Even with my swollen eyes, I am a very fortunate girl.

He said, "I've never stopped thinking and questioning whether or not I'm good for you. Each time I determine that I am, I doubt and can't help questioning still."

I told him honestly, "I love you. Believe me. I love you, but I don't want you. I've been looking for someone better."

"I know. I'm not oblivious. I'm the best for you now." He paused for a moment. "I promise we won't end badly."

At that, my heart broke and sobs spilled out. I sobbed away from the phone and heard him calling my name, but my grief choked out answers to his concern. It was as if he confessed his plan to sacrifice himself in the end while doing his best now to make sure I'm taken care of and will be provided for. I had never heard of such selflessness, and my heart broke for his misfortune of falling in love with me.

I do love him with all my heart, but I want someone I can admire, not just someone who admires me. Where do I go from there? Continue allowing him to serve my happiness or summon the courage to trust in my own conviction? Neither would be fair to him. Both would leave me unsure and unhappy.

"Are you going to break up with me?" It was the only logical thing in my mind that he should do.

"No! Why would you think that? We are nowhere near finished yet."

"You have everything a girl could want in a man, but I want more, and I don't believe..."

"I have been working hard to deserve you. I will be everything you want."

But you can't. I know you can't. How do you make up experience and wisdom? How do you face the moments that you were supposed to prepare for all your life if you never knew to prepare? You can't learn sense, and you can't learn drive.

I shook my head into the phone and whispered, "I hope that one day, I will hear a doorbell and open the door to see you there. You will say to me, 'I've come for you. I'm ready.' There would be no doubts, no tears, only love and joy. There would be nothing more obvious than how much we belong together, and it would be the happiest day of my life."

I thirst for inspiration to flow through my pen
but the world tires of descriptions,
of trees so majestic,
of winds so swift,
of leaves so crisp,
and of waves so fierce.
Where does my inspiration grow?
What must I see to feel what I must?

I see a tree that sheds green leaves in showers,
but I have nothing to say about it.
How does the tree feel?
How do I feel?
This is the stuff of poetry!

And yet,
all I can say is that
this tree is

beautiful.

A cause to dream of, to live for, to die for
Because we loathe living confined in walls of air.
See cause to stand and speak for war--my bullet and your gun.

I know you.
So does everyone else.
They know your taste, your colors, your depths and weight,
but I know your fantasy as well as
your reality.
I can make you, birth you,
in a sweep of poetry.
I can, because I know how.
Write first, feel later, and never end
at understanding.

I can't sleep, and I know you have work tomorrow
morning, but maybe
if I just called
and told you I love you,
we could fall in love
again
and I could fall asleep

She carries around a blanket,
bright orange and blue.
They complement each other so well.
By the way that she looks,
I suppose that she’s a dreamer.
The clouds never clear from her eyes.
That’s what the blanket’s for.

And when the teacher asks us for questions,
she follows her hand with a strange story
of wonder of mammoths and supernovas,
and the class laughs
without her.

The ants by the sidewalk love her though,
she’s always so polite.
I packed myself a snack and I asked
if she liked raisins.
Of course I’ll eat lunch with you.

I do not think of the world as a sphere,
but I do know what goes around and comes around.
I cannot consider myself a square, a circle, or a triangle,
but I remember the people who have shaped me.

How many angles does a sunrise have?
In how many angles can one person think?

Is it strange that the unrestrained growth of the forest,
can feel so perfectly patterned?

Look around, and you will see.
We live in a world of symmetry.
The difference between thick and thin, white and black, tall or short, smart or stupid,
is the difference between the rotations of a sphere,
a difference that doesn’t make a difference.

Positioned face to face, hand to hand,
We are symmetrical.

It’s been five years that I’ve been confined to this dingy little room with no hope of release. My life sucks. Really. My life really sucks.

I don’t know how I got here. I studied just as hard as everyone else in high school, maybe not harder, but certainly just as hard. I got decent grades and had decent prospects. I graduated with no distinction from the state university, and somehow, I ended up here.

“Marvin, what date are you on?”

He’s asked me that three times in the last two days, and unfortunately, it’s been the same answer.

“The 5th, Mr. Opin,” I said.

“Marvin, am I supposed to just wait for you while the company goes bankrupt? Jesus, hurry the hell up!”

“Yes, sir.” I answered to the empty space where he stood a couple of seconds ago, knowing very well that in order to catch up to date, I’d have to work overtime for at least 4 hours. Considering that I have no girl waiting for me at home, no friends meeting me for lunch, and nothing to expect except bills, there’s no reason why I should not be able to finish my work. However, I should have a gorgeous girlfriend, a regular bunch of poker buddies, and some birthday cards arriving in the mail, so I also should have a reason not to finish my work.

Barry stuck his head over my cubicle and said, “Yo, Marv! You know, I have two kids I need to send to college, so please don’t bankrupt the company.”

“Hey, I’ve been doing this for years. I know what I’m doing,” I told him indignantly. What do I care about his kids? They’re only three and five! He earns more money than me anyway.

“Yeah? Well, maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you’re too old for this. We need some fresh blood.” What is with this guy?

“Look, I’m only a couple years older than you. If you consider me your senior, show some respect, alright kid?”

Barry backed down into his cubicle, but not before muttering quite audibly, “People like you are a dime a dozen.”

By the time I finished the 5th, most people had left the office already. I waited at the bus stop shelter by myself and thought about what Barry said. Me? Worth a dime a dozen? I suppose there could be more than twelve Marvin Hunters in the world, and I guess really anybody could take my place at the office. So what? I’m never going to be rich or famous, but I never hurt anybody. I’ve always been a good person. I always believed that good things happen to good people.

Suddenly, a homeless person appeared next to me. He had a fuzzy salt and pepper beard that made you wonder if the bristles could scrub a sink. His skin was tanned from living outdoors for so long, and he wore a bulky jacket with a pair of dirty work gloves sticking out of his front pocket.

“Spare some change, sir?” He held out his hand to me.

What the hell. I said I was a good person, didn't I? I reached into my pocket and pulled out the first coin I found. A dime. I handed it to him and he thanked me with a quick smile.

I watched him as he waddled away from the bus stop and put the dime into an expired meter.

Regrets, regrets, regret. Most of the time, the regret that haunts you for a lifetime starts with childish stupidity.

When Marty's parents warned us about a bear sighting in the area, all sorts of crazy scenarios ran through our heads like endless commercials. Bored boys, meet adventure involving dangerous animals. Hello, Trouble.

We, as brave and noble citizens, had a responsibility to protect our humble town from bears and other such threats. We oh-so-cleverly designed a trap for the bear at the park, where it would mostly likely hunt for small animals.

“Let’s dig a hole and cover it with something so that the bear will fall in once it steps on it,” I suggested.

Marty agreed but added, “Ok, but we have to make sure that only something really heavy will fall in so that nobody accidentally falls in.”

It seemed like a foolproof idea, so we set our heroic little hearts on it. Every day after school, we rushed to the park and dug at our selected spot. With some tools borrowed from my dad’s garage and plenty of treehouse building experience, we managed to dig a hole as deep as I was tall in just under a month. It wasn’t easy by any means, but we dreamt of glory and recognition as town heroes.

To cover the hole, we piled on layers of cardboard until we could walk across without breaking through. Now all we had to do was wait for the bear. Day after day, our anticipation of the catch drew us to the park like kids to ice cream trucks—only to find no ice cream.

Two weeks after we finished our trap, we made another routine check-up of our trap with unsurprising results.

“What are we doing wrong?” I asked in frustration.

“Maybe we gotta lure the bear over,” Marty said.

“Yeah, good idea! Let’s get some bait.”

We figured that dog food wouldn’t spoil as quickly and should smell tasty to a bear. Within a couple of days, the pile of dog food we placed next to the trap disappeared. We immediately replaced the bait and anxiously awaited further developments, but to our befuddlement, the bait kept disappearing without a bear appearing.

“I know! The cardboard must be too thick!” I said, “Let’s make it thinner so that the bear will definitely fall through.”

Both frustrated and curious, we decided to stake out the trap site this time. We met up at the site after dinner and settled into a hidden spot in the bushes with the intention of staying all night if we had to.

Evening strollers ambled by once in a while, not paying any attention to us or to the trap, but a large dog suddenly approached the trap. The dog must have sniffed out the bait and wanted to have a munch. Marty jumped out from our hiding place and ran towards the dog yelling, “Shoo dog! Shoo!” I was about to help him protect our trap when I saw a little girl with a large woman come from behind. They saw Marty struggling to pull the dog away and hurried over.

I got up just in time to see the woman disappear from view and hear the little girl scream. I ran up to them and saw a pregnant woman lying unconscious at the bottom of our hole. The little girl continued screaming while we stood frozen for a couple of seconds before Marty came to his senses.

“Dave, hurry and go get help! I’ll stay and try to do what I can for the mother and the girl. Hurry!”

I sprinted as fast as I could through the park and shouted to the adults, “Help! Help! Somebody, please help!”

Luckily, a doctor taking a walk in the park heard me, so I quickly led him to the hurt woman, but it was too late. The woman had a miscarriage. The paramedics arrived shortly after and the doctor told the little girl her mother was going to be alright, but she was inconsolable.

She screamed, “You killed my mommy! You killed my mommy!” pointing with fear and hatred at Marty. I cried, wanting more than anything to defend him, but all I did was cry. I did not speak. They had no reason not to accept the accusation and share the little girl's hatred towards Marty.

I was never a bad person. Today, I am a respectable obstetrician...but how I hate myself.

If you read it, please critique it! Thanks =)

not just them starving children in Rwanda,
not just them refugees of Gaza,
not just them sweatshop workers in China,
not just your neighbor who can't afford chemotherapy,
not just your co-worker who lost his cubicle and his house,
not just your high school classmate who gave up on rehab,
but we who suffer and we who dream of happiness,
we who live,
we care.