Something you want.
When you know they are no good for you.
You will toss out the rules of common sense.
If your desires have taken control of you.
David wanted Bathsheba to the point of creating havoc.
He didn't care about her being marry.
Then he lost common sense to desire her more.
Breaking commandments to desire her more.
Even to the point that her husband were unaware.
And to David he stayed loyal.
Something that's good we treat with disrespect.
Something that bad we seems to chase a little more.
But not all glitter is gold.
But if a home is happy.
Then leave it alone.
Cause something eventually will need to be love a little more.
We all need to think logical.
It’s the third of April and I was there
Sitting still, wondering
Observing the lifeless environment that surrounds me
And I simply couldn’t help but think
How did it all come to this
It was exactly a year ago, during April, too
A blossoming sense of the beginning of new life
Little did I know
There was something even more beautiful than the flowers and trees
Something more serene than the feeling of crisp air and bright yellow sunlight
Little did I know that such a lively season
Was above, beyond, and even better than the liveliest things combined
Within three months after, it was mid July
And by then things only got more astounding
“Breath taking”, even
I’ve come to known this cheerful atmosphere’s smiles
Laughs, and confidence, and everything that makes it the amazing familiarity within me
And it was charming and it was lovable
Just like the warm breeze and chilly nights
What a wonderful thing to learn true happiness from the happiest surrounding itself
At this point all it ever was, was everything but sorrowful
Oh and November rolled around
And as leaves started to hit the bottom
Trees started to give up, and flowers started to disappear
So did it
So did it
This vicinity, of all the happiest vibes
The sweet turned to bitter
Just as the blossoms turned to gloom
It fell into a million little pieces
And all they could do was shatter it even more
And all they could blame was itself
All they could judge was nothing but the setting
And the thing that was once like sunshine
Turned into ice cold
Who would’ve guessed
That the happy atmosphere they once knew
Was this dark hole sucking itself into it
And who would’ve guessed
That the strongest, too, break
It was February and
It was the most similar thing to an incomplete thought of train
It was February
And everything was completely gone
The fragrance of what were once the roses
The scenery of what were once the moving lakes
The warmth of all the components of happiness
They were gone too
Too soon, and too fast
And now it’s the fourth of April
I’m still here I’m still rationalizing
I’m still thinking over
Why am I the only one left
Is it really fair to leave me the same
Just when everything else had changed
I'm sorry I let you down and to have you think of me this way.
Everything that is perfect, everything that is beautiful, does not last forever.
I'm in Love with a woman...
But she don't love me,
I think God took his time
and created her wonderfully,
She shines with every smile
quickly seducing me,
We have everything in common
But thats not what she sees,
We just like the Same Sex!!!
So, she started dating my ex.............
if grass were blue
and sky was green
in the oceans open field
i'd float in dreams
to the outer banks
of in between
under a chartreuse sun
in waves of tangerine
as pink dolphins
come together as one
and sing out loud
to the purple sirens song
near the jagged rock
where the sailors warn
of the changing colors
of the coming storm
i'd still think of you
as if grass were blue
on the changing tide
of the oceans hue
as i live by
what i thought i knew
with sky's of green
and grass of blue
I waited 8 periods, 7 hours, in between searching for you, running around the corridors,
Like a psychosis affected patient running trying to find reality through delusions,
But "planet", ironically you are my delusion, miles away from the brutal reality.
My excuses to see you were drying up; sprinting to the top floor that maybe you‘ll come across,
Ecstatic like a 5 year old kid, when his rents buy him a toy helicopter,
Disappointed like the poor kid as his helicopter crashed on the first day itself.
You’re nerdy, the only guy studying java and oracle with interest, enticing me with your mint and cedar scent,
This infatuation is eating my heart up, slowly and slowly, like cancer
I came today only to see you, desperately clinging to the belief that maybe you’ll come to see me too.
But I was left alone, with the burning sun as my only companion.
I woke up hours early, straightening my hair till my hair were singed, applying mascara till my eyes burned.
I fancied, that possibly you might think of me too, day dream of me too,
but darling curse me for being a hopeless teen, as its getting me nowhere.
Everyone keeps telling me its never going to happen, I’m a junior and you a sophomore
& when your azure lids never glance my way, my face turns ashen, even during the Indian summer.
And who am I to even try to fight with the bitter truth,
for it’s always destroying our little fragile hearts and drowning them in acid and absinth
It was so silly of me to even give into these treacherous day dreams, to even let my pride escape.
I was absurd enough to even like you, knowing even then, that I will never be able to solve this Rubik cube.
I should feel joy
Yet I feel nothing
I should feel complete
Yet I feel empty
I finally got my revenge
Yet I have no clue what it was for
I should be laughing at the face of my enemy
Yet I have sympathy for my fallen foe
Good has triumphed over evil,
or so I think
Perhaps I was the villain the whole time.
If so do I fix what I have broken?
or do I leave before I make it any worse?
There are moments
When all I can do
Is sit here
On these white sheets
And watch the sky
I fall apart
As the breeze touches me
It takes away
All the worries
And leaves me with nothing
But my thoughts
I think about
The way you look
At three in the morning
With your head on my pillow
And your eyes half-lidded
While you smile
I think about
The way you talk to me
With your voice quiet
As you murmur poetry
Against my lips
I think about
The way we laugh
Loud and hard and crazy
We ache with mirth
And drown any and all sorrows
That we can find amusing
So, I stand on the balcony
Eyes on the sky
Palms up and praying
My futile thoughts
In comparison to you
I drink in the atmosphere
As I stand here
Waiting for you
Here, on the flatlands
I was put in my place.
formed and pressed
into their neat and presumably safe little box.
It's all they knew.
It is so hard to think of them as once children themselves,
formed and pressed.
Formed from a different time, with different conformists.
There are no manuals when we are born,
you get leftover instructions from previous pipe fitters.
Agrarian raised, like grain fed beef.
Complete with the fears and habits of bygone generations.
I leave one bite of each item on my plate,
with just enough drink to wash it all down.
I have done that as long as I can remember.
I want the whole candy bar, rather than just a bite.
Pressed and formed my Father saves.
He saves twist ties from bread bags.
He saves old welcome mats, and garage door openers.
He buys in bulk, and has two deep freezers full.
Full of freezer burn, tasteless, barely nutritious,
neatly formed and pressed portions of frozen in time Salisbury steak.
It is as if he himself would like to be frozen in time.
He is a depressionite child.
In the basement there is an old dresser that he found at a yard sale.
He painted it a hideous green,
but it has a formed and pressed neat white little doily on top.
In the top drawer there are various expired drugstore items,
some dating as far back as 35 years ago.
"You never know when you might need something in there."
Expired aspirin that has broken down into powder and smells of vinegar.
Vicks Vaporub, in the pretty blue glass jar, that is dried up and orderless.
All brand new and have never been opened.
Formed and pressed neatly in their little containers.
I watch these molders of my life slowly pass away,
becoming neatly formed and packed into their aging corner of the world,
neatly formed and packed into a stereotypical old folks home.
Forgotten, in the way, slow, aching.
Soon all they will have will be memories.
Soon all they will need will be memories.
Neatly formed and packed in their aging minds.
And then, like a comet that has shuttled through space
for thousands of years, millions of years,
they will burn out and fade into dust.
And their whole lives
will be neatly formed and packed
in a trunk
in the attic,
to be opened like a time capsule,
at a later date.
the result of a week with my 94 yr old Parents
I walk the empty road of hurried days
the dark holds opportunities that the light burns through.
Nerves have been narcissistic
in that self-loathing battering
that I promised you I wouldn't commit to again.
is it different if you're a witness?
Hiding isn't part of the agenda,
if you could call irrationality an agenda.
here's to touching upon a few points in which I don't show all sides.
I'm nervous to talk to the people who make me happy
and I'm jaded to their presence,
because I'm a modern-day gatsby
with a touch of bukowski (or maybe a slam)
and all I want is for this romantic inside of me to give up on the struggle
and give in.
I want to let her form allude me because it's not important,
she just wants recognition for the fact that she has an education
and knows how to use it.
I'm just going to let my words smash onto the page, maybe edit
before a show, maybe not.
Probably go drink a beer on the local trail and stare at the back
yards of the wealthy and sharpie in an eye ball on the cement
brick on which I set my empty bottle for company, because
flowers don't get far in foam.
Nostalgia here we are again,
this time there's no search for meaning,
I know you completely and ever since we've met
you've refused to let go (somewhat of a curse, yet I love you).
If I want to let myself be free, then I have to let go of others judgement.
If maybe for a second I didn't think of what others thought about me
and I didn't think about them to occupy the empty space, then I would
truly return to the person I was before my self-esteem plummeted beneath
all that I knew to be right and wrong. Before it hurt to write my feelings
because of the fear that what I wrote wouldn't be good enough, or long enough,
no matter how many compliments came shooting through me.
"I forgot, you're bad at accepting compliments."
I don't want that to be true, I don't want to beat myself up
over the fact that someone else has great beauty simply
because I am blind of my own.
Self-love, here I come,
it'll help me live life without tangles.
stream of consciousness
thought I'd lost it, here's
something for the soul, I
appreciate all who accept
whatever it is I'm doing.
I guess one would call it: