The day they lower me into the dirt,
I want to be remembered by my work.
One day when I am six feet under,
I want my treasures torn asunder.
I won’t need riches, wealth, or money.
After all, it’s kinda funny.
They won’t follow me to hell.
I want to be remembered well.
May my art lead others to glee.
May my work make others free.
After all, what’s the point, if it all ends with me?
Art and creation are for confronting mortality.

Strength is not a raging river or a roaring tiger.
Strength is bravery in small, significant things.
Even the smallest things can be significant.
Importance is not decided by money or popularity.
It is chosen by value, meaning, and purpose.
We are not brought into this world only to consume.
We are given the strength to create and choose.
Choose strength every time you are given a choice.
The hardest decisions are the most important, and
Great heights are best seen from your lowest point.

Bright pink clouds, Sun’s dying breath.
A final push, and a final shot.
Climbing the sky, an indigo depth.
A daily war, and a nightly loss.
Full darkness now, no moon tonight.
A devastating defeat, life on its knees.
Hours and hours, no natural light.
Still life continues, the bugs and the trees.
A brightening starts, to gray from black.
A new day, a new battle.
Rising sun peeks above and starts to attack.
We wait now, in bright blue, for its next death rattle.

I remember this road deeply.
An ache in my gut as I drive.
I can feel these familiar turns.
A cradling, loving welcome.
I used to live on this street.
A place I drove past often.
I used to play in that house.
An address I still remember.
I used to create in that room.
A haven that felt like safety.
I used to sleep in that bed.
A comfort a lifetime away.
I miss the way home felt.
A sensation much like pain.

She doesn’t yell at anyone.
She laces her words with deadly poison.
Her voice is always so very sweet,
when she decides to finally speak.
Venom, it pours out of her mouth.
Especially when her tone goes south.
I am her victim, though I’m her son.
Sadder still, I am not the only one.
My sister, brothers, father still,
are all her victims, her precious ****.
But why does this woman hurt us all?
She was hurt once, so we all take the fall.

She sinks into the waves as the full moon casts its glow upon her.
Through the murky water, she cannot hear the howling wolves.
As she fades into the darkness, her subconscious dreams ignite.
Visions of her past and future dance in her mind as she falls
further into the deep. Her red hair flows past her face. Stars
twinkle like the bubbles floating from her lips to the surface.
She is adrift within her own mind. She may drown within it.

Maybe I’ll be happy
Maybe when I’m twenty-five
Maybe I’ll be home
Maybe if I’m still alive

Maybe I’ll be different
Maybe when I’m forty-five
Maybe I’ll be content
Maybe if I’m still alive

I know I was hiding
I know I was only five
But I was not innocent
I’m surprised I’m still alive

I am now nineteen
I still feel scared and small
I am not the same person
I will try to stay alive
And maybe rescue us all