Seeing you is like being
out of touch with myself.
Her eyes are like your sky
but I see you look up less and less.
I don't know if I'm your horizon
but we both know I'll act that way...
But if she is your sky
and I'm your horizon
This is just the love triangle
that nobody likes
I see now where your heart belongs
and it seems your eyes are set on the horizon
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 12:55 PM UTC
I try to avoid being cliché
but that's my struggle
every single day.
I know I can't write
anything real
except for the feelings
that I feel.
Never different, always
the same emotion
over and over again.
I wish I could feel
anger every now and then.
I wish what I felt wasn't a trend.
I wish I was Bono
or Lennon or Dylan.
Then I would write about
what I believe in.
My lyrics would be true,
my faith behind.
My passion is my music
and my life is inside.
But what I write,
it's all the same!
My entire life it's been this way.
And though it's my passion,
I can't escape the traps
for myself that I've made.
"Let me go, let me go," I scream.
I'm stuck in the mundane
like my worst dream.
I doubt everything I create;
it steals my passion away.
It's like war with myself
and in no man's land I lay.
When will it end? When will I make
something that I love,
something I don't hate?
When will I ditch the clichés
and embrace the truth
of who I am despite my youth?
When will I be like the men I most admire
and create something
to set hearts on fire?
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 8:35 AM UTC
Is it what makes us alive
or is it what kills us?
Is it what we take
as we enter this world
or the clue we leave behind
of our existence?
Why does it hasten
when he speaks
and leave my lungs
when I need it most?
Have I ever breathed
the same breath twice?
If not, where does it go?
I believe someone's
stolen it this time.
Each one brings us
closer to death
but we take more
when we're most alive.
What does that say about the world's cruelty?
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 12:56 PM UTC
Before you leave today
I must ask,
what makes you feel alive?
Is it the blood in your veins
or your heartbeat inside?
Or is it the adrenaline
surging through your bones
on a late night drive?
Or the raging hormones
when you're with her
leaving you high?
Tell me,
what makes you feel alive?
Do you feel it
chasing your passion?
Packing up and leaving home
following your intuition?
What makes you feel alive?
What about the silence
when all is lost
and you remember things
that time forgot?
I challenge you
what makes you feel alive?
Live it out
even when you die.
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 11:43 AM UTC
I don't love you
only the idea of you.
The idea of you
showing me off
to your friends.
The notion that
someone would tell me
"I love you"
and mean it.
But I don't love you,
that's the problem.
I only want to be
the girl on your arm
walking up the street.
Don't say it doesn't matter
if I don't care about you.
I know you'll hurt
and you won't show it.
The matter is
I just don't love you.
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 11:39 AM UTC
Of course I have beef with Christianity,
for all it seems to be is a glossed up industry
full of fear and hate and hypocrisy.
Embellished bibles and diamond purity rings,
where is the meaning in these earthly things?
Where is the love we’re supposed to bring
to this broken world of foolish kings?
We are so quick to condemn
those who turn away from Him
because of our raging hate towards them.
Can’t you show some love again?
If it’s their hearts we want to change
let us first change ourselves
and in turn change the game
for if love is our first attack and defense
maybe God will make a little more sense.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 5:11 PM UTC
There is no satiation
for the man who begs in the train station.
He only wanted a short vacation,
but now he's high on the medication
and has lost his drive to the nation.
Now he can't break his fixation
on the thing that's the imitation
of the joy from liberation
that he'll never get from exploitation
or the momentarily pleasing sensation.
He banks all his accusations
on his friends and false information
and insists there's no correlation
between his health and exultation.
Every morning is a new libation.
His drug furthers his damnation
and says there's no negotiation
for he is but a fly to creation.
There is no satiation
for the man who begs in the train station.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 1:09 PM UTC
My dark side and I
were always out of touch
and I've always tried
to leave it as such
but it seems I can't hide
it from showing so much.
My dark side and I
were always strangers,
lonely passers by.
She knows the dangers
of looking me in the eye
and I know I can't change her.
But my dark side
is not raging or unjust.
It's not sloth, jealousy, or pride.
You only have to trust
that my real dark side
is nothing but lust.
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC
You dim the sky
and drown the earth
remind me how I cry
when my chest hurts.
You dampen spirits
and quiet my voice
until you must hear it
and have no choice.
Silence me, rain.
I dare you to try.
Each force of nature in vain
until the day I die.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 11:09 AM UTC
"You'll be a star," they say,
"you'll make it far, one day."
"You're truly talented," they insist.
But it seems my only talent is to exist.
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC