I thought to myself as I watched lightning dance across the sky north of my town.
"They must be getting really pounded up there."
But where I stood it was dry and no lightning threatened my light night walk.
So I carried on.
I never really plan these walks, I've never wanted to.
And there is no doubt in my mind.
That everyone I know spots me from time to time.
Old friends, relatives to whom I rarely speak, the black lipped girl I used to write about.
And sometimes I wonder what they think of me as I walk along.
But then my mind jumps away to other thoughts.
And its not even that I don't care which is usually the case.
It's just because on my walks I never go backwards.
There is so much about life I want to experience.
So many places I want to see.
So much I want to accomplish.
So forget that old cliche sunrise to sunset.
Because who wants to waste time sleeping.
Like the fire spitting from the tip of my lighter.
Like the way it feels every-time I write a new chapter.
Like when I finally let go of the things that made my mind tear.
Like the passion of the girl with the white flower in her hair.
You see intensity is not new to me.
If anything it's addiction that has since become a part of me.
But tell me what's wrong with living a life that actually makes me feel **alive.
I often get knocked off course.
Stuck in places where I don't want to be.
And no matter how many times this happens I never seem to catch on.
Because these are the places where I tend to find the people who end up meaning so much to me.
I'm glad you got stuck with me.
Giving up for you is not an option.
Because whether you believe me or not you're the best at what you do.
You are more comfortable two feet in the air than on the ground.
I kissed your calloused feet because they give you the flight you love so much.
So please don't give up on yourself like you gave up on me.
Because I will never give up on the Love I have for you.
I could have been single.
I could have left this town and never looked back.
But you got in the way of that.
And I Love you for it.
But it doesn't change the fact I'm leaving.
And as my last month approaches I wonder if this little summer fairy tale.
Will get a happy ending.
Lets dance over the phone to different songs.
Lets be drunk criminals and vandalize some condemned house.
Lets forget the fact that you graduate two years before me.
Lets be stupid together.
Because every-time I try to be smart, to think things like this through.
I always end up watching them break.
And I'm not saying we won't.
I'm just saying lets ignore it till we have to.
And then wake up the morning after with no regrets.
Just like the first night we were together.
Fireball whiskey and cinnamon toast crunch.
Laughter and stolen glances.
That could have turned into stolen kisses given half a chance.
We are a mighty band of misfits.
Riding out through no where on a hot summers day.
With our pale skin cooked and our tired eyes barely slits.
Merely to hear bands we've come to Love play.
I suppose this isn't much of a poem I'm just excited.
Those who say they have direction are delusional.
Because if anyone knew where they were going, then they would already be there.
Though at least we all know where we'll end.
And those pearly gates come faster than you think.
So when you're checking your compass.
Make sure you don't blink.
I like talking to you late at night.
It's when my mind feels sharpest surrounded by darkness.
While yours becomes a fun house for your sleep deprived mind.
It was during one of these moments you pulled my face to yours.
And pressed your lips to mine.
Pain is not new to me.
In fact its a welcome friend.
There is something about sore feet and not being able to lift my arms above my head.
That helps me feel whole again.
I wander through my town in the same way I want to wander this earth.
Walking down every street silently observing waiving at familiar faces as they drive past.
I don't know how long I'll wander like this.
But I can only assume it will happen when I find a home better than a worn out pair of sneakers and an old leather jacket.
I wish I could remember how to have a conversation.
One where I could say what I actually felt.
But until I do I'll stick to my corny jokes, and sarcastic comments.
Because if I can't make myself admit how much you mean to me.
At least I can make you laugh.
My favorite thing to do, is to pretend I'm a writer.
When reality I only write so I can sleep at night.
Sometimes I pretend my old friends still care about me.
When I already know they would rather get high than hang out.
I used to pretend that I didn't care about anyone, or anything.
But as it turns out I care about almost too many things.
I used to pretend to dream to have everyone know my name.
But I only dream of having a enough people know my name,
and that maybe something I write could help someone else get some sleep at night.
I cut open my own head to examine my thoughts.
"What the **** are you thinking you know this can't work"
But in reality I don't know.
In fact I don't know much of anything.
But one thing I do know is life is short.
And two years from now I'll laugh at myself for being so blind.
Assuming I make it that far.
My biggest fear is that I'll go back to who I was.
Fall into a rut of self-doubt and self-pity, too afraid of the future to crawl my way out.
Everyday I threaten to breakdown.
Because all I see are my own mistakes.
So I keep my safety blanket close to me.
In the form of coffee in my cup and a bible by my bed side.
It's not always a perfect peace of mind.
But when my biggest enemy tends to be myself.
It helped me survive.
Its so easy to say someones wrong.
To call another out for all their faults.
To look down on someone because they wear all black.
Or because they sit on the corner and talk like gangstas.
Its so easy to judge someone just because they don't believe in a God.
Or because they're unashamed to walk with their lover, even though they're the same gender.
Its so easy to fit these people with labels.
Instead of looking at them as they are.
As Sons and Daughters.
As Mothers and Fathers.
As Sisters and Brothers.
Yes its easy to hate.
And you'll be at church every Sunday morning....
But the party every Saturday night.
Because while its easy to hate its hard to look for the wrong in yourself.
Now don't get me wrong I believe that Christ came and died for me and you.
But if you actually read that book you love to quote so much.
You would know he came for them too.
So who do you think will go home with him when our eyes finally close?
The atheist that preaches love?
Or the priest who preaches hate?
I suppose only God knows.
I write down my thoughts so they can breathe.
Don't mistake them for poetry.
I write to prove to myself that even on days I awake with my own blood on my hands.
I still am sane.
Or at least something similar to that.
Because if I was truly sane I would hate myself.
And I grew tired of that many months ago.
I never have truly liked myself.
Its why I work so hard to improve, but still I fall short.
But in your presence I don't think of my short comings.
Thank-you for that
I feel like doing something stupid.
Something that would surprise even you.
I guess we'll see just how stupid I can be.
I suggest you brace yourself.
I've never met someone quite so hard to read.
Yet I want to read every page.
I want to know your story, know who you are.
Though I'm willing to bet no matter how far I take this.
You'll always have something more to show me.
That is if you'll let me see.
Because though I feel so comfortable with you.
I haven't been this nervous in years.
Sure yet so unsure.
Because when it comes down to it, you and I haven't learned much about each other.
But I've learned that I want to.
I've never been good at this part.
Your innocence is so obvious on your face.
I'm almost afraid if what will happen when I show you that I have lost mine.
Though I suppose pain is not new to you.
As your wound is much fresher than mine.
I can't promise I can take away the pain.
But it can't hurt to try.
My head feels like its been beat with a hammer.
My feet ache from the 10 miles we walked.
But I couldn't be anymore satisfied.
Because when I woke up she was still in my arms.
And I'm not even sure what we are exactly.
But I'm not going to over-think either.
My head still hurts too much for that anyways.
I'll never miss the building.
And I'll only miss a few of the people in it.
To one of those people, if our paths don't cross again before I leave this town in dust.
I wish you best of luck.
I'll see you again.
For now though I'll just play pretend.
That your sitting in one of the planes that we see flying overhead.
On your way to a foreign land.
I know I make you nervous.
You've told me that much.
Because when you're with me you forget about him.
While I try to ignore how easy it would be for our lips to touch.
You said this summer you would try to forget about me.
I guess it's because he gives you safety.
And I guess I'm a bit of a leap.
So guess I'll try to forget about you too.
But I'll admit that's not easy to do.
When every-time I close my eyes all I see are your sky blue's
Everyday I hear that train whistle blow.
Every morning I'm awoken by the sound of construction.
And every night I walk to the beat of the music flowing from the bars.
But even with all this background noise I can still hear.
That quiet whisper that brought me here.
But all it seems to want to say.
Is keep going.
Its like I'm on a roller coaster.
My heart is doing loop de loops in my stomach and is spinning through my lungs.
And I don't know if what I'm about to do is right.
But please don't hate me.
I mean at least I gave it my best shot.
I'm not nervous, but part of me wants you to be.
I woke up only to find you asleep.
I could sit here and try to wake you, but I don't know how.
Maybe the sound of the door shutting will wake you up.
You know where to find me if it does.
I gave up chasing after smoke that I had no chance of holding.
But there is something about the way she hold's herself.
I can't help but sneak a second glance.
And my friend did his best to warn me,.
That she's the kind of crazy that you can't get rid of.
The kind that sticks in the back of your mind so the doctors can't treat it.
But in all honesty from where I sit.
I wouldn't mind a little insanity.
My life is a beautiful mixture of long walks, late nights, incredible people, loud music, and strawberry pop-tarts.
I guess that just goes to show, that waking up from a good dream.
Isn't always a bad thing.
You want me to say that four letter word and mean it.
But I don't know yet if that is true.
Forgive me for my caution you must understand.
The last time I said that word, it nearly ended my life.
I'm not dwelling on the past, but I need some time.
Because Love is one of the few things I give a **** about.
Another is you which is why I cannot hurt you by saying that word to soon.
People use Love like a drug.
To get high off of someone else like they were made just to pleasure you.
And too often I see innocent hearts taken and broken because they don't understand.
And I have to admit that I've been on both ends, and I can say assuredly nothing will ever stop it.
I can offer some advice though, if you could call it that.
Define yourself by your passion.
Not those who you are passionate for.
For you are not them and they are not you.
You are not two half's to a whole, but instead two whole's to a team.
Coming from a man who occasionally does love and drugs.
Whether it the drunken body of a friend being carried inside.
Or the painful awkwardness of trying to capture the feelings of one so far out of your league.
I maybe weak.
But at least I can admit it.
And I'll be ****** if I don't fight it.
I will not interfere with your relationships.
I respect you too much for that.
But if I hear that someone is hurting you.
I will not hesitate to keep the promise I made to you.
Living isn't really living if you have nothing to live for.
Living without living for something is just surviving.
Breathing air and getting nutrients don't feed who you are.
Only what you are.
And in my life I live for many things.
Some I still live for.
Others fade away in time.
But in the end its all life.
And one day we won't have it anymore.
So maybe for a few months at least we could all stop just surviving.
And try to start living.
My dreams are like drugs.
The more I think about them the more addicted I get.
But I'll never get to them by going the speed limit.
I was always taught to be afraid of things like heartbreak and debt.
But if you're afraid of getting hurt you'll never be strong enough to get out of your league.
And if you're afraid of being poor you'll never take that chance to be rich.
And maybe someone else can be happy playing it safe.
But that man is not me.
Coffee at 2 am and Arctic Monkeys ringing in my ears.
While I let a world pour from my fingertips into a document writer.
Fueled partially by a smile from a blue eyed girl.
But mostly for a hunger to cause a real change in the world.
Only to wake up late for a class the next day that's supposed to "prepare me for my future".
I'd like to talk to the first guy to ever say those words.
Just to ask what I'm supposed to be preparing for.
Its not like I don't sleep.
Then why does it look like I haven't seen a bed in months.
I'd say it's you keeping me up at night, but they were there first.
It must be that my teenage soul leaves my body while I sleep and parties with the skeletons in my closet.
That would explain why we're always out of chips.
How can you claim to be a child of a loving God when all you do is hate.
You take the flaws of those I care about and shove them in their faces.
But if I were to call you out on your actions you would spit venom back at me.
But if I'm hell bound like you say then I guess I'll see you there too.
I think I'll roast marshmallows over you.
Its not like I'll have much better to do.
I try to act brave like nothing bothers me.
But I can't lie to myself and I can't lie to you.
It seems my fears are tied to sounds because what my mind won't let me see i can hear just fine.
The horrible cackle from a white faced buffoon.
A little boy crying wishing his Mom would come home because Daddy kept yelling and praying he didn't find him because the fists were worse.
The crash of trees in dark strange forest and the smell of old death.
But the worst of all is when its nothing at all.
Because that is the sound of you forgetting me.
Something about this weekend has brought a change in me.
For once I feel as happy as I was with you.
I guess some may call that closure.
I always hated mirrors.
Because they seem to highlight my flaws.
Whether it's the acne or the way my ribs poke through my skin.
I rarely like what I see.
Maybe I'm not supposed to.
I'm gonna push myself anyways because one day I might like what I see, and that will be worth it.
Every time I write a story or a poem I can see it in my mind.
Words become pictures and everything flows freely.
This must be why I'm crazy.
That's how far I made it today.
I have survived 18 years and now I'm considered an adult.
But that doesn't matter.
Age doesn't determine maturity.
Neither do cigarettes, ****, or gambling.
I don't exactly know what determines maturity.
But what I do know is that growing up is over rated.
Almost like trying to be well liked or trying to impress my father.
Just another thing to add to the basket of **** I no longer give a **** about.
Happy birthday to me.
I've never cared much for tan skin, large assets, and perfect blond hair.
Pale skin and black lips tend more to draw my stare.
Because there is something in the way you wear your darkness.
It makes my breath short and my heart skip.
I'm trying to open up to you.
I don't do this often.
And I'm not saying you have to like what you see.
Hell most of time I don't like what I see.
But some reaction would be nice.
Because when I try to talk to you my tongue is tied in knots.
I know what I must seem like to you.
A chance that maybe you're not ready to take.
If this is the case then let me show you the cracks from when I was broken.
Because I don't know what the future holds.
But I think you should know even the worst scars eventually heal.
And I want you to know that some of those cracks healed because of you.
I tend to be the only one who laughs at my jokes.
Not because I think I'm funny.
It's because the voices in my head find it hysterical when I'm the fool.
I'll never forget the day you stopped laughing with me.
What gives someone the right to cause another pain.
To shout hateful things at me and her.
Because she left you.
And because she chose me.
I understand the pain, but you've gone too far.
Its for her sake I'm not tracking down your home now.
Because she has learned to calm my rage.
I was once in your shoes only a few months ago.
And I'll be the first to admit I may have overstepped then.
But never to this level, I never insulted her or her honor.
No matter how upset I got.
But you intend to go even further.
You want me to pay.
I say bring it on *****.
My demons want to play.