If I asked you for your name,
would you hand me your birth certificate,
finger and footprints inked in your first breath,
in a manila folder?
Would you hand me your diploma,
edges slightly torn,
creases bending your first, middle, and last name?
Would you point to a pile of bills marked past due?
Or would you look me in the eyes,
reflection staring back at you and show me.
Show me the map that led you to where you are,
lend me the book who's stories inspired you,
whisper the words that charmed you.
When I ask you for your name,
I hope your frigid hand cracks and I see the morning dew
upon your skin, your soul touching your lips,
your lips kissing the passions hidden in your colorblind eyes.
Eyes that see the shades of grey literature resides.
When someone asks you for your name,
hand them the birthday cards signed, "thank you for always being there,"
the rough drafts marked in red ink and the final glazed in gold.
Hand them the photographs, the memories.
When someone asks you for your name,
paint them a picture of the nights you didn't sleep,
the days you didn't eat.
Tell them you are not two or three words on a diploma
but a dictionary with 2000 definitions.
When they ask you for your name,
look them in the eyes,
your reflection staring back at you,
And ask them,
Which one?
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 3:48 PM UTC
It was pitch black when I lost myself
in the arms of the one
who held the earth by it's core.
Leaving a trace of seashells and flowers,
I followed him to polluted water
and barren wasteland.
I held him while he cried hurricanes and moved mountains
for his friend whom was violated
by the hands of the human.
I held him while he stirred the tides
and tried. Tried to understand the hollow crevices
upon his heart,
the taint taunting the surface.
I cried as I felt him slipping from my grasp;
I felt his absense when spring and summer never came.
And when my nights got darker and my days shorter,
the Earth,
the Earth got sicker.
In a fever of 18,000 degrees,
I lost him.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 9:30 AM UTC
And as long as I live,
I will nev'r understand the comfort
in a lie.
Lying through the teeth
that once spoke such promising things
to me.
But I don't think we were speaking the same language.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 4:13 AM UTC
They say pain writes the best stories
But I can't seem to articulate
All this agony
Into sentences
So sentence me
To my own despair
'Cause I fell in love with Bukowski
by his line:
*My dear, find what you love and let it **** you*
And my dear,
It did.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 8:16 AM UTC
One sip, two sip, three sip, four
Is life that miserable?
Is life that poor?
This house isn't your home
It's a glass filled with *** and pineapple
And sadly, I can't pay your rent
With words of wisdom or kindness
Because if I do
They get thrown back at me
With the dishes and papers
In an empty room
I haven't seen you all day
Yet, I've done everything wrong?
Tell me,
Does that make sense?
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 11:46 PM UTC
I have a roof over my head
clothes covering my body
food in the kitchen cabinets
So, why does it feel like I'm dying everyday? ©
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC
I wonder
how the night sky can be so vast
Yet, make me feel so compact
A disc that's been scratched
for years now
Yet, continues to play each track
I wonder,
what makes the night sky so scary
Is it the darkness?
The silence?
Or is it the story the darkness tells?
The pain, the loneliness
The heartache
The unknown frightens us all;
But I wonder,
what makes the night sky so beautiful?
Is it the stars?
Or is it the story the stars tell?
I wonder
If it is not the night that makes the sky beautiful,
But the person looking at it.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 9:21 PM UTC
It's either
you stay up until 2 am
allowing your mind to twist and turn
allowing the loneliness,
the darkness
to take over
Or you lay down at 7 pm
and you sleep
for hours continuously
until you wake up
at 2 am
only to drown in your own sorrow
again
And I can't figure out which is worse
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 8:34 PM UTC
We're supposed to be two peas in a pod,
inseparable since birth,
the dynamic duo.
I'm supposed to know her
like the back of my hand,
laugh with her
like we're best friends,
love her till the very end.
She's supposed to smile
when she sees me
cry when I'm leaving
We're supposed to be closer
than we were in the womb
laughing and playing,
just us two.
O' what a shame it is then
that she's only nice to me
with alcohol
in her veins.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 5:29 PM UTC
We're all mad here.
And perhaps,
those who deny
are the most mad
out of us all.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC