Modeled off of "secret laughter" by Charles Bukowski

the depths of my heart are

inaccessible to the simple minded

who can't look

or even conceive to admire the chasm

they wouldn't believe

how bottomless

it really must be.

in much the same way

an ocean seems to stretch eternally,

my love is limitless.

yet it's inappreciable to many,

"in much the same way

as the average person

will not believe a great painting"- C.B.

Modeled off of "Democracy" by Charles Bukowski

the problem, of course, isn't what you said on December 2nd, 2008,

it's the

reaction I had which makes up the sensitive person's plight.

the next person you raise your voice to,

multiply

his or

her response by

2 or 6 or 80 or 100 million

and you will estimate

approximately

why things hit me so hard

in all

situations.

I wish I had a cure for the softness

you call weakness...

we've undergone any number of familial

efforts

and I remain

fragile enough to cry

at the smallest little confrontation.

Now,

what is the cure

for this paralyzing

gentleness?

well maybe

the problem never was that I didn't let the crust form around me

or fence myself in. the problem is

you.

the day the flowers died- modeled off of "A Smile to Remember"

I had flowers and they sat pretty and proud

in the vase on the table next to my bed

reminding me of the truth in gesture and

you, always trying, wanting the world

yet nothing at all, you say "smile,"

in so many words-- more like "smile for me": it's different

to smile for someone than it is to smile just to smile.

but the flowers sucked up all that powdered water and dried up rather quickly while

I let go of choosing for a little bit because I couldn't

decide in my state of such childlike intensity.

you, poor soul

wanting to be loved, choosing the next best thing,

like a flower saying pick me pick me

why don't you pick me?

and then you would disappear, to keep the distance, and it was the

strangest distance I ever felt

one day the flowers died, the whole bouquet,

they drooped over the side of vase, their

petals still attached to the pistil,

and when I realized they were no longer lovely I picked off the petals

one by one saying He loves me He loves me

Not

Charles Bukowski- "A Smile to Remember"

we had goldfish and they circled around and around in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes covering the picture window and my mother, always smiling, wanting us all to be happy, told me, 'be happy Henry!' and she was right: it's better to be happy if you can but my father continued to beat her and me several times a week while raging inside his 6-foot-two frame because he couldn't understand what was attacking him from within. my mother, poor fish, wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a week, telling me to be happy: 'Henry, smile! why don't you ever smile?' and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the saddest smile I ever saw one day the goldfish died, all five of them, they floated on the water, on their sides, their eyes still open, and when my father got home he threw them to the cat there on the kitchen floor and we watched as my mother smiled

an attempt at rendering this poetic

I made it through the workday and drove to you

an hour and a half in traffic

stop & go, my brake-light out,

two left lanes closed on 95,

and there was a utility vehicle blocking the right lane on Route 1. Yet,

I had to get to you, I had to let it be known--

As I rounded the corner to your apartment complex you texted me

you were about to get into the shower. Just come in, you said, even though you know I don't like to go in anywhere without knocking.

Through the rain I walked up the steps to your apartment, Tupperware and present in hand.

I walked in and your roommates were playing video-games on the couch.

I folded the clothes in disarray on your bed while I waited for you in your room.

I changed the station to Spongebob and got under your covers.

Eventually, you came in and put on a pair of underwear.

Childlike, you immediately picked up your gift,

you started tearing the paper.

You put it on right away, the tie I had bought for you.

Then your phone rang. You went outside because you had no service,

still in your underwear. Your roommates contemplated locking you out there.

I stayed in your room under the covers, in my raincoat. You were gone for awhile.

You drove us to the Bobby Flay restaurant, angrily like usual.

You're a very angry driver--driving is just something you have to do, another thing you have to do.

We met your parents there, your dad gave you a hug and kissed your cheeks. How Italian was that? I felt out of the loop, not a drop of Italian blood in my body.

Then he gave me a hug for the first time in 3 years, it was weird--I tried to hug from the side because I didn't want to get my makeup on his all-black coat and shirt.

Looking back, perhaps he read that as coldness. I hope not. Just another source of anxiety.

Then your mom came over from the bathroom (I guess?) and she gave you a long hug, too, and kissed your cheeks, too. My parents are truly unaffectionate compared to yours--never realized this before. She gave me a hug and kissed my cheek too.

Maybe they do like me, I contemplated...

Your dad orders a dark chocolate milkshake, accidentally knocks it over on the table once we have sat down. He uses his spoon to get it up and says "What, I paid 5$ for this thing?" You don't look mortified like you did the first time I met them.

We say goodbye to your parents--

We go to cross the street and you give me a kiss on the forehead while we wait for a lull in traffic.

You keep saying "best birthday ever" "all the people I love" and things like that,

and we stop in the liquor store--Jack Daniels Honey--the asian man at the counter asks for your ID. "That's today" he says and gives you a free glass "Happy Birfday" he says, and you're happy.

Some girl almost backs into you as we walk to your car

Instinctively I pull you by the arm closer to me, away from the car--

you remark something about maternal instincts. I don't know why this makes me cringe every time you mention it.

We go back to your apartment, turn on the tv,

and we kiss a lot and I'm glad you're not sick of kissing me.

Eventually you walk me to my car and we kiss some more.

Then it's time for me to brace the long, rainy drive home.

I shoot you a text while I'm waiting to make the U-Turn--"I hope you had the best birthday ever"

No response until midnight thirty, when I'm home and asleep.

his 21st birthday outing--remembering details, poeticized later

it was a Wednesday night--your 21st birthday

I made it through the workday and drove to you

an hour and a half in traffic

stop & go, a brake-light out,

tractor-trailer overturned,

two left lanes closed on 95,

a utility vehicle blocking the right on route 1. yet,

I had to get there--I had to let it be known--

as I rounded the corner to your apartment complex you texted me

you were about to get into the shower. Just come in, you said.

So I made it up the steps with your wrapped present and homemade treat.

through the rain I walked into your apartment, your roommates were playing video-games on the couch.

I walked past the bathroom--you peaked out abruptly--hi!

I laughed, you laughed, we laughed.

I folded the clothes on your bed while I waited in your room.

I changed the station to Spongebob and got under your covers.

You came in and put on a pair of underwear. You immediately picked up your gift,

you started tearing the paper. I told you to sit down for this.

You put on the tie I had chosen for you...just a tie and underwear.

Then your phone rang. You went outside because you had no service,

still in your underwear. Your roommates contemplated locking you out there.

I stayed in your room under the covers, in my raincoat.

You drove us to the Bobby Flay restaurant, angrily like usual.

You're a very angry driver--driving is just something you have to do, another thing you have to do.

We met your parents there, your dad gave you a hug and kissed your cheeks. How italian was that? I felt out of the loop, not a drop of italian blood in my body.

Then he gave me a hug for the first time in 3 years, it was weird--I tried to hug from the side because I didn't want to get my makeup on his all-black coat and shirt. Looking back, perhaps he read that as coldness. I hope not.

Then your mom came over from the bathroom (I guess?) and she gave you a long hug, too, and kissed your cheeks, too. My parents are truly unaffectionate compared to yours--never realized this before. She gave me a hug and kissed my cheek too. We were wearing almost the same earrings.

I order, feeling uncomfortable that they were paying for me.

You know I don't like burgers--I get a griddled cheese.

Your dad orders a dark chocolate milkshake, accidentally knocks it over on the table once we have sat down. He uses his spoon to get it up and says "What, I paid 5$ for this thing?" You don't look mortified, I'm surprised. I laugh.

I actually ate my grilled cheese without feeling nervous this time, out with your parents I usually can't eat much because I'm too nervous.

We say goodbye to your parents--more new hugs--and you tell them about your weekend plans.

Your mom asks me if I'm spending the night-- you say "She has class tomorrow" and she says to drive safely.

We cross the street--jay-walking, technically--and you give me a kiss on the forehead while we wait for a lull in traffic.

You keep saying "best birthday ever" "all the people I love" and things like that,

and we went to the liquor store--Jack Daniels Honey--the asian man at the counter asks for your ID. "That's today" he says and gives you a free glass "Happy Birfday" he says, and you're happy.

Some girl almost backs into you as we walk to your car

Instinctively I pull you by the arm closer to me, away from the car--

you remark something about maternal instincts. Idk why this makes me cringe every time.

We go back to your apartment, turn on the tv,

I'm wearing the red lace...

and we kiss a lot and I'm glad you're not sick of kissing me.

Eventually you walk me to my car and we kiss some more.

Then it's time for me to brace the long, rainy drive home.

I shoot you a text while I'm waiting to make the U-Turn--"I hope you had the best birthday ever"

No response until midnight thirty, when I'm home and asleep.

work in progress--not finished yet

I tell myself "just get through the day,"

drowning the silence with some david gray.

pray for a bottle of wine,

curse myself-- I just need a makeshift novocaine

from time to time.

sitting on the couch with you and your roommates,

it distressed me how I couldn't connect

sometimes I feel so separate from the norm

I wasn't nervous, just wondering why I can't...

and did it embarrass you?

I hope not. I feel my heart sink to my knees

at the thought.

There's just never enough time in the day to put out the best I've got.

torturing myself

a few small bumps in the road (cliche, substitute later)

and I am completely and utterly neurotic.

a family member gets sick,

and suddenly I think I'm fat. What's the deal with that?

a few delayed responses in a text-message conversation

and I'm not desirable--I'm average, girls like me a dime a dozen.

DEEP DOWN I know this is not true.

It's just a phase I need to get through,

a brief stint of depression (I hope it will be brief)

until I can appreciate my life again, myself again.

How do I get over the hump (cliche, substitute later)

and on with my life?

Not knowing the answer is what makes me panic.

I have to get out of my own head.