Origami

"Welcome to the planet,"
the universe told me,
a humble paper square.

cradled in world's hands
I am flipped over, rotated,
examined quizzically.

suddenly two corners meet
and under the pressure of life's thumb
a new crease emerges
in my frail being.

Through each intricate moment
of bending and folding
I have been molded
into new life.

The Finale

The Finale

trekking over life's hills and valleys
my expectations have become few
broken dreams trail behind my
footprints in the sand

immune to better days
there is no cure
she pensively reflects
on how her life's come undone.

the soundless night rattles her
alone on stage
the dreary finale unfolds:
the hanging
the grave
the exit, stage left.

Milling Around In The Dark

shadows of people
I used to know
mill around in the dark.

"I'm sorry you're hurting so much right now," she says
resting a hand on my shoulder.
"it's okay." I choke out through tears.
"No." she responds sadly.
"It's not."

There is a loud sound
and suddenly a window is broken
and my hand is bloody.

"why?" they ask later
I shrug.
"in case of emergency, break glass."

Walking The Line

walking the line
between life and death
i waiver dangerously.

shadows reach up from the earth
wrapping their arms around me
luring me to go with them
into the dark.

death cradles me,
whispers lullabies that promise
better tomorrows

permanent solutions
to temporary problems
tempt me

no more debating.
no more questioning.
"sleep, sleep." death murmurs
and i drift off

Open Eyes

Walking down these city streets
i run my hand along the chain link fences
which keep me captive.

a sparrow soars over the ten foot barrier
and i wonder what it's like to be free.

The first tulip of spring startles me
the world is a painter's pallet of purples and greens.
of reds and blues and yellow.

uncovering my eyes the world is blurry
and i blink into the sun.

Whispered Interrogation

Whispered Interrogation

dank heralds
intrigue questions
that tangle on my tongue

in one of the disorders i have,
1 in 10 people commit suicide.

i think of graphic deaths longingly
wistfully praying
there are no more yesterdays
and no more tomorrows.

precious child,
why do you live in nocturnal heavens
and wakeful hells?

beautiful child,
on the eve of adulthood,
have you so soon lost the lust for life?

what has happened to the fighter
that once shone in your eyes?

Wrong Side Of The Ferry

In the muddled confusion of life my beliefs have, like a Polaroid picture, developed slowly into brilliant color.

My first therapist said I was like a native Spanish speaker who is suddenly living in Germany. "You can walk around Germany, screaming in Spanish, getting strange looks,” She said “Or you can get a German Spanish dictionary." But I don’t want to speak German. I like the way I am.

I am thirteen years old.

It is a sweltering summer afternoon in Paris and I have just arrived at the Eiffel Tower with my student ambassador group. Some of my friends are pairing off to wait in line to go to the top. Others are taking snapshots that will later be posted on social networking sites.

Meanwhile, I am lying flat on my back to take a picture that I imagine captures the view of a French ant.

How do you sum up a man? Is he the milestones of his life? His job? His accomplishments? His lover? Or is he something much more complex? A series of moments, sewn together by the passing of days and breaths and cups of coffee?

I didn’t compete in the Olympics or write a best selling book. I have however held the door open for women with strollers, sent anonymous valentines to kids I didn’t think would get any and served meals to senior citizens with a smile.

This I believe: Being different makes a difference. Break throughs come from people who break the mold. Everyone plays a role. Some of us are the leads, and some of us are in the choir but As Dr. Seuss said, “A person’s a person, no matter how small.”

I am fifteen years old.

It is November in New York City, a day of bitter cold that bites at your cheeks. I am sitting on the wrong side of the ferry passing Staten Island, making out with a girl I have just met in the freezing cold, yet somehow my heart is warm.

Some people may think I’m stubborn or lazy for not getting that dictionary, but I don't regret what I’ve experienced, and I think even a Spanish speaker in Germany can do good in this world.

I may not do anything that goes in the history books, but maybe just being alive and being myself would be incredible enough.

Things Left Unsaid

Even though we're on the phone
I'm looking down
To avoid your beautiful blue eyes.

You're a whirl wind of emotions.
joking, irritated, suicidal.
And suddenly as you ask
"Can you make it through the night?"
I'm no longer sure.

Something about your voice
cracks the dam of emotions
I've been keeping at bay.

Something about you makes me shatter
like an expensive vase

something about you
glues me back together

Walk Nicely

In the super market I hold a can
feeling its weight
and suddenly an hour has gone

The hands on the clock
jump and drag their feet
I talk to those hands as i might talk to a weary four year old

"Walk nicely, william."

Time is not teathered
to premeasured incriments.

I could write a memoir
about the time occupied
by a stranger's thoughtless blessing
after a sneeze

I scoff at the paper's obituaries
for I have lived and I have died
and never has my name appeared

"William, please.
walk like a big boy."