every now and then my pen runs dry.
i forget how to swallow the words of others, as if any thought can be truly organic.
why isn’t there a farmer’s market for ingenuity?
how much to buy a phrase that could finally satisfy me,
a phrase that would finally make me stop after years and years of
nomadic poetry tried to string together meaningless events into a story
that actually made sense?
every now and then,
my pen runs
dry.
i spit all of my words out in search of answers to
questions i shouldn’t ask.
i was parched.
i have so long been parched.
one day
i will set my pen down
and one day
i will look up to the sky in this desert of my own creation
and i will stop trying to put the pieces together
( there are none that fit)
i will close my eyes
and let the rain fall.
Jun 4, 2019
Jun 4, 2019 at 8:41 PM UTC
i've never known what to do with myself.
i carried my heart away in the storms you raised
and i called myself your son, but only in name;
but, oh, what a name.
fear, fear in the eyes of men until they see me
a mere boy
a child, playing at games he knows nothing of,
like he had a choice,
and two brothers to hide
secrets he pretended not to know.
and he never knew what to with himself, because it never mattered:
everything was already decided long before the day he was born,
on the day where
the house was empty, and nothing had yet begun.
he set everything in motion.
i became a catalyst for a game i played from behind the scenes,
and let the main characters take the stage.
you always belonged in that light;
i'll make sure you never see otherwise.
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 4:51 PM UTC
i am not irredeemable.
there are permanent marks on people i've known,
left by the wars they fought against me;
i have done more wrong than i can ever remember,
or begin to repair.
there are people for whom i'm a monster,
and i know the validity of that claim --
but i am not irredeemable.
does the sky ruin itself with storms?
does the earth make itself unholy with every quake and eruption?
i have struck with lightning,
and been struck in return
but i am not all magma and thunderheads.
i am clear skies and gentle showers; i am
calm tides, and soft grass.
i am not irredeemable.
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 4:41 PM UTC
how time changes things.
i used to believe that the old saying about how
time heals all wounds
was a lie;
it turns out, i just didn't have the patience
for recovery.
i was running in circles in my own mind,
pretending
that i had no other choice.
how frustrating that the light was always in reach, but
time heals all wounds
even for me.
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 4:36 PM UTC
i still don't know what happened.
i wonder if you even remember us; we were friends, we were close.
then we weren't.
is it weird to still think about it? is it weird that it still hurts?
we deserved some kind of answer.
i don't think i'll ever be okay until i have one
i don't care what it is; we deserved something, at the very least.
what happened?
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 11:08 PM UTC
the dust settles on me -
two bottles, broken
drop me in the ocean with no anchor
because my sins will weigh me down
i never felt too comfortable in my own skin, and i have
you to thank for that.
i’ll shed it all off, anyway, in the morning light;
i’ll be a snake,
and when i slither out of what’s left of the old me
i’ll be secret, and i’ll be safe, and
i won’t be heard from again.
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 7:48 PM UTC
i don’t know the things that i like.
i know what he likes
and i know what
he doesn’t.
what about me?
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 3:06 PM UTC
am i you?
am i you, or am i me, or
is it somewhere in between?
when you’re with me, it’s like we’re complete
things feel like they’re as should be
so am i you, or am i me?
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 2:59 PM UTC
i thought about it.
that’s what makes this the worst, i think;
i thought about it --
-- and then i did it anyway.
i know recovery isn’t a straight line.
i know recovery is ups and downs, your own
mountain range of
improvement.
sometimes you slide.
i know.
but is it still backsliding if you thought about it?
because i did.
and then i did it anyway.
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 1:12 PM UTC
your hair looks like dirt,
she said.
i laid in her lap like it was the most natural thing in the world, and for me
it was
i didnt love her.
i was never under the illusion of loving her, just
the idea
that maybe i could love her
that maybe she could love me
he walks around with her heart in a glass, doesnt even notice
when it rattles and threatens to
break
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 1:07 PM UTC