I'm feeling 22.
And yes it's a pretty catchy lyric Taylor Swift.
But I am really feeling 22.
And I am 22.
22 years of living.
Not all 22 years were bliss but for the most part.
I've loved and lost.
Been scarred but also healed.
You learn a lot living 22 years .
Life is calamity & serendipity .
It doesn't make sense.
But that is the ugly truth in a beautiful way.
Every day is calamity in itself but we have to find our serendipity that day.
Life is love .
Life is laughter .
Life is hard times .
Life is pain .
Life is bliss.
And I hope that life gives me many more years to experience so much more.
Im feeling 22.
Are you ?
How horrible is it to love something that can die
Yet how devastating is it to love something that can die
By your touch
It will wither into nothingness
And slip through the cracks of your hands
As a tear sheds
He stands there with the sun in his hands
No longer breathing.
No longer existing,
But the fragile beating heart is still heard
A tear should not be shed from these hands
Or it will burn the face
He has so many appointments
To keep track of, but enough time
To look around.
He sees the world as darkness
and the wounded as light.
The power filled people as fire
Burning everything to quickly
But there was one.
He saw innocence in her
Even though she was wounded covered in scars.
He fell in love
Watching from afar
He grew a desire to meet her.
He followed her like a sunflower follows the sun
She was the sun, his whole world.
His heart was Beating thunder every time he saw her.
He never knew this but his next appointment was her.
Trying to save her life.
He touched her.
The sun began to wither into nothingness
and so did his heart
As she slept in his arms not waking up
He shed a tear.
It carved a wound on his face
A memory of love that can't be forgotten
Although he is made of bones
His small black heart still beats of love
For the woman who shined.
Notes from a broken heart.
1. It’s always easier to write poems in list form because you can always just rhyme the words with the numbers, like one and fun, and sun and undone and cum, and oh.. and um…
2. When seducing someone who is only in it for the physical don’t tell her that her cheek kisses give you butterflies, the power will go to her head and instead of wanting to fuck you she’ll just want to cuddle and huddle around her favorite book and you don’t want that. Or maybe you do, but she doesn’t want that. Or maybe she does, but that’s beside the point because she can’t have that, and neither can you.
3. Never fall in love with the cute girl who is leaving, it’ll leave you heaving for air and she crushes you with her inevitable departure here after she’ll be nothing more than a memory and you haven’t shed a tear for her yet don’t lose that streak
4. I can still taste you, and I know that I never will again and I will never utter your name to anyone but the insane as a mantra to the boy I deserve better I can still feel your cold hands against my back you taste familiar like someone I used to know, and I wish it would snow outside I’m trying to hide from the fact that heart ache brings out good poetry and not very good studying habits no one is going to know this section is about you except you and that’s okay because I don’t even know if you’re going to hear this part, because these are just stupid notes from a broken heart that’s trying to mend.
5. I’m still alive, I’m still breathing even though I’m lonely I’m still smiling even though you’ve driven me crazy and I’m still shining because in the end there is nothing between me and the things I can’t do but a door way and if it’s locked I will hurl all one hundred and twenty… thirty pounds at it.
6. Sex is never as good as friendship.
7. I can’t tell the difference between the pain I feel and the emptiness I enjoy
8. I don’t hate you though I think I should
9. I’m a diamond that you won’t be able to mine anywhere else. I’m a rare breed but you see you can’t have the cake and eat it too don’t be greedy. Behave.
10. This needs to end.
1. It’s much more fun for me to lie about you then it is to say that you wanted me to stay, because I spent all semester ogling about you when I should have been focusing but I get a clean slate now that I’m in control I made my bed and I will be more than happy to sleep in it because even though you fucked me over it’s not really me you messed with is it, no. It’s yourself.
2. This poems slowly becoming notes from the other woman, when really I only ever wanted to know what your lips tasted like
3. I can’t see past the lust in your eyes and the inside of your mouth where you hide your demons and you swallow your pills. The hill from my dorm room to yours is frozen over if I slip and fall there’s a chance I’ll land face first in the small river that flows under the bridge.
4. Did she know? Did she take one look at you and say “whore!” did she feel your guilt as you moved inside her? Did she hold you closer because she knew another had already touched you
5. I took three showers after I left your house I thought you were the one with OCD
6. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that he hurt you, I’m so sorry that I played along I’m so sorry that we let ourselves get caught up in the idea that we could be something that wasn’t a one night stand hold my hand and feel my pulse.
7. It’s beating just like yours.
8. It quakes when he touches me, does the same thing happen to you?
9. In time this will heal over I don’t know you but I know you deserve better
10. I can’t show this to anyone.
She had the soul of an untamed lioness,
wild, free, on the prowl,
not for prey to satisfy,
but for beating hearts to rip out.
To chew it up between her teeth,
she chose mine to take the beating,
smiling all the while,
never swallowing that part of me down,
heart strings played like harp chords
between her jaw's steel grip,
she'll rip me apart
and I'll love every bit.
I lead your strong
Arms around me, so
We lie between the
Darkness of the horrific
Night that we pray ends
With the exhale of
And between the
Light of sun,
From the pink clouds
Of dawn's delight.
Your heart's beat,
Against my flesh...
It feels like Jesus is
Giving me gardenias and
Leaving me with
I look up
At your lightly brazen
Your eyes impeccably
Glazed with an autumn
Feel, and the
Diamonds in my flesh
Are the envy of the
Town's parade, and
It's somber shadow.
Your lips caress
My blushing palm,
Inking your lust
And lacy poise.
My garb immersed
With your honey scent,
And I feel I am
Starving myself of
My old depressions
This is my jubilant call,
When my flesh turns
To silver and
I leap with lions
In the velvet fall of rain.
This is my jubilee.
My droopy eyelids ache as if I saw the sight of the sun,
Walking silently, but swiftly; motionlessly into her arms
I hear the fragile air passing through her lungs
I feel the delicate pulse of her neck
The fragile but weak heartbeat; beating down the seconds
I thought I felt nothing
Thinking it would only satisfy my cravings
as her life slowly became mine I dared not to look
But her faint smile overwhelmed me
The sweet sanguine fluid flowing down her body
Onto my lips
The only time I feel alive again is in this moment
Until my cravings are gone and the despair numbs me once more
I can see through her eyes
Her vision distorts me from her sight
Not knowing who she is or why she let me gaze upon
Her image, but it's one image I will never forget
An image I won't want to lose
A second more and she subsides
A second less and she subsists
For each second I felt her neck
The first time I felt my heart
And for each pulse I felt
The more human I became.
Nothing pulling you one way or the other
At town square
Where the table is talking to the chair.
"The chair speaks at 12 o'clock!" the table calls.
The wind howls through the dusty streets
And the typewriter of the the town sends what the chair speaks.
"Hey . -.-- .," the chair speaks
"Where it divides you."
"Divide and multiply."
"Don't blink, for it thinks to nullify."
Doorknob is a beating heart
Bleeding sharp objects to the floor
Screws, razors, and knives bled to the floor.
Walk one way, on carpets.
In through the back door walks another
He's a calculator puking formulas
Puking squirming formulas
With only two buttons
Divide and multiply.
"Life = add, subtract, divide, and multiply."
But Hey . -.-- . seems to nullify.
Take a chunk out
No facial recognition
A piece of wire from the chin up through the nostril,
Oneself at the back door.
Threatening to sleep,
The couch sleeper
Chiefing at the end of the couch.
Craving, longing, slinking around,
Fingers as crooked as trees and wants,
Spines for legs and spines for arms.
A cough through the walls,
A cough through the walls.
Dish detergent surgeon,
Pieces floating in the water.
Water, a shower surfing on a person feeble in the shallows,
The selves (listen) twitch together and, in time, strike by the hour to
Hey . -.-- .
Through the years of transparent existence, a void of illusion becomes apparent and slowly becomes nothing more than a side-show. The dribbling glimpses of truth fade like the bones of old. No man can create such an indentation in the mold of space and time that the observers at the end of eternity will render their imprint upon the infinite gaian consciousness and body of universal proportions of any significance. Even the earth laughs at such ridiculousness. The ego is a strong bind - it can create maya and attachment to such fantasies easier than a bear can find it's ideal location for a winter hibernation. It's a world of craziness, where nobody knows whats going on.
The man woke up from his deep slumber. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Squinting, he looked around, studying his surroundings and taking mental notes. His thoughts are dirty scribblings on a subway wall. His heart is beating, searching for a band to play in rhythm with. His soul is aching from loneliness and desire. His feet lifelessly surrender their position up on the couch and find the floor, shrieking from the cold of the linoleum. His presence is that of a bird with a broken wing still attempting to fly. He stands up and stares at the ceiling.
The room is small. Four walls of white, one window and one door. The window looks out over the grey city. The door leads into another room - the room most would call a kitchen. In the small room before the kitchen, there is only a couch and a blanket. No lamp. No television. No electricity. No electricity in the entire apartment. The kitchen holds no refrigerator, no oven, no toaster, no pantry. It's called a kitchen because that's what it would be if somebody else was living in the apartment. There are two bananas on the floor along with a box of wheat flake cereal. No milk, no bowl, no spoon. The bananas are almost entirely rotten. The box of cereal is on its side, leaking bits of wheat flake, resembling a dying soldier on a battlefield who's losing all his blood through the wound on his neck rather than a box of the West's favorite morning go-to breakfast.
The man is observing the cracks on the ceiling, along with various stains with no known origin to him. His eyes dart from one corner of the room to another to another to another and back to the first. Spiderwebs. Dust. Decay. A perfect example of life's ability to take care of itself. Biodecomposition. When no one is around to look after a house, over time, Nature will take over it. Vines will grow and overcome the walls. Rain will fall and wear away the roof and general structure. Winds will blow, taking blindshots at the weakened building, eventually cause it to fall. Nothing lasts forever. Everything goes back to where it came from.
The man now steps into the "kitchen", where he begins to study the stains on the ceiling in this room as well. His mind is electric, with no thoughts in the usual sense, but rather just a vague presence of void to help the ceiling stains feel important. He is the space through which everything around him can exist to their fullest potential. After a measureless amount of time, the man walks over to the sad bits of food on the far side of the small room. He picks up one of he bananas and studies it. He feels where it came from. The tropical skies and smells and earth of Costa Rica. There's a little sticker on the banana that says so. Each bit of fruit in the markets nowadays are individually stickered...for prosperity, one can only assume. Though it's best to never assume anything, and instead be open to everything - afterall, anything is possible, at any time. Likelihood and probability are also important factors in the universal constitution of existence. What was the likelihood that this man, when he was a little child, figured he'd be holding a rotten banana from Costa Rica in his hand inside of a kitchenless kitchen? Who knows? The man wouldn't be able to recall his thoughts from early childhood - he barely remembers waking up and experiencing the chilling sensation of early morning linoleum. In any case, everything is exactly the way it's supposed to be, for it wouldn't be if it wasn't meant to be.
He slowly peels open the banana peel to reveal this brown, soft mush of tropical fruit. Just the way he likes it - soft enough to chew with his toothless mouth. He takes his time consuming the fruit, savoring every particle. After a good bit of time, the fruit is gone and all the man is left with is the peel. He takes another good look at the peel, once again imagining where this particular banana came from. Then, in two swift bites, he devours the entire peel - sticker included. He figures the sticker came from Costa Rica as well, and thus must carry that Costa Rican tropical vibe of health and longevity. His eyes then focus on the wheat flake cereal lying next to the other rotting banana. He bends down and picks up the box. The box is upside down when he picks it up and so the cereal spills out all over the area of the "kitchen" floor that seems to be dedicated to eating food. The remaining banana is now covered in wheat cereal.
The man drops the box back onto the floor and takes a seat alongside of it. His fingers hold his face from drooping onto his knees. His knees are keeping his torso from melting onto the floor. He screams with no sound. The pains of existence seep through his hollow eyes and into the receptors of his soul. He screams with no sound. He’s as empty as the American Dream.
The cobwebs are spreading from the corners of the room and are aimed for the human form sitting in the “kitchen” screaming silence with all his might. The cobwebs grow. The commuters of the city highway are commuting. A thousand birthday celebrations are being had. A thousand people sexually uninhibited, joyously seizing the moment in disgusting miraculous unity of mortal physical desire. Junkies are roaming the street for their morning fix. Teaching are teaching their students absolute lies. Governments are stealing the lives of billions and counting. And the cobwebs are growing, encompassing entire walls. The the ceiling. Then the floor. Then they crawl up the lifeless legs of the man who sits screaming in silence and the spiders overtake his body. They stitch his mouth shut and close his eyes with their spun proteinaceous spider silk. The man withers into the wind of time and vanishes from the world without a single soul taking notice. Leaving nothing behind except an empty apartment, overdue rent, and a number in the system of Western Society. His spirit cries sorrowfully as it flees the clutches of molecular existence into the realm of eternity and space. Heaven. He made it. He looks down at the people of the world he just left and sings a pitiful song for them. He’ll see them again. Afterall, they are Him. And He is Them. His Heart, the Sun, burns as the world he left turns. The lessons He left are slowly being learned. One by one. But still, there’s a space between the atoms, between the cells. And that space can never disappear. Without it, there would be no point to the story. All would be one, as it is, and there’s be nothing to overcome. No triumph. Just an endless loop of bizarre beautiful experience and pattern.
can you hear the monotone rumble
ringing in my head?
it creeps its way through my bones
an echo of all the things that i could have said.
my shattered jaw line outlines all I’ve suffered
and what’s left to come.
the bruises layered onto my skin
are only the reflection of a long night of regret.
imprints of recurring dreams
and stones left unturned
impressions are digging at me again
they don’t know what i truly am.
build yourself a little empire
to protect your stuttering ego
i will be the flame to start the forest fire
it won't be such a shame to see you go
do you recognize the stench that fills the air?
that’s the smell of a thousand burning forests.
you can hide behind your walls in shambles,
losing everything you thought you ever had.
but me? sweetheart, i’ll be doing just fine.
roaming the earth, spreading the seeds of regrowth.
positivity and its fine little hairs
prickling at the sight of someones skin
you just so happened to fall in love with
but they’re not really there,
darling, you made it all up inside your head,
among the burning flora of a million sins
you would think you would have learned
the fifth time around
but perhaps you never really cared,
blisters where the shackles of lust had you bound.
you’re seeking definition
thinking it’s buried deep in the neck of others.
you bury your lust in the sheets,
transforming casual conversation into white noise.
you’re foaming at the mouth and your pupils dilate
waiting to strike and tear your next victim apart.
like a succubus, you linger in the shadows
twisting and turning your way through
the wide open doors of the unknown
you sink your teeth into your prey,
suck away their sympathy
and leave them breathless,
hollow and taciturn.
i watched you slip away
deep into the arms of others
slowly declining as your breathing grows heavy
your body becomes a warzone
those who have traveled it before know,
you’re not the same as you once were,
and you never will be again.
what will you do now, with your claws at the ready?
will you tear them apart, or yourself first?
be sure you get the order correct
you are not the seamless dress you slipped off
before you made your way under the sheets
you are the breath that expels from your lungs
when you finally see your reflection
and you are not what you once saw
your lips curled back into a snarl,
your fingers bloodied and cracked
your eyes void and black
not once will your prayers be heard.
i caught myself wishing you back
finding myself buried in delusions and heartbreak.
you should’ve just said “i never loved you in the first place”
but that would’ve just made things simple.
simplicity was never an option for you.
everything had to be a challenge,
because that’s how your entire life was.
abused by your father, channeling the hate of your mother
there’s nothing you would do just to form stability on this
tattered and beaten ship you call your life.
where will you go now,
that your ship has sunk?
what paradise can you seek
without the stars to guide your way?
they will not shine for you any longer,
the darkness is now your only friend.
and to you, directly to you,
where do you hide your heartbreak?
can we build a fortress strong enough
to hold our heads high
through the pasts empty threats?
our towers were built alongside the shoreline
shining light to those who passed by
in hopes that they wouldn’t just avoid us
our intentions were pure, but our actions were contradictory
we can’t accomplish anything if we don’t know how to.
did the ocean wash it away?
or is it still standing, pure and tall.
everyone can see you sparkling there,
your light runs through your veins
where your blood is supposed to be.
all along the watchtowers
we hide our emotions, like treasure
to be found by a lucky passerby.
whoever ventured into what we’ve built would find
everlasting love and emotions too strong to perceive.
we just pray that whoever finds them doesn’t sell them off to another.
crystalline passages to our hearts
shattered by a beating drum
they collapse and collide
our minds lost to the debris
I'm crying for you
Big fat tears running down my cheeks
I'm screaming for you
I feel my voice cracking
Yelling your name at the top of my lungs
I'm losing my voice
My brain is tired of your name
I'm losing my mind
My heart is barely alive
But still beating for you
Finally, my voice dies
I have no more air
I no longer have a voice
My pain, so immense I cannot feel it
I lay down and stare at the sky
They color, I'm unable to identify
A mixture of light blue, navy blue, and grey
Not a single cloud in the sky
I close my eyes and everything goes dark