I'm so confused
No I don't understand
Because who I see here
Is Not who I am.
Reflections tell a story
The one everyone sees
But if you look deeper inside
There's much more left to be.
We're told when we're young
That anything is possible
But society continues
To declare dreams improbable.
I don't hate who I am
Just who I see in the mirror
For these thoughts I keep hidden:
They provoke too much fear.
I want to be normal
Young and happy
But I can't figure out
If I'm really me.
I make a decision
Decide on a label
That is until
New cards hit the table.

Rain drops racing down the train window,
For just that split second time is irrelevant,
Life is on hold,
We forget what's going on,
Sounds become just a background,
Problems are afterthoughts,
All that matters is which drop will finish first,
Because we are forced to think,
Which drop do I want to be?
The one that finishes first,
Trim and slick,
Or the slow one gaining water,
Majestic and thick.
For that split second,
A little rain is all that matters.

Tingling tentacles tease me as they wrap themselves
in me.
Underwater mermaids pour mercury down my
crustacean filled throat.
Pleased to meet you in this blue utopia.
Pleased to feel you in my sunken heart.
Rhythmic repulsions fill blue buckets with chum.

July burns suicides on burnt out tags
wrapped around
toes.
All these blank, useless colors are salesmen to me.
I can see right through them though.
Truths are useful only for those looking for them.
Here's our cut open shame for all to see.
Miracles ***** rainbows and empty out tongue
filled pots.
You can have this truth.
Please, have mine.

I faked my death
in a hotel room
when I was a kid
and I have been
with this family ever since
I have a brother I love
with whom
I grew up with
and all of these beautiful people
I call family
and friends

I am
the creation
from a star
mother earth
is a hover car
and people like myself
die on the windshield
too busy thinking
instead of paying attention

I Hope They Understand,
That I Really Understand,
That They Dont Understand...

My eyes cry out dead flowers.
Each petal is wet on the cold ground,
laying there oh so very proud.
I could stare at them for hours.

There is beauty in rotting things
Can't you see?
There is beauty in old meanings
Even if they make you bleed.