I haven't been a child
in a few years now
responsibility always finds a way
back somehow
I slip and slide
down a vertical wall
but my horizontal race
has no warning call
I try to jump the fence
try to scale the chain link
but I'm caught in the past
the present has me at the brink
falling and scraping my knee
still brings me to tears
I'm a kid but
I haven't been and child for years
Kids grow up
so fast these days
we drive by young years
and explore new ways
we go from tripping to skipping
to standing still
we grasp and start gripping
the screws to drill
the thoughts of the others
and reality
into our heads
because no one wants to think for me
I've hardly grown
but I'm surrounded by fear
cause I'm still a kid but
I haven't been a child for years
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 12:14 PM UTC
Crestfallen as my fallen crown
lying now upon the ground
trapped in yesterday's salty tears
like rage suppressing petty fears.
Clouded jewels in time-worn gold,
what once was warm is icy cold
a kind of cloak that can't be torn
are my thoughts despondent and forlorn.
I cannot the storm cloud break
before my own soul I must shake,
arouse my pulse, bring back my breath
before my crest falls nigh to death.
Shake off my shackles, old and new
and bring a change long overdue
bend toward the tear-soaked, elegiac ground
and from the dust retrieve my crown.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 3:26 PM UTC
What I wouldn't give to hide
and break the glass covering my mind
release the tension as it builds up
relieve the steam
let loose the dreams
smell the new horizon spanning my fate
look across my mind's ocean
and forget all of the commotion
caused by my own brain’s turmoil
fixed in the work of turning the soil
the labor, the toil, spanning generations.
Discovering new fields and meadows of the mind
would help, not hinder
a cerebrum such as mine
expanding further past the shore
deeper into the metaphorical earth of conscience
but instead I await a rescue
for, what simply more could I do?
the lines of capable and not so are thicker than before
and I'm on the side of failure
my continuance is dependent upon my hindered success
my mind and my clothes and my body's a mess
I want the shake and break the glass encasing my brain
crack the display case
do more than what is required
but how can I do more when I can't do less?
How can I derail this train of thought that I will never be the best
and I might not even be good.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 2:05 PM UTC
Poets can hand out
Parts of their souls like pamphlets
I'm not that selfless
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 12:47 PM UTC
The stranger entered through the gate
He walked down Crimson Street
He stopped, and all around him wait
He heard the ceasing feet
The stranger said, “All who are near
Gather, hear my cry
I have an elixir here
Drink, and never die”
The people looked at him and thought,
“This man must be lost”
Then one said, “Can it be bought?
How much does it cost?”
The stranger said “The price
Is lower than you’d think
The requirements are concise
Quite simply, drink”
The people said “This can’t be true!
Surely it is fake!
He cannot bring us immortality
If we simply partake”
“Hear me, please!” he cried aloud
The people stared in despise
He was swept up by the crowd
Violence met his eyes
The curtain of mercy we will today
Over this scene bring down
It sufficeth me to say
They chased him out of town
Outside the city gate he sobbed
And wrung his beaten hands
He was bruised, abused, robbed
So he went to a different land
Fifty years, few more had passed
Until he returned again
He hadn’t aged, this old outcast
Though he lacked a single friend
The people, old and weary now,
From fifty years and five,
Saw his face and shouted, “How!
“How is he still alive?”
“The elixir” he said, his voice soft
And trembling with pain
He thought of these people oft
Though they thought him insane
For their frail bodies he could not
Help but shed a tear
They refused before, and now they rot
And still death they fear
Their shaking voices he heard
And his heart did sink
“It’s so simple,” the man whispered,
“They only had to drink”
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 12:45 PM UTC
They tell her she is talented
with special skills to spare
they say she’s got a winning smile
and sunbeams in her hair
She would end her skill today
and suffer every defeat
she would cut off all her hair
if she could just be sweet
They tell her that she’s popular
that she could win a crowd
they say she fills the room with cheer
her friends all laugh aloud
She would be shy as a mouse
quiet and discrete
she’d give up all of her fake friends
if she could just be sweet
They say she wears the greatest clothes
she has the greatest style
they say she has a pretty face
the boys would chase for miles
She would empty her whole closet
throw her clothes out in the street
she would wear an ugly mask
if she could just be sweet
They say she dances with such grace
she sings in perfect tune
her elegance is unrivaled
she makes the whole room swoon
She would trip upon herself
and sound like an old goat’s bleat
she would lose her every limb
if she could just be sweet
So many things they call her
talented, beautiful, witty,
if she could not merely be sweet
then what’s the point of pretty?
The compliments she gets
from everyone she meets
all of them are true and nice,
but none of them are “sweet.”
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 9:16 AM UTC