Missing the risks of angst in your growing states,
Asking for more events, more moments, more
Defining traits,
An access to adulthood with pure innocence attached,
A lip sealed love note passed around to everyone before your beauty,
They all knew,
7AM would be the warmest, yet calmest part of morning,
Still stuck in mourning,
I wish I spoke more
Before they moved too far to hear me.
The music was never about listening,
It only took responsibility dropping
To escape back into the vibe,
Show and tell,
List the moments of your family,
Tell me about your history before 1930,
And how you managed to come to existence,
And what you miss the most.
Arcades at the back of the grocery store,
Summers I couldn’t wait to never end,
Friendships and evolution of speech,
Touch felt genuine, and not out of courtesy.
We earned the lockers, a pasty white future,
And textbooks so old,
Just to repeat history every lunch period,
“Speak from the heart”
No, speak with your love,
You’ll create waves when you skip rocks.
Fleeting,
A timeless moment of happiness,
I have it until I remember why I shouldn’t,
It does declare,
“My everything, if this time feels like it belongs in a capsule,
Bury this melodic lead behind championed trophies and campsites,
Let me know the face of my first crush,
I’ll write mistakes all through my notebook,
The boys won’t let me call it a diary,
The girls say you shouldn’t keep a journal,
Well, we’ll just call it a logbook.
Coffee’s bitter,
Everything looks like the past,
While my presence is just future tense tension,
Who, me?
I’d rather represent silence with error,
I’ll dance to whatever I’d like,
And depression just sounds like a Fray song over muddled rain,
That radio compression makes every cassette sound fragile,
You’ll miss it.
You’ll miss it so bad.”
Boys get louder to express their feelings,
Unmatured matchmakers,
To lunch tables clamoring over last night’s news,
And tomorrow’s homework,
Order and stability,
It’s just one house,
And we’re all chipping at the paint,
Things we let go, caused issues in our fondness,
But we still had festivals, parties, and experiencing our favorite MP3s as a live audience.
I might not ever return,
Let’s take these, our foundational stones,
And not forget why tossing them in the water,
Felt like the time right before the streetlights came on,
And our favorite TV show rewound Season 3, Episode 5.
A closure to answers,
A burden to ask questions,
Not a care in the world but my missing Link Cable,
And a liability to not be late,
My friends will leave if I don’t show up right after school.
We’ve got the newest trading cards,
And one time will be the last time,
But the last time will feel like just another time.
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 9:48 PM UTC
It is said in time,
That beauty to the beholder is a sensation.
The most powerful statement of forgiveness to a human being is the ability to behold and practice creation.
Ice figurines can’t hold under heat,
Yet their demise creates life sustaining substances,
Like dangerous chemical concoctions,
Company never really felt completely perfect.
We kept masks on when we gathered,
It seemed like my friends could have always made it to Hollywood,
The way our lives were just mere performances.
Highlights of high times,
Quality, picture perfect film reels burned into cyberspace,
But the ladled space between our fingertips became foreign as the next new emotional overhaul was just fingertips away.
Obsessed over why perfection isn’t an issue yet imperfections are celebrated,
Yet not the ones you have.
What is desire if the object sought is someone else?
Elsewhere, the first half of the year is spent trying to remake the second half, pretty in pink,
Only when it didn’t rain.
So soulless, our bond became,
The hollowed Ravens became vultures,
Clearing the pathways to prepare for a feast,
Not caring whether death would actually take us,
But what would be broken would cause the death of our own ways,
Our own souls terrified,
Shocked to the security of a coffin.
Do we merely search for what is rightfully ours?
No,
For we are dream catchers,
Simply grasping for a reality that would be a shame to the creator,
Formed by the realtors,
Sell your self worth for a secular sense of selfishness,
Steal the dream,
And be complacent.
The worst part wasn’t when I lost you,
It was what became of my dreams when I lost myself too.
My first half is done.
I wish no longer to live the second half in misery through.
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 9:05 PM UTC
I started to feel safe,
When I remember what the world taught me,
Simple lessons to catch meager drifts,
The simplest of emotions to see.
The caverns of poetry locked under my skin,
Spread like dust over a starry night canvas,
What have we made by falling in love,
With desperate breaths to understand the moon.
I pulled your breath under my tongue to taste your need for solitude.
I kept your heartbeat between my eyelids so i wouldn't have to feel what it was like to blink and miss you in an instant.
Every time I close my eyes,
I remember what silence felt like in your arms and I want the night to hold that darkness so I never have to blink again.
Maybe I won't have to think if all I see is the night,
Maybe I won't have to let this moment end and maybe I'm better off never trying to put our stars together.
The sky stays black as I move our constellations together,
And the world orbits around me and what we used to be.
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 2:58 PM UTC
Things move without question,
Our minds,
Left in suspension of a disbelief,
That one night could possibly save us,
When we never stop to look at the one night that made us.
A dream turned reality,
We bought our souls back,
Brought back a well timed wish,
Told that in the sea there are plenty of fish,
Yet, I caught you.
In an effort to remember,
We turned each minute into a spectacle,
And slowly, the spectacular became the mundane?
Will we last through the winter?
I can't remember the fall.
I feel like the summer yielded to the touch of our bodies,
A soft dew like layer stopped us from intertwining.
You never felt me,
You only felt my insecurity.
Its too late.
Follow in my lead and we'll watch the rain fall and cover our tracks.
We'll bury this love under 6 feet and 6 years.
This night won't change anything.
This night changes everything.
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 5:23 PM UTC
When writing out who you're thankful for,
So many names come to mind.
It's so ironic that it starts to hurt to realize,
Who stays in your reality,
And what a dream world this would be,
If in the same moment,
You also come to know the pain of those who promised yet never fulfilled those sacred words.
"I'll never leave you if you never leave me."
No wonder I felt like life never made progress forward.
It's been a few winters,
But I've see the holy ministry gather with my eyes in their gaze and silent whispers,
It's all about regret and wishes,
With a soulless daughter being passed around without permission,
And a son who can't see the sunrise for his future is as barren as his once bountiful mission.
I have seen the world inside of a man lost in depression,
This obstruction of feelings,
Choking seconds before air rushes in,
Like an ache for the next season before the snow crashes in my home,
And yet the phone continues to ring,
With the sound of heaven alone,
Like I've always been asking for my baby to sing,
35 floors and you could only jump from the second.
Captivating,
What your eyes used to see the world for became the poison you doused me with and I still blame myself for the death of not only my mother, but the funeral dragged down by eulogies from those who never saw her face when she knew her child must live without her.
For what prayers did you hold my name in while holding another?
For what prayers did that man give to see his reflection to know he existed as more than a passer by.
John Wayne novels always had November as the casting call,
I'm still wide awake writing my dedication,
And yet I'd rather have the silence of myself than the willingness of those who will walk out onto the plank and drown themselves in themselves.
They never turn back until they need you to save them.
This future between the sailor and his father,
That bait,
Raising a man into a child,
Recluse.
Venomously,
Each word we wrote to the sky.
I wonder if anyone else connected eyes the way we did.
And by we I mean me and my reflection.
It's the only thing left that stays with me when I'm ready.
Anyone who tells you to buy beauty forgot what you looked like.
It's always 1984,
Burning our house away before I even had the love to long for everything that was missing.
We miss one,
We miss everyone.
We miss the sunset.
We lose one.
We lose all.
I lose myself in the idea of losing everything,
And I lose everything when I lose you.
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 11:20 AM UTC
Draw into the hope of a missing river,
Forever forgetting forever isn't for everyone.
I wish I had another choice in the city full of choices,
I wish I had another city in the world full of cities.
I see these cities as see through seas untamed by those who see me as an uncalmable tide.
At the midnight calling, I become uncontrollable.
Like the statue, I collect and decay through natural forces,
Like the status,
I force nature to collect and decay.
Poetic justice,
No this just is poetic.
Moments put into words that give rise to the false trigger of five senses that the consensus claims can't be sensed through anything but reality.
The dream through words escapes the world in which limits are locked to five senses.
Nonsense to university,
No sense to individuality.
This creates the individual.
And their spirit lives in the flow of the Phoenix song,
Lamented in the night air.
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 12:41 PM UTC
Asleep in a train car,
Picturing a mansion and enough space to scream your thoughts till they're all around you,
It was that expansion that at once,
Excited, then frightened me.
They all want things to be different.
When you were younger,
Challenges appeared limitless,
And as you grew,
The challenges became impossible because it would have meant defeating yourself.
And I believed those who gave me a borderline dead silent goodbye as they shipped me off to get lost at sea,
What seasons changed when we played the same games as new people,
Revolutionaries, enlighteners,
Life tells the ground to crack at what points growth can occur,
And the earth responds in kind.
Infinity matters not when your heart stops beating.
Set your mind free and make the world understand that you protected all you had because the worth of what pain you kept inside was enough to bear a burden,
You wore it well as it tore down your walls.
A casual suit at a water park.
Bathed in insecurity,
Insecurity and promise.
Promises are preludes to tragedy.
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 9:56 AM UTC
A true vision fades from daylight with dilated pupils.
A cross between the voluntary night and natural nightfall.
A deadly mixture of exhaustion and a want to escape. Leaving is so sought after, coming back always leaves a notion of regret.
Tangled thoughts tie these twelve
Empty streets to heartbeats.
What does midnight bring but confusion over yesterday and tomorrow?
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 9:28 AM UTC
It’s funny. I used to see the water in your eyes.
Like little raindrops, they were either lake or an ocean,
But you always let me feel grounded, because you’d only rain,
In my part of the forest.
And you fell all over me, the same way I fell all for you.
And people feel this, all the time.
This dream of some magical presence.
And we make each other these promises, to always,
To never let go.
And it just stops, everything for a second. Where we feel like time,
Doesn’t even exist.
What place could I drown in, that would be more substantial,
Then the storm where we, were whisked away.
And I hate emotional poems, but no one would read the little signals.
No one could drive in the right place.
It’s funny. I used to see water in your eyes.
And I just want you to know.
That I’ve never ever wanted things to be like they were.
They were just….wrong promises, at wrong times.
I know, and I know you can’t hear me anymore.
Because it’s this dream, of some magical paradise.
I saw over every mountain when I climbed into that bed for one last night.
I was told to be less metaphorical, but hope is just…..
Such a metaphor.
I didn’t realize that you can drown, in a lake, or an ocean,
Or anywhere where you can’t feel your breath.
And you always made me breathless.
Now I’m left with a sunset. And a body.
A body of water.
Fluid, and lost without love to contain me.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 3:37 PM UTC
Graduation Speech
I wonder what God thinks of me
And how he plans his routes out
And when he in his glory spreads his wonderful grace to those who are devout I wonder if he thinks of me.
But I don't believe in him and I believe he respects that
And I believe that things are meant for me the way my children will remember facts
As staples pushed into the hearts of man
As statues raised in the tower square,
I believe in me.
Now this is my rebirth, my time spent Away learning what was meant to be learned and ingrained in my soul to survive In a society that's supposed to thrive on individuality is worthless compared to the spirituality we all possess, and yes, I believe in me.
When I was younger, the very thing that kept me going was my dependence on the world to avoid me at all costs, so that I could stay blissfully ignorant and I could forget the sorrow. But like everyone else who I grew up with, from the Stevens, the Caseys, the Josephs, the Ashely's, my time before becomin exposed was merely borrowed. And maybe as I stand here today I question my place, and as I beg at someone to look at my face and see past the physical scars and wander my path, and become blessed with the craft to imagine dragons and unicorns though their own witchcraft, yes I believe in you.
There were the beauty queens, turned their hair up to keep the so called common filth from sweeping up beneath them, thinking only that the world couldn't handle their innate..what... Gorgeousness they called it? Called the rest of the world selfish for wanting them on their level, went up the ugliest girl they could find, looked her dead in the eyes and said "yeah you tell em what it's like to be...incomplete".
And she, that darling flower who many wanted but wouldn't tell, because peers would constantly snake their split tongues and feed the idea that angels never fell, that only creatures would bare a face like hers to prove who could be worse, she goes home with 6 freckles overblown and a river streaming over her depressed mask thinking she must have a curse, a sickness that brought this fate upon her, and she's a little less cautious towards patterns of sleep brought on by the might of methamphetamines, before she sleeps she screams "please...I just want peace."
And one night she woke up without moving.
There were the middle ground, where my sister would exist, and they'd sing happily of the next challenge they'd overcome because no one had to make them believe in themselves. But like thieves, the heartless ones took advantage of them, and one by one each lost their sense of self, and what used to be a powerful spirit is now a empty shell kept on the shelf.
Entertainment they became, because that was the moment they didn't have to feel transparent, the eyes could see what the heart would yell, and the ears were capable of the stories they'd tell, but at the end of the day, all anyone ever saw was transparency. Diamonds being shined to earn currency but yet turning into hollow shells so dark, the mind filled up with animosity. And they hate no one but themselves, their self is shattered.
Like butterflies to the flame, they burned out of the sky and became whispers in the night air, vessels for once lost souls to spill into and justify their own demons, and was it all worth it to find a sense of self, constantly questioning "is life fair.." Because we all know what hardships life hands us constantly reminds us that there might no one on the other side of the bed to console us but the stars...
And there in the distance were the movie stars, the most damaged, Ill advised, corrupted, mismanaged, disillusioned, what they saw televised became the mirrors from which their own fantasies about belonging became reality. The outcasts , some call them. Maybe I'm crazy, maybe I'm distraught, I want to believe I'm normal, that maybe someone will assure me, that after the hazing, someone will save me. And when a hero didn't show, they put their faith in something that could flow and block out the hatred, and that dream would become reality, because it's too late for me, they took my creativity, I no longer have my naivety, and the boys tell me I'm only good for my virginity, and the girls tell me I'm only good for my virility. And all for what? So their story could get ostracized on blank lines so kids from the future could read these blatant lies taken out of context, taken from misread times in their lives.
And in the middle of all the angst, it was there I sat and I wrote. I didn't steal the words of Jesus, and I didn't interpret them. I didn't take the virtues of my parents and consume them. I took my blood and tears and let the hatred of not belonging come to me in the form of the words you see here before after 4 years of finding myself. I lost the courage to imagine the images off of paper and instead began to fantasize about my own depictions becoming fantasy..
Was there a happy ending to anyone's misery? Did anyone truly suffer as much as the incrowd? Yeah.. There were those who screamed so loud. Got tired of hearing the other voices controlling their every motion, and refused a simple flow, felt like the world was theirs to command, no longer had their creativity slowed.
But these aren't masses, and I grew out that myself, but I know for a fact that it isn't easy. And it gets harder to forget how it was living under a mastery, using parts of your soul for a makeshift reaction to whatever answers they predicted without predication, you spoke as almost a given response, trained to listen and not voice your own ideas.
Now I ask,
What do you believe in?
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 1:58 PM UTC