap down the visor and
Glance at the directions.

The blue pendant
Is split and shattered into
A million shards of light.
The rainbows glint on your face
And I dance to move them.

The comforting ring of
His laughter echoes through
The car.
We have missed him.

Her charming manner
Has never altered in the
Face of everything.
We have missed her.

No snowflakes,
No lighted boulevards.
But they are
Home at last.

Goals...

I was once asked
What I wanted from life.
I was uncertain at the time,
But I just want

To be able to open my
Own front door,
And absorb the sounds
Of summer and spring
Through my skin.

To glide back and forth on
Our creaky porch swing,
And create dissonance with
The night-time birds.

To set up the
Hand-painted footstool,
And laugh as you
Take down the smoke detector--
Fast food sounds good.

To gasp in awe
When heat lightning glints
Across the dark sky,
Then to rejoice when the warm rain
Refreshes our bare toes.

To count the stars
On a scratchy blanket
With you.

If I could have anything,
I would just love to have Him
In every part of
Us.

:)

Where The Stars Meet at Night

The chilly blast of air
Is balanced by the
Warm smiles I am
Greeted by.

Led parallel to the
Glass-block windows,
My summer skin
Distorts and
Reflects the sunshine.

The amoebic pattern
Of the old seats
Draws my eyes from the
Traffic racing towards
Something better.

As the repairman teeters
Eerily on his creaky ladder,
The glass fixture
Bumps against the
Freshly lit bulb.
His paint-speckled pants
Are too baggy for his thin legs.

Two old men are discussing
Something.
One is concerned, for
The furrowed mustache,
Framing his chattering lip,
Mirrors his eyebrows.

The screech of
Clumsy, black shoes
Scuffs the speckled tile.
The girl behind the glass panel
Jumps in surprise.
She glances at her calm grandfather,
And laughs.

The jam packets
Spill over the side of
The glass bowl;
American flags circle the
Brim and the white stars shine.

The frills of the toothpick
Pinning my sandwich together
Litter the table in
Memories of picnics and
Grass-combing breezes.
Sweeping them off
My toasted bread
Is not an easy task.

Neon signs,
Vacant of light,
Glint in the hard sunlight.
The breeze wafts through
My hair and
New cars pass by.
My appetite is satiated,
Thanks to the corner of
Blackland and Roswell.