exist.
vigorously and without shame.
exist on your morning commute,
exist when you eat terrible hamburgers
so that the taste of stale meat
dances across your tongue.
exist when you feel like smashing your
coworker’s ***** in.
exist in your bed at night
as the flies and the bugs and
the misdemeanours and the heartbreaks
and the rage
grind at your
teeth.
exist with your lover and in the kindness you are yet to show.
exist in a quiet memory of home,
of scrapped knees and softer summers.
exist in every broken fingernail
and every cool breeze that crosses your path.
seek it.
relish it.
make it your
own.
it’s the
only choice
there really is.
Sep 17, 2023
Sep 17, 2023 at 11:10 PM UTC
Poems half written half read
fill my cupboards and fall off chairs
as an old incompleteness
stacks high around me
on this fine evening.
I have been dabbling in the art
of losing
and regaining my sanity,
exploding into
a thousand broken puzzle pieces as
I walk
into the night,
each time with the hope
of something falling back together
into something else.
Something better.
Better than
this.
A loneliness so petrifying
so absolute and whole
encompasses every breath
I have ever taken,
and all my regrets and dreams
have become
calm in its wake.
The universes on their daily commute
pass me by
on the street
and I watch them
longingly
as they fold into themselves,
infinite, unreachable fractals
suffocating me on
the evening train,
changing
changing
folding
changing.
It has been
a strange journey indeed.
May 8, 2023
May 8, 2023 at 12:11 PM UTC
More than anything
it is fear
of a nameless, shapeless
form
that prevents
poems
from being written.
Nothing changes
of this room
at this time of the day
at this day of the week, month, year
for me
eyes sunken, half closed
for some laughable reason.
No ***** no music,
no glorious sunlight crashing through our ***** windows,
no touch, no words
no memories
changes anything.
I thought that
if I try,
these curtains would lift
higher than I can see
to lights and laughter
and love
and that I,
poor wretched soul wronged and neglected by
the world and
myself
would finally make it out.
And that I would wield
the power
and the control
of the gods
burning
seething with life
torching
the living
earth around me.
The stage today
is thick
with darkness
and sweat
as it always is.
I slowly rise
once again
to embrace it.
Jun 27, 2022
Jun 27, 2022 at 3:39 PM UTC
you’d think
that if you wait around enough,
everything will eventually
be okay.
it won’t.
you’d hurt all the same, only
you would forget
why.
Jan 27, 2022
Jan 27, 2022 at 8:55 AM UTC
I always considered it a
sickness
and I did not allow it
to be a part of me.
I just went wherever it lead,
tried not to ask too many questions,
and welcomed the distraction.
Then one day,
I sat down
in front of my typewriter (or whatever I chose
to believe it was),
and as I began to punch
the words in as usual,
I found oddly
that nothing came.
I looked around
and noticed that it was
calm.
The same room
And the lights above me
spat out its steady
white glow.
I heard the faint echo of a ticking clock
from down the hallway
and I could not hear it stop.
It was 1 am
much too early for anything of significance
to happen.
No smoke, no flames, no music.
And I couldn't
for the life of me recall
why I was
there
sitting in front of my typewriter
alone at 1 am.
Perhaps, I thought
I never really did.
You don't remember exactly when
you loose it
or why
or how.
Quite unceremonious actually.
But in time
it hits you
gently,
when you're walking down to the corner store
to grab some milk
or helping your little sister
fold up washed blankets
to keep under your pillows.
like a coat
being lifted off of your shoulders
as you're warm and drunk
and leaning in to the firm, comforting grip
of a kind stranger.
Suddenly, everything clears
although you're fairly certain
that it shouldn't.
You start noticing
that you forget things
so you try and remember what they were.
You remembered later
about your medicines
so you took them like you were supposed to that night
and the next night
and the night after that.
You remembered how
breathless you felt
after you hung up the christmas lights
on the front porch
with your mother,
so you decided to
jog 2 miles a day
every evening
to get back into shape.
It comes to your notice
once again
that you are an arrogant, selfish *****
with a an astonishing capacity
for ignorance,
but this time
you know exactly what that means
and you find yourself
writing down
what you plan to do about it.
And one day
very much like today
as you realize that you've finally made it,
that the slopes behind you
have already dissolved into
nothingness,
you will notice how
difficult,
how ******* painful it is
to punch out these lines,
this frail attempt
at a poem
to prove to a person
that you are no longer broken
and therefore
you do not know who you are anymore.
The best ones though,
will not come of sickness.
The best ones
you will do
for a few
dangerous individuals.
For those who have told you
to stand your ground.
For those
whose memories
you are grateful to possess.
For those
in front of whom
you have allowed yourself
to collapse.
And especially for those people
who terrify you
for what you might do
to them
and them to you.
Thank you for existing.
Dec 19, 2020
Dec 19, 2020 at 4:25 PM UTC
Take it from me,
It’s not even worth screaming against.
The boxes among us and around us solidify
The only doors left leading from one to the next.
To the ones ***** left standing,
I know you are desperately ripping through the pages
For the verse, for the line, a bit of that escaping light
Clawing at anything that will do anything other than exist.
To you, I’m sorry to say this but,
It seems we’ve forgotten what the madness feels like.
We were promised a broken world
And now, we have nothing to struggle for or against,
Other than ourselves.
I guess all we can do is find each other
And stay close
And watch the stars slowly drift into the darkness.
Or maybe, just maybe
We’ll burn another night
Drinking to this poem
And the rest of what we’ll forget....
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 12:26 AM UTC