The world is your oyster and it’s heavy as hell
The weight of the world will drag anyone down
Cry me a river, wish on satellites
But do not go off gently into that good night
Birds of a feather, we all flock together
I’ve got your back we’ll fight hell for leather
It’s stranger than fiction we’ve forgotten our youth
We can’t touch the memories, taste forbidden fruit
You’re flying too close to the sun and I wonder
If I was the wind in your wings or the thunder
Could I light up your life, make it all worth the fight?
This helplessness makes my broken heart cry
Could I lay you to rest on the soft mossy ground?
But you don’t want to hear it and your thoughts are too loud
The songs are your temple and you’re lost in the sound
No not even heaven can help save you now
Nov 5, 2019
Nov 5, 2019 at 8:48 PM UTC
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
don't
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 1:12 AM UTC
We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists
and begs that,
if only for a moment,
our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.
A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.
The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.
The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.
We cannot write silence,
but we can try.
to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.
I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.
I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
Or
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
Silence.
The space I have upheld for myself.
I love to hate you
Heart.
I hate to love you too.
I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 2:39 AM UTC
I toss fragments of my heart
to strangers
and as I walk away
leaving footprints in the sand
paced to the rhythm of my songs
I wonder if they listen
as pieces of music reach out
to them
or if all they see
is a sunlit dream
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 6:24 AM UTC
they close their ears
they close their eyes
shrug on their cloaks of loathing
she sings from trees
they’ll never climb
a song of death and pining
the moon has split
from stones they threw
of burning words and lies of truth
all hope is lost
but still she calls
sweet melodies before she falls
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 12:55 AM UTC
You told me I was
"The eye in the storm of life"
I say
you're the smell
before the rain.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 3:35 AM UTC
Are you ok?
Yeah, you said
I nodded
but couldn’t help noticing the empty in your eyes
The chalk outline she left
burning your retinas more than the sun ever could
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 5:05 AM UTC