Myself

The sky is an orange
And I'm walking home
A girl,
All alone,
Wearing pants
And an iPod and a purse
And I can type
And I know what cursive is.
I'm on my way home
Just me,
In my shoes all alone,
Playing with the wind
From the sea
I can taste it
Almost April,
Dancing over high rises and saying hello
To my hanging hair
Bouncing along behind me
High-fiving my jacket,
Waterproof jacket,
Full tummy,
Orange sky, silver
Clouds are far away on the other sie
Of the city
Not with me
I'm walking home
Safe, though Alone.

Million Dollar Store

I wore a dollar-store plastic mask,
Covered in metallic felt pen that
I'd scribbled on the surface before arriving at the dance,
My sidekick's face beside me half covered in shiny green and blue.
We went together - shoulder to shoulder
Up the steps
One, two, doorway
And into the hall
Where brilliantly colored feathers and crinoline
Burst with "WE ARE FUN!!!"
And took over my eyes.
He beside me scanned left to right
And lead me around the corner to the far wall
Deposited our bags
On the bench of damned waiting
And stepped out into the dance floor.
I became a cupcake with twirls 
In and out of horse heads and pirates,
Beautiful women wearing beautiful bird bottoms and
Smiles pointing upwards
At mischievous eyes flashing through
Rainbow disguises.
Shoulders,
To chest,
Out to the hand and spring back
Rock step inside turn Charleston
Flew me around
Swinging while I was anyone,
Because everyone else was everyone,
And we were all just Joy in masks and dresses.

I wanted to be a poet

I wanted to be a poet
so I wrote a lot of poems
they came from within my heart,
and I posted them on the internet
hoping someone famous
would read them and start
shouting about them.
But that didn't happen
so I followed a hundred people on twitter instead.

A Deadly Trick

One again, I forgot to write a poem yesterday. GAHH why am I so forgetful???? I don't know.
Anyway, here is my last poem of April.



Little vial sits in my bathroom,
full of thick orangey-yellow liquid.
I eye it warily, pick it up. It is
cool to the touch, a tiny glass vessel promising
one drop is all it takes.
I turn it over - read the label.
Dead ends are done when you use this magical
elixir.
Broken pieces are no more,
rough will not be a feeling that you are acquainted with.
Smooth sailing.
Perfection comes from within
my little deceiver.
Carefully -
oh, so carefully,
I unscrew the cap and lift
A drop of the potion clings to the underside of the lid -
fleeing the scene.
A smell reaches my nose from within -
dense and cloudy as I pour
a delicate amount onto the tip of my finger.
Just one
drop.
The liquid is gooey, heavy and belies the clear translucency
of itself and it's brainfoggy scent.
Momentarily, I am unsure of my decision.
"One drop,"
she'd said,
"it will fix everything."
I rub the goo between my fingers and inhale slowly.
This is it.
My break-offs, rough patches, dullness and split-ups
will be finished.
Carefully I do what she told me to,
distributing the solution evenly.
I want my hair to be beautiful.