At Disney

(Written on the train in Disneyland, CA)

Tired feet, yawning voices,
Softer tones, and stranger choices,
Tender gestures, sweet cool air,
Aching bodies, and messy hair:
All of these are simple things
That the place called Disney brings.
Empty wallets, sweaty shoes,
Interesting smells and social cues,
True colors that decide to show,
And children's faces that you know:
All of these are simple things
That the place called Disney brings.
Friendly smiles, glorious lights,
Scorching days and soft cool nights,
Calming rides, violent thrills,
Spins and loops and giant hills:
All of these are simple things
That the place called Disney brings.

The Listener (The Story, Part II)

(Only to be read after reading The Story.)

He holds out his hand, and gently,
He takes away her pen.
He wraps her up; he holds her tight,
Until she breathes again.

He wipes away her fallen tears;
He tells her she's all right.
He takes her by the shaking hand
And leads her to the light.

She breathes him in: his strength, his life
And leans on him for comfort.
He reminds her that life is long
And pain is comparatively short.

He's listened to her story.
He knows her fragile age.
He saw the breaking girl.
He dabbed tear stains off the page.

The Story

She writes a lovely story,
Especially for her age,
But her tale is true and tragic,
And there are tear stains on the page.

Her rhythm and rhyme are excellent;
Her word choice is supreme;
Her voice is held by grammar,
But she just wants to scream.

She spins a compelling web
Of plot-twists and despair.
Inside, she's broken, furious, sad,
And she's tearing out her hair.

She writes a lovely story,
Especially for her age,
But her tale, while true, is tragic,
And there are ink streaks on the page.

She uses words with poise and grace:
Words which never fail,
But she's breaking down in front of me
As she tells her tale.

She bears it long; she never speaks
Until it grows too late.
She's bending now, bound to break
Underneath its weight.

She tells a horrid story,
But there's one small surprise:
Despite the pain she's feeling
There's spirit in her eyes.

Blocked Out

The storm is loud;
The wrath of the sky is here,
But I have its furious screams
Blocked out by music in my ears.
The earth shakes;
The clouds flash and glow,
But I have the pulsing anger
Blocked out by rock and roll.
The growls of thunder are strong;
The roars of guitars are louder,
But I still fight to keep the sky
Blocked out by my headphones.

The world is loud.
My music is louder.
The storm is rough.
My beats are rougher.
The storm of life--
My music keeps me alive
Because I have the thunder
Blocked out.

Want to Believe

I want to believe
That you're just clueless.
I want it to be true.
I'd rather you be stupid than cruel.
I hope you're merely oblivious
To the damage you've caused
And that you can't really see it.
I want to believe
That you're immature,
Silly, teasing,
Rather than face the possibility
That you mean so much harm.
I want to believe
That you're not aware
Of the fact
That I am here, bleeding out.

Chain Reaction

Like steps in a list,
Instructions on a page,
One thing after another,
First this, then that.
An event triggers an incident
Which in turn triggers an occasion
Which creates another event
To start the process over.
A chain reaction
To kill us all.
A cause, its effects.
Effects which become causes
In and of themselves.
A chain reaction
To wipe us out.
Events of old
Twisting those of today
And of tomorrows.
A chain reaction
To break us down.

Territory

This is my Territory, my place, my land.
This is my Territory, familiar to my feet.
This is my Territory, where I've worked with my hands.
This is my Territory, and I know the land underneath.

But now I'm being dragged away,
Against my will, against my strength,
And nobody knows what to say,
So there's silence, distance, length.