You are what you eat
And you write what you read.

I have never read the greats
Except an occasional poem for class,
And I feel like a heretic for saying that.

I’ve never willingly
Read Shakespeare or E.E. Cummings
But instead:

I read the words of online poets
Consuming their ink—
Or should I say pixels?
I graze their crimson lining as they
Turn themselves inside out to
Let the whole internet see.

I rise with the wave that they weave with their words
And then when it crashes, when it crashes down
I go under as if drowning was velvety soft and I
Let it wash me onto the shore.

You are what you eat and
You write what you read.

Rarely do I read stilted lines and perfect form
So I write like a mess and a surge and a storm.

I always knew
That he wasn't really normal
I mean Penny’s dad never yelled
Or cried
Or switched all the time
But I didn't really obsess over it
Until I was around eight-maybe nine
Memories of the day
And the sound of his sobbing passing through the thin walls
Kept me awake

I did what they warn us not to do
I took my phone
And Googled
His problems
His symptoms
The things that I had to suffer from

There were too many questions
I needed answers
I needed solutions

Daughters and sons
By the water of words
Water from the pond
Shores in centuries

Described by silence
Existence of ice-cold entities
Made of cosmic dust
For the moment afterwards

Moment afterwards
In the pond
Hope
Shore of the awakening

Blinking of an entity
Who you do love
Whom you forgive
In the house of silence

yearnings called me back deep,
pulling me in the opposite direction.

Teardrops trickled in all directions
across and down my red flushed face
my heart pounded to a rhythm I had never known
uncontrollable mood swings followed

this was my first love, saying goodbye
I often recall and often regret
yet, what could I of possibly done different?
my destiny, my personality, were formed long before she came

many years later, I was given a label;

tut-tut, oh well, never mind
learn to live with it
you can never change

I travel into the echoes of my long distant past
I find life was not as I remembered
insanity was my upbringing
schemas in place long before I knew they were there

the culprits have now both left this world
I have no explanation, admission or apology
just a bucket of square pegs
with round holes to fill

so, to my first love, I say this;

you did well to walk away from me
I would have only brought you pain


yet, the teardrops still fall

There are so many people in this world
That feel lonely
And most of the time
We tend to get along
There are so many of us
And yet
Here we are
Alone
Wishing for someone to care
To ask us questions
And wanting to be the one asking

There are so many of us
But we can't seem to find eachother
So here we are
Lonely

Common sense in traveling, through train tunnels.

If it is wide on the inside.
And one, cannot travel any farther.
It is better to take a short cut.
You will get there more expediently.
And the other route, will close on its own.

My feelings are rain
Pouring down
Messing up plans
Gloomy things they are
The raindrops build
Coming together
More and more
Until they start to flood the city of my mind
And then I write
And it's like suddenly
A sewer has appeared