Everyone’s the hero of their story,
Everyone believes they’re in the right.
Unless they hate themselves,
So they push away everyone else.
See the sights and hear the sounds of sonder,
It’s honestly refreshing if you take a moment to ponder,
How everyone is aware like you,
Though they may not see the world like you do.
How I wonder,
All thanks to sonder.

You caught lightning in your mouth
and kissed the world a thunderstorm
All Four Winds bleeding out,
               moment by moment
and stilling the night;
instill it with silence.
Infuse it with waiting
                bait our breaths--

--The ocean's saline, and
               I'm surprised to say,
it seems to like us.
Lips can clamp or loosen,
catch and hold or unleash.
               Choose one?
          it's catch-and-release.

I gulped wondering into my mouth
and I spit out an omen.
               Dolmen smile fading now;
                    twin teeth releasing
                          floodwaters
               from this tomb door of a frown.
Quell the squalling night;
implanting our silence.
Infused with surrender.
               Hold no breath.

                         Anyway...

          We don't check on each other...

          ...or look at our neighbors.

           Yesterday's just that, friend.

May contain triggers

Her eyes are blue, but sometimes they look green
or grey in the light, or brimmed with tears
in my lap, in my arms
she cried and cried and cried
questioning why
His eyes were blue, but they had yellow in them
Sometimes they would also look green, or grey, or sometimes black with his emotions that he kept to himself, questioning why
nobody knew, and why nobody cared
when his breathing became tight, and his arms
became sandpaper
and his body didn't seem like his own
Scared
full of fear
Eyes that saw and didn't see, eyes that would no longer
open and his chest would not breathe
and I would beg him to take a breath
that wasn't there
Her eyes were green, so green with glints of color
Loneliness became glitter that made her eyes shine
with gold, and silver that twinkled in the light
Her clothes stayed unfolded in the corner of her room,
and her necklaces stayed locked away
Her songs became silent melodies that no one would listen to
and the place that she treasured, she hated school
Her eyes were brown, from once blue they grew to black
like obsidian, with anger that she'd never tell
we'd all question why, and who hurt her
in this family of barbed wire
and glass eggshells
Her eyes that became amber in the light,
and the eyes that people ignored and avoided
the eyes that love too easily, but pushed away too fast
the eyes that cry, and cry
while punches get thrown
His eyes are green, but people say they're blue
from the grandmother to the child, they'd not shared much words
But he stays alone, eyes locked on a screen
because it's all he has, his father is miles away
his mother does not listen, and he looks in the mirror
with hate in his eyes, looking for the God he questions is real
begging him to listen, but he cries out with rage
Her eyes are blue, with dark on the outside
Her eyes are full of pain, and with anger
and with a coldness that isn't comforting
Her eyes are the ones I avoid, and fear fills me
if I stare too long,
Her eyes are fascinating, because they're not green
nor grey nor brown
they're the morning sky before noon has taken the day
they're the ones that went through all and went through none
always questioning, not feeling, always wondering
thinking past her worries, and thinking of a fantasy
Her eyes seem brown sometimes, her eyes seem blue
I can never place the color, perhaps they are emerald
maybe they are golden, or perhaps the color of coffee
they are the eyes of terror, of a child grown too fast
of a smile held by the child within her,
questioning her life, questioning her scars
drinking away her worries, drinking away her fears
Draining her sleep, so she'd get what she deserved
But it was never what she deserved
her are the eyes that needs to be held but cannot trust
hers is the eyes that cannot feel
her eyes is one of whom is lost, of whom can't find
something to grab on to so she is forever drowning
My eyes are brown, and always wishes to change
the color, the way it shines,
Wishing it would change into another person
who deserved the life she has
Eyes that spent childhood crying
In front of people, and stared into nothingness
the locations changed, slowly going behind locked doors
until it wasn't her eyes that cried, but her skin
the droplets slowly forming on her wrists,
down her elbow then down the drain
The eyes that are black, a void that cannot be filled
always thinking, never stopping,
even when sleep takes them, placing it's warm hand
on the lids
Until she wakes with no recollection
and thinks again of stained carpets and waters
50 feet below her
and windows into the ice that could drain
her energy into the earth
that she's beaten and burned and loved
into the life that she'll take into the one she'll hold

Upon the stage of unsung heroes,
Stands the pale and hollow of stars,
she foretells of Men and their woes,
“The world’s end is near, and the near
Will come, be it now or tomorrow.”
The sun, old and withering
Soared its dying lights in the sky,
We thought the night has come,
And the day might soon follow,
Yet the moon, crippled by the sight,
Cracked and died, its crystals fade.
If ever be hope of life in the dark,
Let the beasts swamp the shades.
And if planets roamed far into
The abyss, in search of shelter,
That pale star, lonely and new
Would spread its arms, “come
To my reach, giants of air and
Beautiful intricate rocks, soak
Not all of my powers, watch me
Gain my strength with time,
And dance around me as I
grow mute to all neighboring
hot, lively and cunning stars.

We go where the wild things are,
When life is too slow to stand.
There’s a place just on the brink,
Of reality and dream,
Where we go to dance.
There’s a place on earth for all of us,
So never let your colors weather.
We’ll all be here soon,
Where the wild things are!

They have children,  
they have homes,  
they have money,  
they have jobs,  
they have cars...
and there are so many other things they wish to have.  

We, poets,
have paper and pen.  
That's enough.

allow yourself to live to the fullest,
change your mindset,
don’t lock away your emotions.
feel everything deeply,
empathize fully.
**** your ego and love others.

We’re drowning in internet people
who’re usually live-in-regret people
saying, “get in the net people”
so we can easily dissect people
into the right or the left people
until discourse is dead people
and the rest of us have to wade through the filth
of the loudest cretins looking for attention to milk
making the world seem full of their tedious ilk
cascading complaining onto our heads like it’s raining
with conversations unproductive but instead draining
using inflammatory words that has our rhetoric straining
to survive the constant bickering and blaming
when this country starts aiming
to cater to the most toxic aspect of our culture
because internet people amplify messaging best
so we reward obnoxious grifters and vultures
politicians cracked the code but failed the test
becoming internet people, just better dressed.