Instead of inspiring a feeling,
I want to share a feeling.
Never mind what you wanted
to feel when you read this.
I'm selfish.
Feel what I'm feeling
as I write
and not what you feel
as you read this right now.
I should probably share with you
how I'm feeling.
I should have probaby have
told you before
we got this far.
I bet at this point
you don't even know
how to feel.
Good.
Neither do I.

I saw you.
And appearance wise, you were probaby the most beautiful person I've ever seen.
As much as I hope we'll meet again,
I'm sure we won't.
Your eyes flickered up for a fraction of a second
And I could see that you were about to cry.
You held it in,
And tried to hide it,
But I saw you.
And all I could do was stare as you walked away into another aisle.

Letting people take control of my emotional state
I did something I told myself was probaby fake
I got on my knees and prayed to a God I wasn't sure would answer me
He did
He forgave me for the stupid **** I've become
Showing me it was time to move on
Breaking the cycle
It's human nature to want to help others
We can not help those who use, "the victim disease"
We all have our profound struggles
We should use them to grow, not become weakend bitter and filled with anger
A soul devouring our goals
I wanted some kind of complex defining way to move on
Instead the personal feelings are gone
I pick and choose the pieces I want to keep
Everything else is sitting in the fire pit, waiting to be incinerated

I went through a length where I did not write,

I feel like how some poets feel, when they really feel they don't belong anwyhere

Charles Bukowski would say, "like your jacket, have a cigar"

and dylan would earnestly, yet directly ask "how does it feel"

and I'd probaby land on top of keroacs dusty hotel room, listening to bluetooth jazz

reciting allen ginsburg at the northwest point.  yeah.

lay a ray,

lay a ray,

lay a ray