The snow sits heavy
on the branches,
weighing them down
with its surprise.

The sun rises,
and its life-giving heat
breaks winter's first spell,
melting the snow bit by bit.

If you are not aware,
your ribs will get in your way
if you try to cut out your heart.

I wish there was something
I could come up with
to make that a wonderful metaphor,

for how awful is it
that I am stuck with emotions
I don't want to feel-
and no one wants me to feel them anyway.

I don't know what to do-
determined thinking
usually has gotten me out of this problem.

I can't keep stepping forward
pretending everything is fine.

but I can't face this,
an enemy I cannot win,
for I don't pick battles I'm not sure of.

So I'll run,
like a doctor,
like a madman,
reaching for stars I'll never see,
for dreams I don't deserve,
lying through my teeth,
but I don't know if I'm lying to me or you.

How tonight went:
-ran lightboard perfectly
-finished ZNMD
-did not talk as much as usual
-show was getting judged and pressure was high
-started Pardes
-finished Pardes
-sat through response slowly fading
-remembered in one flash
       what i wanted to forget
-fell to my knees
       doubled over
       sobbing
       in my driveway
-picked myself up
-shut down
-wrote this poem in a friend's kitchen
        where i will soon write more

Tonight's plan:
-run lightboard for the show
-finish watching Zindagi Ne Milegi Dobara
-talk about the above over headset
-especially Hrithik Roshan
-a lot
-start another Bollywood movie
-finish the show
-go home
-drink
-cry alone, lonely
        for I am alone
        and there is no way to change that
        and no one
        who would want to do so with me

Bollywood

There is a magic,
to cinema,
which is the whole point I suppose.

A story woven
in colors, lights,
words and music-
and you forget
what you don't want to remember.

How beautiful,
how full of life and color,
and things I need
is a good Bollywood movie?

but how dare it
make me believe-
for even one second-
that dance and music
can actually be a part of my life-

that there is joy to be had with strangers,

that someone can look at you
and see God-

and I realize to my horror
my escape from stress and sorrow
has only made things worse.

I will preface this poem
with the statement
I am inebriated
(but the play opened tonight
and we had the cast party
and I have nothing until noon tomorrow
fight me)

I got to my driveway,
safe,
sound,
and still pleasantly warm
to a two-pointed buck
a few feet out of the woods.

He met my eyes.

We chatted,
or at least I rambled
in a shoddy excuse
for an Irish accent.

He flicked his ears a lot.

I'd consumed too strong a beer
to be out long
talking to deer
so I made my farewell.

He turned away before I did,
striding towards the darkness of the woods.
Bit by bit,
shadows swallowed him up,
even the bright white of his coloring underneath.

I had an honest to God
Disney Princess moment.

Writing angry speeches,
that will never be made-
tirades that stay in my own head

tempered,
they might change things for the better-
if I had the courage to say them