Hail to drugs
you comfort me when day becomes dark
You distract me when life is too hard
The moonshine I'm drinking
Is my answer to
What I perceive as the truth
That no one will ever love me
Because I hate the face I see in my looking glass
And big pharma hasnt made a pill yet
To boost the esteem of my self loathing ***
Hail to the glass
As I drain you
I come to a better place
Where I'm smiling, laughing
And forgotten what brought me to this state
Was it the way she held my hand? Or was it when her lips touched mine?
Ah who cares, theres another pint!
Hail to the pipe!
A little green, a little light
And I'm taken away from my mind
On a bird, on a cloud, on a plane
Where I begin to question and forget it own lies
Maybe it isnt my ears
Or nose
Or the boils on my back.
Maybe walt is always right
That it's the timing
Or destiny
Or someone whos right.
Hail to the pills!
I swallow you in the morning and at night
You help me stay sane
And keep me out of
The sanitary(um)
You keep me level
You keep me grounded
And you keep me right as rain.
Now I'm down
To three drinks a week
My pipe is broken
And I gifted away my green
So now it's just my pills and I
To face reality.
And I am tired
Of trying to try
Time and time again
To find some
And have my hope
Be in vain.
Dear drugs
Dear love
Neither of you can make me happy
I just wish I knew how.
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 2:09 AM UTC
I woke up with the sun
And bedtime was at 8
My moms song was original
And dad just kind of faked it (But he tried!)
They were what Id hear before I went to sleep.
Sometimes Id play in the rain
and run in my boots
in Power ranger pajamas
Caught in a living dream
Playtime, the name of the game.
My sister was a friend,
She chewed off the nose of my teddy bear,
But she found our second cat.
And in time, we'd talk about our favorite Pokemon.
The first cat, we'd avoid
Under the living room sofa.
There were games,
Fireflies,
Beanie babies,
And some serious fights.
Those were my 90's.
I didnt start a grunge phase until I was 15
I didnt know about Lewinsky
I just wanted my next tape
of Rugrats.
When OJ was happening,
I was discovering anime.
And when there was the tragedy at Columbine
It was just my seventh birthday.
Innocence is seen
As the arc of the sun
A bright time
A single perfect day
Where you're never sure when it will be noon
And you never fear the dusk
When its done.
The opposite of Adam's First Day.
Maybe innocence was a pair of blinders
That protected us
Unconscious
To the real shadows outside
Even when our piggy bank mutated in the dark
And there was that nightmare about Barney with a tomahawk.
Strange as it seems,
Im grateful for them,
And I hope to God, you had a pair too.
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 2:04 AM UTC
Stray dogs
Roam in the night
Looking for food
Looking for water
Maybe they too roam across my mind.
From San Juan
The saint feast parade spreads
Across the isle of enchantment.
(As their license plates claim)
Remember your sunscreen
As you are in the belt of Cancer
Even as the weather shifts
Dynamically
Hour to hour
Minute to minute
Day to day.
I came here to challenge the waves
But they challenged me instead
And I walked away
Battered
And ******
But balanced.
I had time to consider the plantain
And that it seems to be used in
Everything.
I roamed the streets of San Juan
In between their three towering
Sea kings
Guarding the city
For centuries.
Oh San Juan!
Jewel of the Americas
Respectfully following
the code of the indies
For 500 years you have stood
Defeated once
But unconquered.
(I think theres a lesson in that)
I kissed the freshwater
In the forest of the Anvil
And tread precariously amongst
the stones
Amidst graffitied groves of bamboo
And the calls of coqui.
So Puerto Rico,
With your history,
Your culture,
Your food,
Your beauty,
My only question is
Why arent you a state?
But then I remember
That the president is racist
And full of hate.
But I want you one day
To fully join us
In the flawed
But proud
U S of A
Stray dogs
Roam in the night
And maybe
Stray dogs will follow me home.
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 2:03 AM UTC
Usually
I am slow, ploddering.
But when I met you,
The tortoise became the hare
And I charged full speed ahead
And crashed into butteflies
Freed from my rib cage.
Do you feel
As excited as I do
When I get a chance to talk to you?
My heart races
My cheeks glow
And my lips curve,
Upward.
I would collect a million pennies
(Plus one)
To pay the sun and moon
to put a day on pause
So I'd have longer to talk with you
And give the last one to you
To know your thoughts.
When I talk to you,
I feel the sun
Rise in my breast
A confidence
To challenge
the most daunting task.
You excite me
In the same way
I'd lie awake
Antsy and sleepless
on Christmas Eve.
When your troubles bring you down,
I wish you feel able to lean on me.
I am not a mere rock
I am a mountain
That has stands tall
even under oppressive gravity.
I will listen, for as long as you need.
I am curious,
and you intrigue me,
I think the discovery of You
would make an old world map complete.
(And I hope in some ways
There is more youd like to know about me)
To use the honesty
That you so admire,
All I want
is the chance to make you happy
Because a smile to you
Is a treasure to me.
...
But you already are.
With someone who is not me.
And some days, Im terrified
That Im boring
Or annoying.
And you'll leave.
And yet,
here I remain
because you are
Important to me.
And if you're happy,
then maybe, I too can be.
Because knowing you,
Sublime you,
Is good enough for me.
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 1:59 AM UTC
Unrequited
Is my least favorite word in the English language.
And maybe I'm a little biased
And that's because it's been
Resounding in the back of my head
For at least 10 years.
In between the memories
Of bent book spines
About knights, magic, the stars
And Disney tapes dancing on the screen
I latched onto a promise.
"That there is truth and love is real"
(Or so a song told me)
I dreamed days away
In pure fantasy of the way
I thought it would one day be.
I have felt the burning tether of obsession
the thrumming fools gold bonds of infatuation
fought as many mental misconceptions
And false ideas as I can.
So if this is some punishment for those
I want to see my lawyer because I've served my nickel.
You could knit me a suit
Of conventional wisdom
(About being single, being lonely)
Spilt for my benefit.
And I still wouldn't know
Which is most accurate.
"There are plenty of fish in the sea"
I agree.
"You have to love yourself before someone else can"
Well I admit I have bad self esteem
"Focus on yourself"
Ok but I'm not that kind of per-
"You'll find them when you're not looking"
Come again?
"You'll miss being single"
**** Off.
I barely know what it's like not to be!
(But we don't talk about that)
I'm tired of the cycle.
It feels like I'm going in circles.
I'm tired of spending nights
Staring at the ceiling
Listening to someone
With more name recognition
Then I have, croon
About how they knew how it felt.
I try to say I shouldn't care.
The memories of a smaller me disagree.
I try to ignore it, and let it be.
My tedium of quiet sweat
A computer screen, and my hands should be enough.
(I'm lying)
The only problem is when the hormones
No longer strangle my higher orders of thought
I'm left with the minor sour taste
of shame
(Nothing experienced nothing learned
Nothing said nothing felt)
What am I doing wrong?
Do I lack testosterone?
Is it the history of mental disease?
Or is that same realization that I have
When I'm bleary eyed in
Bathroom light
And I look in the mirror;
That maybe I'm just ugly.
That there is a kernel within me
Of anger, lust, and pride
And I can't tell if I'm worried
That no one will love me despite it
Or because of it I cannot love myself.
Is there foresight or fault in my construction?
Do I still have a finger to wear a ring, because I will, or should I remove them?
Do I have a tongue
So I can speak, converse
With a lover underneath the midnight moon
Or should I extract it?
(Always spoke best with my hands, I feel sometimes)
((Oh you old romantic fool))
How can I remind my heart
That's it's only supposed to pump blood
When all I remember is that it's meant to love.
**** old outdated chivalry.
**** sentiment.
**** the romantic masters who
Wove me hope in meter and verse.
This is what becomes
Of the boy dreamer staring at the window
Who's heart so often leapt
From his chest to his sleeve.
He becomes a man with a child's heart
Who is oblivious to romantic interest
And falls for those who care about him
More than he cares for himself.
I do not want to feel it again
(The warmth, the butterflies,
The shivers up my spine, the joy)
Unless it is real.
Otherwise I wish those feelings
Would die, die, die, die, die.
Eventually I'll be used to the yawning void
That has enveloped my chest.
But sometimes I hope
I pray
I chalk up stone and light candles
And pray to gods benevolent of planes unseen
That I'll understand
That I'll see
That I'll know: love.
Until then,
I'll try and undo the damage
Of 20 years of making a want
Into my need
(My everything).
And knowing that if they were to fall
I'll pick them back up
Let them lean on me
Because that is whom I have chosen to be.
Love for them
But not for me.
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 3:04 PM UTC
Disclaimer:
I started writing this in a hotel room in Montreal
August heat locked in battle
With an air conditioner that sounded likely to explode
Amidst the neon cascade
And symphony of traffic outside in the nightly noise
My friend had drifted off to sleep
And I had nothing but my thoughts.
All of them were concentrated on you.
Body:
People tell me I'm wise
But wisdom is gained and earned.
So what lesson am I learning from this?
I could stare unblinking at the stars
Basking in moonlight
To ask for answers from their ageless eyes
But my ears heard crickets and tree sighs.
With no answer from outside
I looked within and
Rushed to blame myself.
Was I some parasite,
Who ate at all your empathy
Kindness
And compassion
Until there was nothing for me left?
Did I say something wrong?
Did I say something right
But I didn't say it enough
Or I said it too much.
Did I do something wrong?
Did I selfishly lean on you during my darkest days?
Cognitive distortion blinding me from everything but myself?
Or did I try too much? To be something I couldn't?
My therapist says I can't be an answer to all the problems in the world.
I agree. But the child inside who still wants to be a hero
I'm not sure can ever believe that.
If I could trade away my voice
For one more conversation
I would listen to you for an age.
I would sell my sight
So that my hands could rebuild a bridge
I don't even know still exists.
If I could I would kneel before God and spend the last of my faith
If I could call you something again.
I would call you "friend"
Someone who could stand by my side
And that I hope I never treated you as if
You were meant to wait at my feet.
And when we think of one another
We can use the word "are"
Instead of "used to".
What kills me the most,
Is not there's no answer
But that it's silence.
And that's all you have left to say
Conclusion
And now I just have one last thing to say
You mean the moon to me, and you always might.
We used to tell one another that
And I just wanted to say it
One
Last
Time.
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 9:23 PM UTC
Some days, I think I leave my mind in bed
After I wake up
I hope it's still in dream land
I spend the day lacking in the space between my ears
Nodding like a bobble head
A repeating record track of affirmative and compliments
The wall between you and my mind and my mouth
Is a porous prison wall
Sometimes if it yells loud enough
Something earnest, something honest, something heartfelt will make it through
If I smoke a little Mary Jane
Let it pass from my lungs through my teeth
My mind forgets it's fear and rejoins me
If I have too much, it becomes all too aware
Of the stark grim reality
I am 24
I have no prospects, or aspirations, but I have a college degree
I am impermanent
The same hands I look at now, I looked at when I was 3
And will look at when I'm fifty
And I do apologize
If you ever meet me
When I've left my mind behind
Please come back another day
Because I'd like to meet you too.
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 10:04 PM UTC
My sole confidant
In my darkest times
While everyone else is asleep
Is near by the church
I grew up in.
He played trumpet -
They carved that in the stone
They placed in the earth,
Nearly a month after he died -
3 days after I turned 13.
It rained that day.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC
I had a dream that there was promise in the future
That my days dug in a hole, so deep,
That I never saw the sun rise – were a fading nightmare.
But my nightly sweats and twisted sheets
When the sun arose, planted seeds of fear in my psyche.
That fleet-footed knight mares rode across starscapes
Pulling shades and twisting
Warm fantasy
Into hallucinations of other me’s
Dying a thousand different ways.
I had a dream that the demons in my mind,
Results from God’s imablanced alchemic formula that made my brain,
Declared a war on my central nervous system,
That I fought in with breath, and blood, and tears, and sweat
(Eyes scrunched shut, and hands over my ears)
That was eventually termed O.C.D.
And I sit in offices and wait for elaborate flourished script,
That I exchange for the antidote,
For the depression flowing through my veins.
Eventually sitting awake,
Waiting for a song to soothe my tired eyes,
To touch some part of me that I can’t reach on my skin,
And send me off to sleep.
And I am tired –
Tired of the night wars
Waged in between starscapes
And daydream streams.
I’m tired of feeling weak,
When I’ve stood vigilant against
The death cries of a thousand other me’s.
I’m weary of feeling empty,
And afraid of my inability to close
This sadness wellspring,
Would lead me to see the backs of those I love,
Leave me, on parting words and ashen bridges – falling down.
(And if God has ever blessed me with anything,
It is how many incredible people,
Care about insignificant me.)
I had a dream that I was finally free,
Of shackles and bounds and fetters,
That tethered me to ol’ seductive Melancholy,
Warm tears flowing from my eyes,
As I embraced smiling friends, knowing that I
No longer needed to vent, or share the weight,
Or had the desire to die.
But I hear whispers in my ears,
Cold fingers gnawing at my rib cage,
Telling me my life isn’t worth anything.
And punching my gut to toughen me up,
Is outdated, deep seated Masculinity,
Shouting at me that I’m not a man,
Unless I’m wrapped in sheepskin or wearing fatigues.
And that every little slip of a word to the contrary,
Of the face I put on when I’m at my worst,
Is a weakness I must **** and shoulder my weight,
Alone.
I had a dream
That a miracle man could crack open my head
And sort out all the pieces that didn’t fit
And study all the places where my wires had been
Haphazardly ******* in wrong.
And I begged for the miracle surgery,
To alleviate this darkling stain,
But what’s frightening is – I can barely imagine myself without it.
I once looked at myself in the mirror, and wondered if it was better on the other side
While I practiced my lie of “I feel fine”, code for standing on the precipice
Of suicidal decline.
When really, it was just for me.
Is a lie a lie if you believe it? Because that’s why I say it on repeat.
I once had a dream that I was loved,
And that’s the one I try to forget.
As I hold a candle close to my eyes,
My last daily reminder of
Still-living hopes light,
Before I risk a night of sleep.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 12:46 AM UTC
I have faith in medical science
But little in practice.
Straight spined doctors
Racing stopwatches against
Their appointment books.
Extolling the virtues of thousands of years of medical research
But unable to consider anyone's opinion other than their own.
Kindly, soft-voiced nurses shuffling from
Room to room
Doling out condolences and reassurances
Paired with regimens
Of drugs and IVs.
While Old Time in the ticking clock
Slows
To a dead crawl.
And the noise of heartbeats on machines
And discussions out in the hall
And loved ones distracting and pacifying patients in beds
Layer on top of one another to form a firm blanket of
Crushing. Boredom.
And the antiseptic smell does nothing to ease
The passing of time spent waiting
While the medical machine spins its wheels
To the chime of slot machines.
And the bustling rush outside a curtain
On hard white floors,
Does less than lend a sense a peace
But more of frantic urgency.
Minute long - task oriented visits
Where they know names, numbers, and insurance coverage
And they know how many steps it takes for them
To lend more of their valuable time
In that modern balance of cost and care.
Leaving me wondering,
Where did the connection go?
I wonder where peoples' trust went
And when it was replaced with,
"How much will this cost me?"
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 8:06 PM UTC