tell me something else

tell me about the tsunami trapped behind your glassy left eye
tell me how the waves strip you naked everyday
but the volcano erupted years ago
and the sky is still roaring
your heart is still shaking
tell me how the death toll is forty-four
but the population has always been one
tell me how the waves rise faster than you can swim towards dry land
so you raise your white flag
but it's transparent to roaming eyes
and invisible to shadowy search parties

tell me how you keep your eyes open because you want to see your destruction in all its glow

and feel your edges as you're swallowed whole

tell me about the wildfire burning in your dry right eye

tell me how it's 0% contained

and the wind is blowing in all directions

tell me how the smokejumpers gave up on you when the fire was small

and you gave up on yourself before you saw the sparks

tell me how the planes flew right over you because the whole world is burning to the ground

and it was too late for any solace

tell me how you're ashes and dust

tell me how you're pulverized

but the cinders still spell out S.O.S

tell me how the smoke doesn't care about your plea

tell me how you think this is hell but you never believed in heaven

tell me about the stars on your tongue
tell me how they itch to radiate their light
because someone once told you they're beacons
but your lips refuse to give them that freedom
and the staircase in your throat
is getting steeper and more jagged for words to climb
tell me how it's not a civil war anymore because your heart has always lived in Antarctica
and your mind is somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle

tell me about the dried blood in your flaring right nostril

and the sunny-side up ooze in your raw left one

tell me about the wild jungle in your left ear

and how the eyeless sounds multiply when you think you've stumbled upon a clearing

tell me about the salty sea in your right ear

and how you're made of erosion

tell me how the carelessness gets you more than effort ever has

tell me something

tell me anything

because the quiet can be savage

and you keep stepping on pins and needles

reaching for a rush

reaching for a reason

your shoulder blades more familiar to me than the color of your eyes

and I'll keep following you

I'll be right behind you

waiting for something

waiting for anything

i apologize in advance

A little while ago, I looked at Bing's image of the day on my Windows phone and saw a wonderfully eccentric beautiful birdy.  It turns out that the bird's name is 'blue-footed booby' and I don't know if it's immaturity or the weirdly giddy mood I was in, but needless to say, I laughed and laughed and laughed.  And that night, my family and I went to eat sushi at a place called 'Wasabi' and I thought my dad was joking when he said that was the name of the restaurant and I laughed and laughed.  The sushi and service were lovely but I am so puerile.  And ten seconds ago I had no clue what that word meant but I love looking for synonyms for other words and finding out what they mean and how they're related but never the same.  While we were eating sushi, I showed my family the picture of the blue-footed booby and built up the suspense before telling them its name but when I did they weren't as amused as I thought they'd be.  I was thinking of Drake and Josh too, because Megan called them 'boobs' a lot.  I call my brother 'butt' a lot.  I feel incredibly silly for this post.

So I kind of did some spur of the moment online research on the blue-footed booby and found that 'booby' comes from the Spanish word 'bobo' which means stupid fellow, clown, fool, etc.  Named so because they're a bit clumsy on land and they're not scared of humans.  I saw this short YouTube video of a smaller male blue-footed booby being rejected by a larger female one.  She just didn't like his dance moves I guess.  The poor fella.  And over the course of a two days, I've fallen in love.  I feel like it wouldn't be an insult, but kind of maybe like an endearment if I affectionately said to someone, "Oh, you blue-footed booby".  I don't know what response that would get.  I'll get back to you.  Actually, in all honesty, I probably will never say that out loud.

I'm not sure why I feel embarrassment creeping up whenever I'm on the verge of saying "I absolutely love watching MTV's Teen Wolf and The Challenge".  There's nothing to be ashamed of.  Stiles is the best and Isaac please come back and CT's beard is lush.  And I guess while I'm on the matter of not-too-shabby looking, sigh-inducing, amazing actors, I should say that I love Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Thomas Brodie-Sangster.  Maybe I just need to sit on a bench with a guy who listens to The Smiths and yell "PENIS" at the top of my lungs.  There's nothing to be ashamed of.  Okay, truthfully, I'm embarrassed for myself for all this random stuff I'm putting out there.

If you've got a secret vendetta against me because of a small reason or no reason, I have something to say to you:

I will mess you up.

With weird but changed smiles because apparently there is valid evidence from old photographs that I didn't know how to smile as a youngster.  I also have sufficiently large teeth and I remember in James Franco's Roast, someone said something along the lines of, 'Andy Samberg's teeth are so big, that each is a lonely island', and it was awful but I couldn't help but laugh, and I feel like that sometimes.  But back to messing you up.  I will smile at you and I will mean it and I'll create the most awkward bubble of silence because I never know what to say.  It might make you uneasy and it'll make me uneasy too.  But that's okay.  No ill will, no apathy.  It's okay if you hate me though, I hate me too.  That was the wrong closer.

And that ladies and gents, is a comeback to a nonexistent insult.  An odd, terrible, late-night, unrealistic, doozy comeback.

forget about because

your straying seconds will sway to the beat of a tap routine you never attempted to learn
your tap shoes were two sizes too small
and there was no room to practice at home
and everyone learning was so much younger
and you kept falling behind anyways

those swaying seconds will swing to the motion of the home run baseball you could never hit
the pitcher threw too hard
and you ran too slow
and they pointed and laughed
and you were always picked last
and the bench was there for you

those swinging seconds will stomp to the marks of a painting you never finished
you didn't have the right shade of azure
and the artist's block kept hitting you
and the brushes were too frayed
and you hated what you saw
and starting over was out of the question
and another unfinished piece wouldn't leave a dent

those stomping seconds will startle at the sound of your shadow running away
and stutter at a picture of your seconds wasted away
coming up with a because
and
and
and
and
and
and

and the polaroid picture will go with your makeshift burial of regrets
and your swaying, straying, swinging, stomping seconds will cease to wake
resting just under the surface
just out of grasp
waiting for you to forget about your because

and you'll remember in the eleventh hour
your last words
and your whispered reasons

nothing was ever enough


I was never enough



but you are

wholeheartedly I believe that


but I'm tired of telling myself

only when I'm not looking in the mirror



there's the faltering and the hesitating and the apprehension

and there's the do it anyways

and lately, tomorrow's been feeling closer than yesterday