Sometimes
when I look in the mirror
I want to cry.
I see my flaws
with my ugly eyes.
My legs always touch
and then there's my chest....
it's not much.
My arms could be thinner,
but I'd have to go
without dinner.
My belly,
it always pokes out.
Don't you see
what I have to cry about?

The poet has eyes.
Eyes which have seen the  darkness  that lies in all of us,
and the lies that all of us have hid in the darkness.
The poet's eyes are scarred.
This is what makes a poet.

The poet has hands.
Hands which are wrinkled, with deep grooves and signs of pain and age.
These hands have changed the world around them, shaping it positively and negatively.
These hands are rivers, allowing words and sentences to flow into the ivory sea of paper.
These hands have labored.
This is what makes a poet.

The poet has ears.
Ears which have the poet wishes was sealed with stone, for much hurt and criticism has come through these ***** of skin.
The blunt message of an online bully.
The argument where someone who was dear to the poet left in anger.
The straight-up insults that hurt so much not because of the malice in them, but the truth in them.
However, the poet has kept his ears open, because much joyous sounds have wafted through these.
A baby's first cry.
A mother's words of support.
A lover's romantic invitations.
The poet has heard all of these.
This is what makes a poet.

The poet has a brain.
The brain which births ideas in the deepest troughs of its convulsions.
These ideas are made of pure, volatile energy.
They are dancing flames, igniting feelings and illuminating a poem so that it shines like a beacon in the blackness of oblivion.
The brain provides the poet to breath his own poetry, and live on it and feel like it's the only drug the poet needs to save his life.
This brain keeps the poet insane, content, and alive.
This is what makes a poet.

you are forever the memories in my heart
you are forever the great(x) grandchildren
you are forever the elements of the earth
you are forever the stardust in the universe
you are forever

Flowers die off so soon
They are beautiful at the
moment they were born
but when they
wither away into the ground
no one cares, no one cries
because flowers are so easily
replaced by another bouquet of plants
the petals will fall and that is their demise
I am a flower

I am the dust in your bedroom
the kind that falls from the sky and
tumbles through the light
streaming through your windows
I am only visible to you with the
light of the Earth
I will stay on your floor and
you will walk all over me and
never know anything of it
You will kick me up and
I will leave you

I am not the blanket that covers
you up at night and keeps you warm
I do not deserve such a title
I am not the roof that keeps you safe
from the ongoing snow and rain
that happens in this town
I am not your lover, your friend
I am nothing

I am a ghost, an apparition
a wisp of non-existence

I take the time everyday to drive outside of my mind
To drive and leave everything deemed important aside
I dream, but I couldn't leave it all behind

They call themselves roots, but I've seen plants walk before
They say they've a heart under that trunk
And they sure as hell can't leave

And the clowns leave the circus to play games
They leave the world to live under a new name
Making jokes that no one ever hears

It's 4 passed 2004
And you're so little hiding under your hair
You're so careless, teenager, you're coming of age in a pretentious rage

And our parents close the blinds
And they changed the codes on the safe when we had almost figured it out
And the paradox resumed, as we got our guns from another house
And we blow holes in the sky
Just to show God we didn't need him to learn how to fly
We blew holes in their brains just to show them what really dies

you say you can't dance or take a chance at romance.

i panic, i stress. i sleep but sometime's get no rest.

you feel for me , you are the one.

i ache still, concerned i become.

you are not the problem.

i need to learn to solve them.

you make me strong.

i still feel weak.

you are the air i breathe.

i worry that you are all i need.

you have become a loft for my dependence has grown.

i heed my strength and begin to become my own.

My phone just rang.
Every vibration, felt like an invasion.
I could really use a vacation.
For now my bed will just have to do.
I have a ball and chain.
It carries my shame.
A cloud that always brings rain.
With that comes the pain.
It becomes so overbearing.
Left numb and depressed.
I obsess.  
This is no longer just a test.
Take a shackle of the chain.
Boy, you must be insane.
You know she's gonna call you back up.
Tell you how bad you ****** up.
You're really starting to push you luck.
At this point, I would rather get hit by a truck.

Hello my name is Danny.
I'm not doing so swell.
I've walked thousands of miles.
But, I just found hell.
I'm lost in my fantasies.
Struggling to feel like I'm living.
Dead.
That's how it really feels.
How do I deal?
That's great question.
I'm not sure how I haven't smashed my head in.
I'm letting my insecurities make a fool of me.
I mean, what could you really see?
I'm an empty shell.
I was on my way up.
I fell.
Couldn't you tell?
Me either.
Like I said, I just found hell.