there's something that's inside us
and it's killed my sense of wonder
made me feel as though i've failed tonight
even when i thought i'd found the light

i see the full force of my hypocrisy
and yet i've still no remorse
forgivess flows as from a fount
from the depths of the well i'll haunt

audrey II

there is so much more to life
than who is sleepin' by your side
there is so much more to know
than those tears you shed at night

why can't you see
can't you see
how beautiful you are
to Him and to me

and i know you know just how
poor those boys, they're treatin' you
from a fit of rage, then it comes late
you sink down to the deepest blue

why can't you see
can't you see
how beautiful you are
to Him and to me

and i know that your fighting with your past
and i know that you think that love can't last
but i also know there's one thing
that's never let me down
and it's the man wearing your thorns as His crown

so why can't you see
can't you see
how beautiful you are
to Him and to me

because if you could see
the way we see
you'd know how beautiful you are
and you'd be free
©

i stood up to write a poem about
this shit i heard the other day
but my heart became so heavy
i fell back, i couldn't find the words to say

bin laden had nothing to do with 9/11
or so says the CIA

so go ahead and look it up and tell me
just what we're supposed to do when
we can't trust the people we give power
the people we didn't really even choose

and if we can't trust them about that
can we trust them about this
when they tell us we need a new
flatscreen or fake tits
when they tell you that you ugly
inadequate or gay shit.

tell me why it's unamerican to want to
stop bein' a whore
cuz when you buy into this shit it looks
like you're selling something more

but wait-i love this country, i do. at least
i keep being told that.

i just wonder what's the price of freedom
that makes 'em hate us if that makes sense
how much do we really need 'em?

this shit we ingest daily
while we feed into the machine
that villainizes everyone that don't believe them
when they tell us what we need

yeah i'd like a new fucking ipod and i'd like
to eat some fucking meat
but compassion takes some sacrifice or
it ain't compassion. can't you see
that it takes nothing of yourself
to give what you just fuckin' got for free

freely you received, and freely give
what do you have that you've really earned?
work twelve hours, six, or none
doesn't change what you deserve
maybe if you were born down the fucking street
then you wouldn't have the nerve

to tell jesus that you're poor
that you can't spare a dollar today
that you have to buy it cheap because
ethics sure as hell don't pay
can i really say i'm poor when
my silver spoon it gets a chip?
and i'm not sayin give away your shit
oh wait that is what i'm tryin to say
jesus told you to fuckin' do it.
what's the delay?

do you think jesus would own an ipod
or go to war or vote for bush
would he wear clothes that're made by slaves
and i wonder would he push

a man he knows and loves and died for
into a lake of smoldering fire
i don't know or i wouldn't ask but
that's not the god for whom i perspire cuz

i'm workin out here trying to live this life
and it's work to not believe what you've been told
i don't believe that it takes money or status
or a woman or religion or hatred or judgement
to reach the fuckin' goal

cuz i'm content now with just
the beauty of the trees
and in our heartbeats and our souls
and sharing something real something
that you can't see on TV

it's love man. and that's the price
it's what it takes to do what's right
and you'll never find it on sale at kmart
sittin under the blue light

because there's nothing else so sacred
over which more righteous battles have been fought
so if you want to do anything that you think that jesus did
it's going to take some time, some money, some sacrifice,
if you want to do what's right it ain't gonna be easy
or convenient. it's gonna take all that you got.

don't stop walking

don't stop walking, and please start talking,
though we're in this together we can still be alone

if our voices aren't lifting
and just through sand we're sifting;
searching, seeking, uncover, and then you'll grow.

when they said what they did
and we tried not to listen,
when they wrote what they
wrote with a bone for a pen,
in a tomb, on a trail
and they knew what would glisten,
and it wasn't gold,
my friends,
it wasn't gold at all.

because he came and he served,
and he lived and he died,
and we didn't get it.
and we don't get it.
and we'll never get it
if we stop walking
if we stop talking.

if we're not lifting
our voices,
if we're not making
the choices

that we,
our generation,
has been called to make,

then we're raping our wives,
and car-bombing our hives,
and this bloodless
confrontation
will erupt with rage.

because we have the choice
and finally, we have the voice.
because for hundreds of years
it's been denied us,

and we have the teacher,
and when we become the preacher,
we can see for ourselves
that it's ok to trust.

and when they said what they did
and we tried not to listen,
and when they wrote what they wrote
with a bone for a pen,
in a tomb, on a trail,
fellas,
they knew what would glisten.
and my brothers,
it wasn't gold at all.

so now they're talking, and so are we.
and now we're listening intently.
and now we're walking alongside
those prophets of old.

so now their writings come alive
and we skip, and we turn, and we jive
and now we're walking alongside
those prophets of old.

and when we write magic words
that spill from our hearts,
who will need a bone or a pen?

in the halls, in a classroom,
people will start to listen
when jesus starts speaking from
the mouth of a man.

and i'm that man.
and you're that man.

because we haven't stopped walking,
and we haven't stopped talking,
and we'll never stop walking,
and we'll never stop talking.

free

there is so much more to life
than who is sleepin' by your side
there is so much more to know
than those tears you shed at night

why can't you see
can't you see
how beautiful you are
to Him and to me

and i know you know just how
poor those boys, they're treatin' you
from a fit of rage, then it comes late
you sink down to the deepest blue

why can't you see
can't you see
how beautiful you are
to Him and to me

and i know that your fighting with your past
and i know that you think that love can't last
but i also know there's one thing
that's never let me down
and it's the man wearing your thorns as His crown

so why can't you see
can't you see
how beautiful you are
to Him and to me

because if you could see
the way we see
you'd know how beautiful you are
and you'd be free

90% of things on here are rough drafts that i never finished

there is so much more to life
than who is sleepin' by your side
there is so much more to know
than those tears you shed at night

why can't you see
can't you see
how beautiful you are
to me

and i know you know just how
poor those boys, they're treatin' you
from a fit of rage, then it comes late
and you sink down to the deepest blue

why can't you see
can't you see
how beautiful you are
to Him and me

and i know that your fighting with your past
and i know that you think that love can't last
but i also know there's one thing
that's never let me down
and it's the man wearing your thorns as a crown

so why can't you see
can't you see
how beautiful you are
to Him and me

because if you could see
the way we see
you'd know how beautiful you are
and you'd be free

I blended the last two together into this

a stark and telling moon is rising slowly over us
i tremble slightly with the pressure, lacking the necessary trust
what was created to be beautiful has now a sick, perverted grin
while our bodies work their magic i am drowning in the din

and you said, "oh oh oh
but i think it might be true"
and i said, "even so i can't do this to you"
then i said, "oh oh oh
but i think that she's the one"
even more
even more how will i feel
when this is done

the startling dysfunction then, of reason, of my brain
had trickled down a silent, agonizing, piercing pain
it found its way directly to the center of my chest
the point of this selfishness was pleasure, but all i felt was regret

and you said, "oh oh oh
but i think it might be true"
and i said, "even so i can't do this to you"
but i said, "oh oh oh
i think that she's the one"
even more
even more how will i feel
when this is done

two months later we pretend that we've got it all together
and i'm so sorry ______, but there are storms we cannot weather
i miss you now and i'll miss you then and this decision is so hard to make
but when time has passed, and our friendship lasts, we'll know it was not a mistake

and you said, "oh oh oh
but i think it might be true"
and i said, "even so i can't do this to you"
but i said, "oh oh oh
i think that she's the one"
even more
even more how will i feel
when this is done

and i think i'm scared of forgiveness
i don't think i deserve it
if i make myself out the villain
then you can push on through it

because it doesn't make sense
to give up when the getting's good
we can't see the consequences
like lovers ever could

and you said, oh oh oh
i think it might be true
and i said
even so i can't do this to you
but then i said, oh oh oh
i think she's the one
even more how will i feel
when this is done

and it wasn't the first time,
but it would be the last
i trembled with the pressure
i felt it deep within my chest

we shared what was reserved
for lovers closer intertwined
instead of pleasure at this selfishness
regret was the first thing on my mind

and you said, oh oh oh
i think it might be true
and i said
even so i can't do this to you

but then i said, oh oh oh
i think she's the one
even more how will i feel
when this is done

i woke up in a cold sweat
your beauty still nearby
never knew it would be this hard
to simply say goodbye

rough

a stark and telling moon is rising slowly over us
i tremble slightly with the pressure, lacking the necessary trust
what was created to be beautiful has now a sick, perverted grin
while our bodies work their magic i am drowning in the din

it was not the only time that i had sheepishly proposed
that you would smiling stand before me, naked and disrobed
a that moment, an all-consuming torrent had prepared to begin
to crushingly remind me the severity of our sin

and you said
oh oh oh
but i think it might be true
and i said
even so i can't do this to you
but i said
oh oh oh
i think she is the one
even more
even more how will i feel
when this is done

the startling dysfunction then, of reason, of my brain
had trickled down a silent, agonizing, piercing pain
it found its way directly to the center of my chest
the point of this selfishness was pleasure, but all i felt was regret

i woke up in a dark, cold sweat, with beauty still nearby
i cuddled closer still and then began to shake and cry
because i knew that had at this point, now, my caring truly for you begun
i would never again do to you what i had eagerly just done

thou mayest

thou mayest, thou must
make the choice.
but be more that certain it's
the right one-
if you're like my aunt, you'll
have realized that life is
quite a bit shorter than is
capable of really ever being
imagined,
so make the choice.
thou mayest.
it's, yeah, what makes us
what we are, that ability
so make the choice
and choose well
and don't factor in your emotions
they flee
faster than is
capable of really ever being
imagined
so make the choice
thou mayest
and whether or not you've been
inside her, whatever that
means to you or whether
it means anything to her
or whether you have the chance
to get there again
shouldn't, can't possibly
interfere because with matters
of the heart
it's better to use
your head
instead.
thou mayest.
thou must.

Goodbye, my lover

I used to treasure you as a diamond
I used to cradle you in my arms
I used to love you unconditionally
I used to protect you from harm.
I've not spoken to you in weeks
I've not seen your face in months
I've not kept up with your happenings
I've not conversed with you even once
I thought that you were truthful
I thought you wanted to be friends
I thought we had no hope together
I thought this wasn't how it'd end.

i'm sorry stephanni

g d em d
a stark and telling moon is rising slowly over us
i tremble slightly with the pressure, lacking the necessary trust
what was created to be beautiful has now a sick, perverted grin
while our bodies work their magic i am drowning in the din

and you said
oh oh oh
but i think it might be true
and i said
even so i can't do this to you

the startling dysfunction then, of reason, of my brain
had trickled down a silent, agonizing, piercing pain
it found its way directly to the center of my chest
the point of this selfishness was pleasure, but all i felt was regret

and you said
oh oh oh
but i think it might be true
and i said
even so i can't do this to you
but i said
oh oh oh
i think she is the one
even more
even more how will i feel
when this is done

two months later we pretend that we've got it all together
soon you'll see, darling, there are storms we cannot weather
i miss you now and i'll miss you then and this decision is so hard to make
but when time has passed, and our friendship lasts, we'll know it was not a mistake

and you said
oh oh oh
but i think it might be true
and i said
even so i can't do this to you
but i said
oh oh oh
i think she is the one
even more
even more how will i feel
when this is done

Disenchanted rough draft

When I disappoint you
(because, surely, I will),
how will you respond?

I know that;
I'm pretty sure that (I mean,
I think I know myself
relatively well,
and I mean,
I have past experience
to look on, and like
your professor told you,
past behaviour
dictates
future behaviour),
at some point,
I won't stick up for you
and
I'll know immediately afterward
that I should have,
but
salvage-able
the situation will not be;

I know
that at some point
I'll say the completely
wrong
thing
and
you'll grimace: that brief--
fleeting because
you won't want to let me see
your disappointment
but I'll have seen it for sure
because it's never
that I'm not, at least
surreptitiously,
watching
creeping
admiring you
but that
heartbreaking
facial expression
that just says
so much more than any of your
disappointed yet
face-saving words
could ever;

and
at some point it's going
to become apparent
to you
that I
am not all that I'm
cracked up to be
and how,
and how will you respond?
And how will we get on?

Road to Recovery

He never thought someone would come along
and show him the feelings he's always dreamed of.
She didn't plan on falling in love;
upset the balance she's wanted so long.

This road to recovery has taken all I have.
It seems hard; as I try,
I succumb once again.

Well, he lost control, and gave up his heart.
To follow the girl that he's always dreamed of.
She pulled away, so scared of a love
that might have been more than she had planned on.

This road to recovery has taken all I have.
It seems hard; as I try,
I succumb once again.

Well love is a bitch, all relationships end.
What happens now, when that person's gone?
The one who you thought you could always count on?
You fall in love, and they fall out.
Love is a bitch. All relationships end.

How do I let go of a love that meant so much to me?
How do I go on when you're part of me?
I'm dying inside each time I see you.
Don't lose sight of me, 'cause you're all I see.
You're still all I see.
This road to recovery has taken all I have.

©Rufio "Road to Recovery"

Road to Recovery by Elliott Jones


Natalie hesitated, shoebox in hand. Slowly, a reticent half-smile formed from her lips as she held up the shoebox and let it dangle precariously over the tacky Target© trash bin that sat in the corner of her bedroom. She felt as though she were Scar, claws extended, gazing down at Mufasa during arguably the most intense scene from her favourite Disney film, The Lion King—offering the shoebox a few seconds of agonizing self-contemplation before it was to be released to that plastic purple abyss. After a slight pause, though, she decided better of the betrayal—at least tentatively—and using her free hand rolled her also tacky, also purple computer chair over to where she had up until that point been standing. She rescued the shoebox from its demise by sitting down and placing it on her lap. She then traced over the white letters that decorated the top of the shoebox with her index finger, while simultaneously crunching her eyebrows together and tugging at her bottom lip with her teeth, as she thought about opening it.

It wasn't big, the shoebox, and she had been genuinely surprised (when she had begun to fill it) by how much it could actually hold. Its original occupants had been a pair of black ballet flats, purchased at Payless Shoes on sale for $8.50. The thing about flats, she had thought upon making the purchase, is that nobody can tell where you bought them, since there is no room on them really for a logo, and they are all cheap anyway, and they all look the same, and really she wanted to thank whatever person made shoes that were so cheap become the new trend, and even though everyone has them, it’s OK, and basically—it's the perfect deal. She smiled inwardly as she remembered her best friend’s immediate comment the first day she wore them: "Those are from Payless, aren't they?" They quickly lost their luster.

After emptying the shoes, and the little tissue paper that went along with them (whose purpose, rather inconsequently, she had never fully understood but had contemplated heavily), from their cardboard home eight or so weeks ago, she had tried to determine what to do with the shoebox. It was interesting to her how she had come full circle. Then she had stood, much like she had just now been standing, above her trash can—only that time contemplating what kinds of uses such a small shoebox might have, not struggling over whether to trash it. At that point she had not sat down in her chair, thought long and hard, and reflected on her summer, and her life—instead she, without any legitimate reason, put the shoebox on top of her bookshelf, telling herself "just in case”. How happy had she been, later that week, when she found it a fitting use.

And how surreal it was now: the realization that whether she had done it then or waited, the shoebox was still going to find the same destination—the bottom of her trash can—and that it didn’t matter if Mufasa died at the beginning or the end of the movie, or in the middle, that he was still dead. She felt regret pulse at her temples, and she wished, for some unknowable reason, that she had thrown it away then—maybe that way the memories contained within wouldn't haunt her so. But she knew that another shoebox would have taken its place, and she also knew that not only was regret meaningless, it was useless, self-destructive, painful, weak…

She opened the box slowly, and once again quietly noticed first how much could fit in it. His mix CD, of course, was the piece that so amazed her—when placed at a certain angle it fit as though it was born to reside there. She looked over the little bits and pieces that grinned up at her beguilingly upon her opening of the box. A couple movie ticket stubs, an extremely well made friendship bracelet, a ticket stub from the musical Les Misérables, the aforementioned mix CD, and a page ripped out of a book. “There isn't much here,” she thought to herself. “There isn't much to have to forget.”

Natalie took out the CD and looked at it yet again. "Come Sit On My Wall" was the title, and she remembered how proud of herself she had been when she had finally figured out where the title came from—the lyrics to a Damien Rice song, “Amie,” track number 4. It didn’t matter that that wasn’t her name. How many indie love songs were written about girls named Natalie? She had wanted to tell him that she had figured it out, but it had been at least a couple of weeks since he had given the CD to her that she made the connection—she had felt sort of embarrassed at how long it took. Maybe he thought she should have gotten it right away? At first, she had imagined it had something to do with one of the times they had gone to the beach, or sitting on the wall at the elementary school playground, or that it just sounded somewhat cute, or that it just sounded like something that you might title a mix CD (she had to admit that this was her first inclination). She extracted the booklet he had made along with the CD from the jewel case, and took a millionth look inside it. She turned the pages, slowly, and took in each one singularly. "Make me a mix tape that makes me yours," ended the quote on the third page, before the pages began that contained the lyrics to each song. She had never heard the song that this quote was from, as it wasn't on the CD, but she had wanted to listen to it after reading it there—she felt a little unfulfilled now as she realized she probably wouldn't ever get around to downloading it.

She realized something new about the booklet each time she perused it, and she noticed something now—his name was nowhere to be found. Even on the final page, where he wrote a little "enjoy it" type note, he didn’t sign it or write his name. Up until this point she hadn’t given it a second thought. A realization struck her now, however, and she couldn’t figure out whether it was her pessimistic imagination, or his genuine intention—she proposed, to herself, that he had kept his name off on purpose, just in case something like this ever happened—for her sake, so that she could listen to it and enjoy it still, even if he wasn't any longer in the picture. She closed her eyes and silently argued with him in her mind. “Why do you always have to assume that things aren’t going to work out? Do you have to prepare yourself for the end before anything—” She stopped, sighed, put the booklet back in the jewel case, and moved on.

There were two ticket stubs in the box, but they had seen more movies than that together—and she felt bad for not remembering exactly how many. She didn't even still have the stub from the first time they had gone, sans mutual friends—and she remembered how she kicked herself later for not saving it after she realized that that was their first… and she couldn’t think of the word. Not “Date”. The first time they had ever really done anything, "together," this summer. Once again, the realization of what she was now doing helped push her back into reality. “Who cares if you don't have that one ticket stub?” She asked herself. “It’s about to go into the trash now, anyways.” She looked closely at one of the stubs, and remembered vividly the night they had seen that movie.

They had gotten a little bit lost, and there had been traffic, and they had arrived late, and she had to run, in heels, through the theatre to their screen. And she had wanted popcorn, but there was no time, and she didn't get a beverage either, and he said he was sorry, and next time for sure. And they missed the beginning of the movie, and had no idea what was going on—and there were violent parts, and he apologized again, and he hadn't known. And blood splattered all over the screen, and she turned her head toward his, and curled into a ball, and she covered her eyes, and then—he gently grabbed her hand. And the movie screen, and the entire last hour, disappeared. Her mouth hung open for a split second as electricity flowed throughout her entire being. She silently looked over at him, as he watched. He looked back at her, with a quiet smile, to tell her that the scary part was over. She shook her head, closed her mouth, snapped out of it, and looked back at the screen... and in the present day, back at the ticket stub.

How meaningful had that night been. It was that moment... do you know that moment? When two people, suddenly, cease to be two people. When something, just, something happens—be it an event, a passing glance, a conversation, a kiss—and you stop journeying alone through your life, and suddenly you're on the same path as another human being, ambling awkwardly down that crooked, sidelong dirt road—the journey during which two truly become one. The hand grab was his step, his leap of faith—and she returned it then, in kind, and finally, finally they both knew that they 'liked' each other. And that wasn't supposed to be such a big deal anymore for 19 year-olds, but the few weeks prior to that had been spent in an excruciatingly difficult form of limbo—flirting, hanging out in groups, talking on AIM and occasionally the phone—and finally, finally it had officially become something she could put hope in, that she could rely on, that she could dream about, and that she could be afraid of. And as all of her past and present hopes and dreams blossomed again into her consciousness, regret mercilessly beleaguered her and every emotion possible enveloped and suffocated her at once, and Natalie began to cry.

She cried because as much of something as it had seemed to be, it wasn't something—or if it had been, it wasn't any longer, and it was entirely her fault. And she cried because it didn't matter how meaningful that day had been or what memories were evoked by the ticket stub or the rest of the contents of the box, or how well the CD fit in it, or really anything at all. Because once again it was going into the trash can and she had ruined it and she might have broken his heart and her own and she might never get a chance like this again and she knew that it had been a mistake to look into the box and she knew that she was pitiful for crying over a summer fling that lasted seven weeks, and she steeled herself and she ground her teeth together and she wiped away her tears and she shut the box.

Natalie stared down at the shoebox, now closed. She traced her index finger over the white lettering that decorated the top of it, and taking the box in her hands she stood up. She wiped away the traces of salt on her cheeks and walked over to the trashcan, and there, again, Lion King references aside, she hesitated. She, instead of executing that bitter murder, made her way to her bookshelf—and she set the box on top, where she couldn't help but say to herself it "belonged". At that point emotion once again overpowered her better judgment, her legs gave way under her and she fell to the carpet in a heap. Bitter tears stained her beautiful face as she lay, quietly, sobbing.

because that's from where legitimate direction comes

the fibers tear into your skin
and it’s never been so taut
and when your life depends on this
everything you’ve worked for
you’ve earned
and when it breaks
well, darling,
you fall
i guess that was how it was designed

and you tumbled
you
you fell
you tumbled down
we see a smile
you wipe a tear
how did you get here?
didn’t you make all the right moves?
maybe your ego’s met its equal
in the moldly bricks
that now entrap you

but there isn't water rising
there isn't water rising but
something is
and
you're drowning
you're drowning still
in arrogance
in comfort
in anxiety
in certainty
in self-sacrifice
in religion.

at least from here
you can only
look in one direction
up.