Cliche` or Something Like it
I'm the elephant in the room. I go ignored because I'm obvious. With my obvious emotions plastered on my face, I'm the elephant.

But what good is an elephant in a room that's always empty?

I read about other elephants. Their fictional pain on display for my pleasure. I gripe about their out of order pages, but I have no room to talk.

But what good is knowledge of other elephants? It's been clarified that no one else cares.

I'm alone because I'm the elephant. I'm alone because telling an elephant what's going on is just ridiculous. I'm alone because I never could figure out how to be a part of a crowded room.

But why bother pretending to notice the elephant if in the end, it's the same?

My friends are elephants too. Our problems way too obvious to everyone else for them to care. Undiagnosed, we turn purple and our skin falls off. Obviously of course.

But what good was the skin anyway?

I am the elephant and I am alone. I am lied to every day and everyone lives like I'm not in the room. Until the room is empty, and I'm alone, but it feels the same. Because it is the same.

But why shouldn't it be the same anyway?

I cry myself to sleep because an elephant never forgets. An elephant never forgets, so it's the only way to slow down. An elephant never forgets, and never forgetting never being important is lame.

Please God, make me a stone.

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Behind Safety Glass
She sits behind glass,
staring out at the world.
Her hands in her pockets,
now grasping for meaning.

Staring out at the world,
her thoughts run rampant.
Fearing the world will stop,
she cannot look away.

Her hands in her pockets,
she gazes outward.
Observing everyone,
copying their flaws.

Now grasping for meaning,
her mind starts to race.
She spies through the window,
the good that remains.

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...
The walls were glass,
They were always reflecting spring.
Bright yellows, blues, and greens
Until one approached the panes.

The panes, all assembled with hope,
They now leak in rain.
Loosely attached to the clay tile roof,
That slides individually to the ground.

Assembled as a beacon of energy,
It now creates the wrong kind.
Harboring secrets, lies, and rocks
In the hopes that we won’t throw them.

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The factors trip planner will never account for.
Another chime followed by a monotone "stop requested" flashing the words in red.

Chime and it brings me back to being 5 for 3 years because we didn't have a car.

Chime and my sadist cat's meowing from my lap every time we hit a road bump. I reach my hand in to pet him and he bites me and purrs.

Chime and french fries and vodka are being thrown up into my purse.

Chime and the man in the back corner is snorting cocaine off of the webbing between 2 fingers.

There's a whoosh of air followed by, "Can I see your School I.D.?"
The answer is always no, resulting in the theft of my $.75 and no green, gray, blue, or whatever color transfer.

Chime and cell phones ring of a polyphonic nightmare; a sign of the conversations to come.
"Well at least your mother isn't fucking your husband!" she semi shouts, semi screeches from some seat in front of me.

Finishing up her conversation, she argues with all of her worth to stay with the rest of us.

Chime, Ma'am, this is your stop.
And after the third time, she realized this wasn't negotiable.

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I was important once
My life has never been the same.
She doesn't turn to me anymore when she's sad.
She doesn't want to be close to me in the night.
These days, I'm just a voyeur.
I crouch down in the corner watching her go about her day as if I never existed.
Video games, toast, books; they're all more important than me.
As I watch, she knits, laughs, and writes, unaware that I listen to her breathe.
Oh how I wish I felt alive; this existence makes me feel so cheap.
There are others just like me,
others she used to love just as much that sit, collecting dust,
wondering if maybe she'd come back someday.
Most of them are worthless,
but then again, on the inside we're almost all the same.
We were all stuffed with care to end up here, abandoned for other toys, books, boys, and shoulders to lean on.
Someday, I hope she'll love me again, but until that day,
I, Waldo the Elephant, will watch her every move.

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The Chair that Flew Out of the Window
From the ground looking up,
the chair sprouted wings;
it glided calmly through the glass,
like it had some place to be.
It's destination was apparently the student to my left.

From the classroom looking down,
the chair was thrown with intensity towards the teacher.
It soared through the air
and she ducked just in time
for the chair to crash through the window
and strike another face in the crowd.

As a victim looking up,
the chair charged in my direction.
It broke the glass
and it's piloting system took over.
It honed in on my position
and was determined to take me down,
and it did, along with 3 of my ribs.

As a police officer filing a report,
the chair is not an entity.
No ma'am, chairs don't have wings.
Sir, what did you say the assailant looks like?
No, not the chair...
This was not an attack on you ma'am,
this was a freak accident.
Eye witnesses are unreliable.

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Think 493
Your hand was in mine,
my lips, as red as your cheeks.
You were carefree,
oblivious to the circumstance.
I glanced warily over my shoulder again;
again, there was nothing.
I can hear their steps, their clapping hands, their heart beats.
Otherwise, I wouldn't know they were there.
My white dress,
stained crimson from our mishaps along the way.
I heard their laughter as I sobbed an admittance of defeat.
You lean down,
and louder than the invisible crowd
passing judgment from their homes,
you whisper Think 493,
with a suddenly somber look on your face, 493.
And my eyes are open; tears are dried.
One foot in front of the other for as long as you don't let go.

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Always the Goldfish
Under water,
stuck between four cloudy glass walls and a glass floor
with the world as my ceiling.
I dart from side to side trying to avoid watchful eyes.
Hiding in my treasure chest, the weight is lifted.
I've been pigeon-holed a goldfish,
but someday I'll be a whale.
Possibilities are endless; your potential is astounding.
Someday, you'll swim up and learn to fly.
It's been said I can go anywhere, but I'll be a goldfish forevermore.