History has always had your back.
Society will always stab you in it.
Let heads roll low on the ground,
While you hold your head high.
Might doesn’t ever make right.
The strongest among us are always
those with naught but compassion
and kindness growing in their hearts.
Weeds, they will always grow back.
Society will tell you that there is no
difference between strength and will.
History tells us that will is stronger.

We are bugs under his shoes.
Not a loved child, in terrible two’s.
Disobedient children couldn’t be so far.
We are grains of sand, and he is a star.
Trample our cities under his feet.
We believe he loves us, an epic conceit.
So full of ourselves, we hope he will serve us.
We pray for glory, success, and surplus.

Oil on canvas can show reality,
but truth will not be found in a realistic painting.
No, truth hides in expressions of
pain, fear, love, awe, and even hatred.
Such strong feelings rapture the viewer and rupture their heart.
Only feeling can convey truth.
To be creative is not to create. It is to feel.
Creativity is not a desire, it is a command
to represent what you feel in what you make.

Successful artists are rarely happy.
The depth of emotion necessary to create
riveting artwork is not often found in joy.
Creating truth requires shadow. It requires darkness.
It requires exploration into the deep and murky waters of the mind.
You do not reach mastery of art until you have achieved mastery of the self.
Success is not fame. Success is reaching and
recreating such truth, such beauty, and such pain
that you have depicted reality in its rawest form.

I love her, but her mind grows weak.
The doctors say she may have a month, maybe a week.
Together, we tell stories. Me, more than her.
The ones that we laugh at and half remember.
I don’t know what I’ll do the day that she dies.
“Together forever” really meant the rest of our lives.
I hope I’ll see her in the great everafter.
But until then, I sit with her and treasure her laughter.

I mourn the self that was taken from me.
A beautiful woman that I’ll never be.
A stunning reflection that I’ll never see.

Instead, a short man, barely any stubble.
Will be made, created, formed out of her rubble.
In a sense, I’m two people, metaphorically double.

I’m the man that I am, but also her too.
She lies in the organs and ******* that I grew.
She never would have existed if earlier I knew.

She is my body, and he is my mind.
Though sometimes I want to, I can’t leave either behind.
I hope if they were to meet me, they’d say I am kind.

I’d like to apologize.
Not to you though.
No, I’d like to apologize to myself.
I’m sorry for never being strong enough
to express myself fully or honestly.
I’m sorry for never being brave enough
to stand up to you.
I’m sorry for letting myself suffer
for your comfort for all these years.
I’m sorry for letting you control
my thoughts and actions this whole **** time.
I’m sorry for thinking that I was the perpetrator
instead of the victim.
I’m sorry for thinking I had done anything wrong.
I’m sorry for continuously letting you use me
as a tool to hurt myself.
And above all else.
I’m sorry that it took me twenty years to fully realize
that I don’t owe you a **** thing.

Regal, he sits on a planet all his own.
Supreme authority is held within his scepter.
Calmly, he guides his people to safety and comfort.
Compassion drives his leadership,
And his kindness helps him take care of those he protects.
He shields his flock under his eagle’s wings.
Rain and wind cannot reach them when they trust in him.

Sometimes we wanna make something.
But we really just want to cry.
Maybe creating tears is still creating.

Creating love,
Creating light,
Creating dark,
Creating night.

Maybe what matters more is the fact that
there’s a product rather than what we produce.

Profundity is found
in the simple, everyday
occurrences that our
human brains apply
immense meaning to.

Uphill battles may be ahead,
but they are also behind us.
Do not follow Sisyphus’s footsteps.
Reach your goals and be complete.

Oh, to be the Fool. Awakening with naivety and positivity.
Oh, to see the Magician. Creating the world he wants to see.
Oh, to meet the High Priestess. Mastering her inner intuition.
Oh, to serve the Empress. Mothering all, including ourselves.
Oh, to serve the Emporer. Leading with our head and heart.
Oh, to study the Hierophant. Learning to change paradigms.
Oh, to kiss the Lovers. Choosing unity and new connections.
Oh, to ride the Chariot. Racing towards success and victory.
Oh, to have Strength. Letting compassion lead our way.
Oh, to rest with the Hermit. Reflecting in peaceful solitude.
Oh, to turn with the Wheel. Cycling up through lessons.
Oh, to face Justice. Balancing truth, wisdom, and karma.
Oh, to speak with the Hanged Man. Surrendering to fate.
Oh, to know Death and Rebirth. Transitioning into change.
Oh, to walk in Temperance. Balancing and blending energy.
Oh, to meet the Devil. Facing our inner demons and shadows.
Oh, to topple the Tower. Felling and rebuilding a sense of self.
Oh, to wish upon the Star. Asking and hoping for our healing.
Oh, to see the Moon. Sinking into murky shadows and dreams.
Oh, to feel the Sun. Radiating exuberance to those around us.
Oh, to face Judgement. Knowing our motives and inner truth.
Oh, to reach the World. Changed into better versions of ourselves.

Comforted by the bitter.
When your heart twitters,
You pull back and shiver.
Realize that you are a liver.
Not an ***** meant to filter,
But a human just off-kilter.
Realign your soul to peace.
Adjust your path, jump in the leaves.

We do not sleep. Our all-seeing eyes do not close to rest.
Our ethereal bodies don’t have such mundane needs.

But we do dream.
Vivid imaginations are one of our token traits.
Through our dreams, we create schematics and prototypes.
We test theories and explore ideas in our superconscious minds.

After all, human…
What is mankind if not
a dream that the gods
decided to write down
in dirt and blood?

My handwriting is poor,
but the words I have to say
are rich with meaning and care.

Dear One… No. Feared One.
I want an apology, an epiphany. Why can’t you see what you’ve done to me?
You say, “I don’t believe.” *****, please! I see it in your walk, the pain in every step.
Do you hear it when I talk, the nights that I have wept? There is pain in every word
because none of them are heard. Past your bleeding lies, but I just use my eyes.
To see past your deception, every little false conception. Should I even mention
How you failed to mention that I am your reflection? Your twisted perception
Paints you as the victim. I am your creation. Why would you create me as I am,
but hate me as I became myself? You hate yourself. You see a mirror in my blue eyes, And your many lies are laid bare. I tear through the ******* to see you.
Alone and afraid of what you have made. Oh, Feared One, you thought I was done?
I have just begun. You’re not the only one who’s words are loaded like a rifle.
Other’s think it’s just a trifle, but your words are a weapon which you’ve chosen
to harm. Sound the alarm, but my f-bomb won’t do as much damage
as your constant brain hemorrhage.

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

New beginnings are in order.
It’s time to start again.
Begin a new chapter.
Make a new friend.
Don’t close the book.
Don’t call it an end.
You are only getting older.
You will not break if you bend.

There’s a reason why I keep it all inside.
Loving you was the most delicious form
Of self-destruction I have ever tasted.
I don’t want to write about you anymore.

We shared kisses like tools at a workshop.
Pecks were thrown around like nuts and bolts.
A small smooch was passed back and forth
like a screwdriver whenever it was needed.
A large kiss was given like a rotary saw.
It was handed over with caution and care.
The sloppy, makeout kisses sat as unused
As an oddly sized wooden board, one that sat
Along the wall with no purpose or project.
Excuses to not hold hands littered our home
like small screws and nails litter a garage.
Love sat in the back corner of our lives,
And work took its place as our purpose.
Our love dwindled. As did the number
of tools and supplies we used to maintain it.

After darkness fell, stars shone on the outside.
On Chestnut Street, he came to her bedside.
He sat by her deathbed, feeding her soup.
Her pale thin lips barely covered the spoon.
He told her stories he’s told her before.
She tries to breathe with ribs frail and sore.
After many hours, she falls gently asleep.
He hears her last breath and prays God, her soul, will keep.

Bite my lip, make it bleed.
Not a lover, it’s just me.
Tearing my skin
Bleeding begins.
The blood cries like I do.
On lonely nights,
Blood on my lips.
I start to slip
Into a haze
That lasts for days

What makes a tragedy?
A hero in the wrong story
A child in the wrong household
A man in the wrong marriage
A woman in the wrong family

She hangs above, not upside down.
Waiting for her turn, never wearing a frown.
She is a patient woman, wearing a man’s face.
She cannot run, she walks at her own pace.
Who is she? This dark, hidden lady?
She is so bright, when she isn’t shady.
The Moon, oh, the Moon!
Who’s lover comes soon.
Her lover, the sun, sits so high in the sky.
On opposite sides from her sweetheart at night.
But every once in a while, they meet up to kiss,
Covering the world in a gloomy, dark eclipse.

You have me on a string.
Like a leaf caught in a stream
You drag me along
You are my song
An aria I sing
You have me on a string.

You sometimes think you want to disappear,
but all you really want is to be found.
I wasn’t wanting a specific answer.
What I wanted was to know.
Let me find you.

Despite the night’s serenity,
calm is far from what I feel.
There is only a slight breeze
as the storm inside rages on.

A year has passed since it
happened. Beginning and
ending all in one fell swoop.
Even now I don’t know the…  

Truth is a feeling, an under-
standing that seeps into your
being, that brings peace.
Or so I thought.

This truth only brings a storm,
a hurricane whipping around
my mind as I want to scream.
Truth does not always bring
peace. Sometimes it brings pain.

The clean pages of paper I write on,
Differ greatly from the Google Doc I type on.
These titanium white sheets will be covered with time,
But an endless stream of opportunities is presented by
The typing exercise, using my computer to cope.
The words that I write encourage my hope.
Poems and prose that echo love and truth.
All the things I learned from my youth.

Food and sleep to stay alive.
Medications to stay stable.
Friends to stay happy.
Love to start living.

What is living? Is it the opposite of dead?
No, that’s survival. Is it eating, and sleeping?
No, that’s being alive. Living is different.
Living is choosing to do those other things for an ultimate concern.
Living is doing more than those things
to experience your life to the fullest capacity possible.