to take hold of suddenly or forcibly; to grasp

In middle school I did not have control of my life
I let others dictate my actions; thoughts
Puppet

He showed us dead poets society
That guy from Mork and Mindy
Putting words to my most secret yearnings

Now I control my universe
I own my failures
To make my successes more real.
I seized my life.

So why am I disappointed?
Because seizing the day is fucking impossible
The harder I grasp the quicker it slips away
Mork lied.

If I find a bag of gold coins
That turn out to be chocolate
Can I really be disappointed?

A Thought, In Passing

if while sick, sad, angry, frustrated, she still enchants me,

what else remains?

Opposite

What is the opposite of the tip of the tongue?
Buried beneath teeth, hidden harmlessly in the esophagus
Known but unwilling
Able but unaware

What is the opposite of being stuck in the back of the throat?
Hurled forward like javelins wobbling
Burdened objects midflight
Inaction meets unopposable force

The opposite of the nick of time is
Every other moment ever.
The opposite of beating a dead horse
Is a lot more complicated than bringing it back to life.

The Cheque Comes

As we creep closer to cliché:
I feel I must set straight some items on our tab.

Like the way I catch you looking at me
As we sit silently on the subway.
Or when we walk.
Or as I am absorbed in my plate of food.
And out of the corner of my eye I feel you
With a half-smile and photographic eyes.
Staring through my stupid serenity.
I must protest; my guard is not up around you.
You see my soul.

Like the laugh that tumbles
from your lips so frequently in my presence.
A noise so satisfying
That the ability to generate it
Is stupefying.

You ask me, sometimes:
(and I return the favor on occasion)
Doesn’t this or that scare me?
I tell you honestly:
When we are together nothing scares me
Except subway rats
And the perpetual danger of killer statues.

When we separate small doubts creep;
That scares me.
What spell have we cast that insulates my brain from fear?
The answer to that question lies in cliché:
And as I’ve said, there is a tab to be paid first.

What Are You Thinking

The table’s candle can’t burn fiercely enough to illuminate us beyond what the lights show
You smile a sort of half smile and break our gaze
I fixate on the way that your cheek curves to your chin
The way that your neck flexes lightly as you blush

The words come quicker now
To spend time with you is to feel warmth emanate from within
Burst forth from the deepest part of my form
Making me sleepy, full, content

You are at the center of my mind
Like a bonfire
When I move away from you
From here, from now
It gets cold and dark.

Worth It

A neon-orange inflexible plastic ball repeatedly smacks into my face.
The spectacular moment directly before impact, where silence exists but for the crinkling of leaves under my tensing shoulders.
I prepare for launch again.
One orb in each hand

I exhale

My left arm shoots up, weaker, less accurate. The sphere rolls off of my fingertips and soars upwards.
I am perfectly still

I inhale

My right arm shoots up, full of fury. Unleashed from my palm, the ball barely grazes my outstretched fingers.
Though both headed in the same direction, the first ball must sense its doom. Though travelling upwards still, gravity insists on imposing on its flight, and it slows.
My arms have both crashed down to my sides, and I brace for impact, the electrifying crack the flying globes make when one pushes the other higher in midair.
The intensity of the moment is too much. I squeeze my eyes shut and listen.

The balls miss each other, their trajectories simply off, a fact that eludes me in my child-like anticipation.
The first ball lands harmlessly a few feet to my left.

I open my eyes.

I exhale.

The second ball hits me in the face.

I inhale.

I start over.

For You

I didn’t do anything I wouldn’t have done
If I had never met you
This is who I am
This is how I’m happy

This is about you
But it isn’t for you
It isn’t for you

This wasn’t my plan
I was going to be in the city and single
and at peace
Ha
Peace

And now I replay every sentence I said
And I’ve already decided to hate how I acted
Yesterday I was the ideal boy
Today I’m clingy, insecure, too nice.
Today I trip over myself running from my feelings for you
Will you judge how quickly I turn back around
When you decide to call my name
I will.

Damn it.
This isn’t for you
But I’m writing it for you to see