Projects that are better seen than heard

The thin line between blind faith and vigilante justice is a fingers-crossed, knock-on-wood, salt over the shoulder trust in karma. Full circle, an eye for an eye; the universe's one and only speeding ticket. And so, my arches are pressed into the tightrope of cosmic justice, And I'm balancing on the edge of yoga-mom, kale-drinking, "I've put it behind, me, I'm done," And ugly tears, PTSD, "why the hell should I have to learn coping mechanisms when you're the one who hurt me?!" Breathless, grey-area, balancing. Why don't people's sins show in their faces? Why do rotten people get to go to beautiful places? Where's the karma in that?

228,132 is quite a large number, quite large indeed Two hundred and twenty eight thousand, one hundred and thirty two words in the English language, Or the dictionary, at least 20% is a relatively large percentage, Depending on how large 100% is. If 20% of the population of the world, Which is impossible to tell for certain but is thought to be around 7.442 billion, Had eyes that were blue, green or hazel, 20% would be rather large, Rather large indeed. If I told you I would give you 20% of my attention, It would not be relatively big, And I would be most definitely rude, And it would be quite impossible, as being in a room with you Captures roughly 110% of my attention, anyway. 20% of nearly a quarter million words in the Oxford dictionary are no longer in use; Old phrases, gracing the lips of people who will never be remembered or who, quite possibly, will be remembered far longer than I will be. Archaic words, discarded and retired to the book shelf To collect a fine layer of dust like a delicate blanket Crocheted by someone who is far more patient than I am. There’s a point to this poem, which, in this case, was not to rhyme. I was simply thinking that No matter how many words I write, or how many combinations of the 228,132 words in the dictionary I can’t seem to express how light you make my heart. Perhaps I should learn That extra 20% of the words in the dictionary, because Metaphors made of 80% of words stretch too thin to cover the surface area of what I think of you. And 80% Is quite a lot, Indeed.

When you rest your forehead on mine, I feel that I have known you in a life I don’t remember living. I hope I did. I hope I met you at a bus stop, and you saw me standing and smiled because you knew me without even knowing my name. I hope I met you at a supermarket, and I bagged your groceries, and you came back every day To buy cereal, or milk, or batteries That you didn’t need. I hope I met you as a bird, That you sang for me, and woke up the neighbourhood. I hope I can write you a poem to tell you all the ways I hope I’ll meet you again, But, my love, I don’t know enough words.

Time card. She punched out, You punched in If my tooth had been loose, I'm certain your tongue would have knocked it into my mouth. Night shift. You say "goodnight", But I won't be sleeping for hours, You've forgotten that often I feel I would rather burn my bed Than lay where you let my Tears slide down your thighs And said "Don't stop." Staff meeting. Every time I try and talk about you I lose words from each sentence They get caught in my throat They always have. I found it was easier to tell you "not now" than "no". Overtime. Don't you think That when you tell someone you love them You shouldn't feel as if it it is expected? If you used "I love you" as currency You would have surely Flooded your own economy. Your dollar is worthless. I would rather burn it for fuel. Paycheque. When does the good part come? Before or after You took my trust like soft fruit in your hand And squeezed because You wanted to see the colour of the juice? I keep my eyes closed when I can, But I'm afraid I've already missed whatever made it worth it. Resignation. I thought I didn't like to be touched. I learned that it was you. Help wanted. I suppose you aren't picky. Credentials include A heartbeat Legs to spread And Bad at saying no. Bankruptcy. I heard selfish people live longer. Enjoy your extra years. I thought leaving you was selfish, When it was the nicest thing I had done for myself In ages My dear. For the sake of Anyone looking to put in time, I hope nobody walks through your door For as long as you run That run down store.

I can count on my fingers the number of people who have felt infinite in my life That is to say, not many, my love. My mother, my father, perhaps a handful of people I imagined to keep me company when I needed someone like you By infinite, I mean constant, with no doubt, second thoughts or warranties Perhaps a couple of people I thought would want to stay with me for longer than they intended, but I suppose I needed someone a little more concrete to steady me, keep me company, keep me on my feet When cement is first set, any number of small animals can choose to wander into it, sinking into the cautiously smoothed perfection Leaving a mark that just won't go away. A footprint just delicate enough for me to spin in my mind like a worry stone, Until it is smooth like a marble. Some concrete cracks after it is set, or its torn up because of a surplus of small creatures wandering into its orbit, little mistakes that simply can't allow it to last. But in my life I have set a number of sidewalks, I can count them on my hands Cement that stays smooth, has been walked over but still shows no intention of splitting. You are my handful, you are my cement I would never wish to tear up That is to say, I hope you'll stay.

I'm in love with the idea of love. Infatuation is my talent when romance fails to meet my expectations, I never fail to lower them. Flawlessly executing the excitement of romance while entertaining the intimidation of love. It's easy to lower the bar, she does the limbo with me. Somewhere in-between lovers and strangers- She turns off her phone, An inch lower. Actively avoiding the idea of actual association with me, She ducks down. Cutting her out of me is like operation- Always getting so close but too afraid of the buzz of touching her to sever my ties Offering appeasement over self respect Lower still she manages to slide. Growing roots in me without coming near give her sunlight, she invades my thoughts. Tripping over social cues as if its a playground, Bouncing dodge balls off of my insides. Getting her attention is keep away, And her affection is freeze tag. Unconditionally cold and claiming that commitment is too much of a stop and go. I'm the only constant. She's in purgatory between absolute avoidance and mild annoyance, Finding new ways to keep our limbo constant. Lets hope by the time my pole hits the floor she'll be done with this nonsense.

they are lukewarm, and soft like wet silk, with fingers stained green from cerulean hair dye and cigarettes she is taking a handful of my hips, my neck, my hair the sea has a tendency to bite me and lick my wounds with salt “when did your hands become colder than the water?” She sees me, disapproval frozen in her face, she says, “Come sit closer, maybe you can warm me up.”

Dearest, my love, Open yourself- not all who wonder will ask. Taste people’s teeth and remember how it feels to spin. In every waltz, one must make the first step, and without asking for a dance you will just have to watch. You have more flaws than you have fingers, its more fun when you stop counting. There are more opportunities for change if you share, and it is better to have slipped than to have never danced. To you; With every pirouette you turn another cheek, leaping and believing you will be caught. How can you expect others to respect you if you refuse to protect yourself? You are a bad judge of character, I’m sorry, you are, giving the best pieces of yourself away to anyone whose look lingers. Of course I remember spinning, but I can’t forget how it felt to fall.

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Oh honey! You can't imagine what you do to me! Oh honey! You can't imagine what you've done! It's funny, How you think I'm the Earth and you're my sun! It's funny, oh honey You've slipped in my thoughts and down my arms Pooled at my feet Its funny! I'm dripping with honey and you're still not sweet