We're not kids anymore, and it's bittersweet.
We've changed; I'm not bitter. I pray you're not.
Along the way, we forget that we have to grow up,
and grow apart.
My mother told me life is ever changing seasons,
Winter isn't Spring, and Fall isn't Summer.
Is it not foolish to wear a fur in the rain,
or a swimsuit in the snow?
Seasons will shift on their own,
and we are nothing but clouds.
It is not so wrong to assume
we were only passing through.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 10:37 PM UTC
I really wish I was a kid again,
But, it's really shocking,
because I've waited so long to grow up.
I was so wrong to believe
that adulthood was a great place to go hiking.
I really wish I was a kid again.
However, all my goals I've yet to achieve
Make these unknown trails so very enticing,
because I've waited so long to grow up.
Even though I was incredibly naive,
If I said I wouldn't go back, even for a day, I'd be lying.
I really wish I was a kid again.
Time is a **** in a band of thieves,
Who always stole, but I was never crying,
because I've waited so long to grow up.
Aging is a quilt some will never want to weave,
But I want to make more than one. Honestly,
I really wish I was a kid again,
because I've waited so long to grow up.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 9:42 PM UTC
I got a pair of Starburys when I was ten.
Didn't want them,
I actually wanted some Heelys instead.
Wanted to be like my friends
and trip over pebbles
and get tucked into bed with band-aids.
My mom told me to stop focusing on their plates and look at mine.
I had a fork, spoon, and knives,
grown man portions: eyes the size of my stomach.
She was right --
I never liked training wheels, or cheat codes,
or elbow pads or nightlights.
Grown men aren't scared to fall,
so why am I?
Why am I twenty years old shopping on the Heelys website?
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 12:27 AM UTC
You must let the kids
sing in the rain, darling.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 10:54 AM UTC
I hate resorts and I hate vacations.
I hate birthdays, I hate celebrations.
I hate pop radio stations and I hate cajun seasoning
I hate New York I hate the feeling,
I hate being a tourist I hate sightseeing.
I tried being happy I tried doing the right thing,
Until I tried smashing through the glass ceiling and broke my hand on the concrete.
I thought an apple a day keeps the doctor away
I figured out that he's just running late on the subway
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 9:27 AM UTC
(you will say something today!)
yeah, that isn’t stupid
or maybe she thinks it’s cute
when i fumble over my lines
(you’re losing time just say something!)
hey, how are y-
(too generic)
the weather’s nic-
(it’s raining, stupid!)
I-
(you’re fumbling)
but,
she laughed?
(giggled)
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 4:45 PM UTC
So there I was, and there you were, all of us,
everyone, dangling their feet off the rooftop.
Four distinctly different artists caught in the same painting
yet, none of us holding the paintbrush to our passions, yet.
Ambitious, yes, focused, not so much, motivated? Most definitely.
Dedicated to manipulation,
to making a masterpiece for the masses,
a decision to "form a more perfect union".
To map a new demographic before our deaths.
If our desire was to make a mark, well,
we'd be done already.
The mark's been made, but not engraved,
and for it to stay we need to stomp on it until our own foot decays.
And these days, most pictures will fade,
So as us four sat there, dancing with the devil,
we dared to begin drafting on our canvas.
With no brush, but our own fingers,
our own blood, sweat, tears, and elbow grease,
finally finding the paintbrush to be figurative,
that we were manipulated ourselves.
We learned to picture the paintbrush as our pointer,
our palms the palettes, our pinkies the varnish,
a promise our piece would never be vandalized.
The world is your oyster, they say,
and the city was our canvas,
where we painted nothing but pearls,
rare commodities for the communities to cherish
until our masterpiece, the indefinite work in progress, is completed.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 2:13 AM UTC
Tired of runnin’
And fussin’
And sparin’ the details.
We got it good now,
A house, a family, you can go to school.
You won’t learn about us, baby,
They don’t give lessons on strange fruits.
The road derails, your smile retains:
Hope.
I pray you’ll never see blood on the leaves.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 5:58 PM UTC
I'm on the Empire State Building.
The air has never felt so thin,
my clothes so light,
almost weightless in the way they fit.
It's rush hour.
Below me, the bustling pace
of the Big Apple. New York City
never sleeps, so they miss things often.
It's a Sunday morning.
I can hear the bells...
They're louder than usual today.
Is there a wedding?
Everything's black.
The dresses, suits, the ties, the back of my eyelids.
I'm at the peak of the city that never sleeps.
The angels have begun descending.
I'm ready.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 3:41 PM UTC
I remember the days
where we could laugh and play
in the middle of August.
Those days where the sun
had no bounds. We played
until we couldn't breathe, until
our voices were no more than
shallow sounds lost in the breeze
that carried them until they
lost meaning.
Looking back, I wonder when that day came.
When did those voices fall mute?
When did they die?
Or maybe, are they out there?
Still floating on the wind,
lofty clouds that will never rain?
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 7:51 AM UTC