only since, only because.

i can only stand because of you.
i only know because of you.
i never cry because of you.
i never cry.

it's so hard to know what could have been.
but i don't have to know
that your heart would let me in
when i had nowhere to go.

i don't miss anyone.
i don't miss anyone.
because my life is us.
it is only this.

i'm not sorry.

watch your back.

walk with your head. think on your feet.


January 11

The only way to be famous is to die---
Everyone wants to say they knew him
everyone wants to think they knew her
in a town where friends passed are collected like trading cards.
We only reach for her now that she is gone
we only cry to show off our tears
those who cry in silence are the ones who hurt the most
while our friends say "look at this pain, this pain I alone feel."
Everyone wants to think they knew him
everyone wants to say they knew her.
In a town where the only way to be famous is to die
we laugh at those who can't remember
we laugh because we ourselves forget
those who swallow it with booze can't feel it
but us who don't still only crawl.
Everyone wants to say they knew him
everyone wants to think they knew her
everyone wants to think
everyone wants to say
"I knew him. I knew him. I knew him."


I have an obsession.

You’re Inside

Walking in the land of our brothers and sisters, our mothers and fathers, our friends and our cousins.

Shadows of all who have passed, and we pass them along.

All cry at their graveside, still clutching on.

Forgetting about nothing, continuing their last song.

We shout to them slowly, and loudly, and strong.

Laugh at the struggles and curse at the laughs.

Wondering how it could all come to this.

Our teachers and classmates we’ve all learned to miss.

Forgetting about what we hold in our brains, the pain that is locked away, it’s down deep within.

It twists, and it moans, and it kisses our skulls.

It’s never been easy to part with love.

I don’t understand how rain comes from above.

As we move along the grey splattered night.

The clouds line our memories, and our sorrow we fight.

It’s unlike us to be so weak, yet alive.

With axes of troubles and arrows of gold.

It’s not nearly as easy as when you get old.

To let go of one, bring another inside.

Let’s lie to each other, and lay down to die.

Flying across buildings, we see our town below.

When it’s questioned why it happens to us and not them.

They hide all their children, their women, their men.

It happens to them, but they don’t seem to care.

We happen to see the change in the coldest air.

It’s so different being on the inside.



Ebb and Flow

Rain comes with the dusk, cooling the sand and our flushed faces. One face is my own, and the other belongs to a boy I have known for years, but am meeting for the first time. I might have seen him in passing hundreds of times, but never took the time to look him over from head to toe. I barely knew him until this moment. When the moment had past, I doubted that I knew him any better. The mist of the oncoming storm mixes with the spray of the ocean. The drops freckle our sandalwood skin and wet our yellow hair. Upon this meeting we are alike in many ways. Breath from our mouths is released into the still air of the night. Fireworks glimmer in the distance, able to be seen but too far to be heard. Their light reflects on the water and in our eyes. “Your eyes are blue,” he says.

Ten years ago, I wouldn’t have analyzed this in the same way. I would have moved past this pivotal point without blinking. But now I crane my neck and try to look behind me. I try to stare into my past. I try to catch a glimpse of whatever I can. I try to catch a glimpse of worry in his gaze. This strains the muscles behind my eyes. My head is dizzy, so I look ahead. His words ring in my head like a catchy hook from a song. I rest my head in the damp sand.

It is hard to tell whether the goose bumps that sprout on my skin are caused by my nerves, or caused by the bitterness of the wind. Warmth is found in our palms which touch for the first time. Our hands are seamlessly interwoven into a blanket that protects me from the increasing chill. I am content where I am in this unmarked territory although I am accompanied by a stranger.

The time passed too quickly, or perhaps too slowly--- at the time, I could not tell which. The hour passes like the longest minute. Our young hearts made our chests rise and fall, echoing the motion of the waves. I learn the name of this boy’s brothers and the color of his eyes. He asks about my life, but I can’t seem to think of what I said. I knew I had much less to offer than he did in means of conversation. Conversation is the hardest thing to make. Sandcastles are much easier to craft, so I begin to pile up sand in a mound beside me using my free hand. Our chatter turns to silence. The rain turns into white noise. The fireworks fall out of the sky. Everything on the beach crashes with the waves. The moment is over and we go back to our separate lives, for at this point, our lives are still separate. We are unknowing of the effects of that hour.

During my life I focus on what is ahead of me. I reach for what is to come and I take advantage of what the future brings. I thought that no good would come from regressing to the past. The events that already happened were of little value to me and I rarely thought of them. I worked on creating new moments instead of dwelling on past ones.

Through the span of this new moment, I wondered if any of it mattered. I questioned whether I would remember that exact hour in years to come. I couldn’t be sure if I would even recall the stories we swapped and the whispers we shared. It was all over in a flash of lightning and we went back to reality, but it turns out that I remembered it all vividly. The sensation that crept down my spine left me wondering. The turntable words. The pineapple breath. It all piled up, like the sand at my side. That eternal moment was a key point in two lives. Those lives affected were mine and that of the boy. The moment became an ebbing wave which flowed over into our lives, flooding them from then on.

My heart argues with my head about whether I should go back to that most important moment. If I had the chance to watch myself from above as I sat on the cool sand, would I choose to watch? My heart, in an instant, would go back and soak up the moment and all it had to offer. My head, however, would put the moment to rest. The conflict rings uneasiness, but reassures the moment as critical.

Moments pass and are gone forever. I can never revisit anything in the past. It is impossible to turn, put life in reverse and go back to a different time. All I can hold onto are reminiscences of events. A moment is a shell on the water’s edge. The fragile object is washed ashore by a wave and visible for only seconds. The next rolling wave crashes. It takes the shell to sea and it never returns for again.

Older than Newer

Trapped Things

17 Dec. 2008

Without a few things, there are new things. I lost some once. Only to find something again. More than before, more than I knew. Liking people is harder than expected. Although you look like someone I could love, I can’t say right away. Holding tight onto a teddy bear, covered with fuzz, old and overused. Maybe life is supposed to revolve around roses and chocolates and diamonds. Maybe it shouldn’t. But when one word takes up the front of your skull, and it’s a feeling you can’t shake, where do you go? When does it blend in? When do you find out what is really important? Love is important. It is important now. But sometimes it leaves. We all have left love before. Does it have to happen again? It isn’t what I want to do. Being here forever would be fine with me. It would be fine with him. It would be just fine.

Lost and found. Optical illusions. Issue one. Issue two. Issue three. And then, here we are. Here are the leaves that fell from trees days ago, melting on the sidewalk. Here are the telescopes that look into the eyes of fire-filled stars. Here are the millions of people that we will never meet. And here are the faces that are too familiar to forget.

Lesson 1. The Ocean

Lesson 2. Maps

Lesson 3. Words

Poems, volume I

Three For Honesty And Two For Love

Sarah Scholz


Without castles, there are no kings

And without bees, there would be no honey.

But when I hold you, there is no need for war

As time collapses, we grip and claw to reach the core.

Three plus three means nothing.

Less than anything is nothing more.

Before is after and after is gone

And all we’re left with is eternal dawn.

Tomorrow we’ll rise to yesterday’s moon

To be certain that all is here.

The kings have returned to faraway lands

But we lie together with intertwined hands.

Trust is True

Trust is true,

Honesty will follow and capture your breath.

Squeeze air from your lungs,

Close some hopeful, teary eyes.

My love will come to take you.

My love will come.

Making Mostly Anything

To make a sandwich, you need bread.

To make bread you need a job.

To make accusations, you need the accused.

To make conversation, you need words.

To make time, you need love.

To make love, you need nothing more.