This feeling I can't describe
It stays only for a moment
In dark rooms
In cold air
Stillness
Silence
Peace perhaps
Or maybe loneliness
My thoughts stewing
Breathing like tides
Not crashing
Just flowing
The feeling leaves

Day to day to day thoughts and all the things in between I see them clearly out of focus if you knew my baby what I go through on daily basis Im seeing myself between several windows of reality.
Thoughts on thoughts on thoughts on raindrops dripping through the cracks in my ceiling caused by our laughter that night sunshine shines through your smile and clouds my rainy vision.
Fingers running manic through the keys describing what joy FEELS like it can only be a way that we all see differently all unique and growing like plants watered daily to daily.
Gracelessly spiraling through our eraser shaving space time what is sad what is happy ambiguity and alluding to something greater than ourselves some have faith other have thoughts on thoughts on thoughts on thoughts.
The piano keys slow to a beautiful hum and form your eyes your eyes like moons in my skies and I wonder to myself how did I get here how did I end up in a hole looking up at the sky we made instead of flying through it like I'm meant to.
Maybe someday it'll all make sense

The shovel I used to dig myself into these holes its strapped to my back.
It comes with me, haunting me whenever I meet someone.
Whenever there's a situation to dig in, you best believe it's digging.
For just once I want to break it down into metal and wood.
Make ladder rungs from a haft used to dig so many graves before.
A grappling hook made from a bent shovel blade no longer used to bury the hopeless but pull out the hopeful.
Every time I get here, I realize I'm back again, not for the first time, but a repeating pattern.
I'll break it someday.
Mark my words.
I won't be  back.

I don't have clarity anymore, it costs more than the 2.25 I have in my bank account.
The job I couldn't keep didn't burn to the ground so I don't have that going for me either.
I spend my nights not knowing how to say these things I'm feeling.
Then I spend my days screaming them at the mirror.
I have make funeral arrangements every time I lay down but I have to refund them because I keep waking up.
Maybe next time will be the time I get up and have the beautiful view of me still laying there.
Still.
Cold.
I'll fade away into the void of night and the corpses legs won't let it get up again.
They'll stay rooted to the ground as everyone weeps and mourns around it.
Mourns another fallen shard of glass fracturing into a miasma of hate and dissonance.
I'll get to watch myself get lowered into the ground as my mother is comforted by her remaining sons.
The corpse will lay still in the coffin.
The payment on the arrangements goes through and I don't get up the next morning.
Instead of all this I open my eyes.
I check the time.
And I try to die again for a few more hours.

Eat **** and die

I've spent a lot of time being told how to live but no one's actually told me HOW to live

I have so many dreams with you in them.
Against my better judgement you find your way in and grace my sleeping subconscious with that amazing smile.
I reach for your hand and it feels so real, so close I can close my fingers and feel home again.
But before my palm touches yours my body shoots me awake like it's saying "don't drink that poison kid it'll only make it worse."
When I see your face I feel my heart and mind leave my body.
My heart runs forward, my mind runs away, and my body is left in the middle wondering why.
Why it had to be this way, when I know why.
What I could've done, when I know there's nothing.
I know it doesn't work that way.
I know I became the most annoying thing on earth to you after you left.
When I freaked out when you wouldn't text back in five minutes.
When I tried too hard to have your attention.
I was left clawing at the door trying to get it open again.
When it was already sealed over with bricks I couldn't break.
The glowing entrance sign's lights died out and in the dark I wept to make noise to keep me sane.
I told the wall I loved it in hopes of hearing it echo back to me if I screamed loud enough.
But here in the fallout of it all, Silence is much more comforting.
Feeling my heartbeat steady to a stop.
The feeling of your lips on mine is long gone but sometimes in those dreams I can almost feel it again and it makes everything else numb.
But before that thought has time to manifest I'm awake.
I wish I didn't have to call those dreams nightmares.
But they hurt so **** much.

You're not dying
What you held in your hand isn't there anymore
And that's okay
Everyone knows you're going to live
So you might as well start trying

I have so much to say
But I don't want to tell anyone any of it.
I focus on hating myself so much that I'm sick of me.
I press pen to page in hopes of making some way to cope but the words dont flow like they use to.
Those pipes are rusted shut.
Clogged by to many thoughts of myself that came from my own sick head.
The ones that come from loving lips and caring smiles sit outside and freeze.
I want to write my pain into oblivion but it doesn't go willingly.
I could bleed my hands ripping up the rusted copper pipes and give myself a new outlook but the foundation is too thick too break through and I don't have a hammer strong enough to hit it with.
Steel pressed to concrete spelling out my words with smashing instead of ink on the page I set out to write on.
But the strokes of the hammer are quiet.
Because I'll never say any of it.

Lately my sentences have ended with periods.
I've meant everything I've said hurtful or not.
I've spilled my heart to my mirror countless times and ended it all with that single dot.
But when it comes time to tell another human being all that comes out is dot dot dot...
I list the causes of my hatred with a colon: my reasons splayed out like a grocery isle full of sickness.
I use to talk with commas, always more to say
Always ending my sentences with one to continue it later,
Making myself able to feel like I could carry on but now everything I say is final.
I end my words like my last will and testament.
Never to be changed.
No semicolons to tell more later.
No commas to pause for a breath of life anymore.
All I want is that period.
That final bullet through the paper to close the book and let it be over.
I want to speak with commas again, to let it all flow like there's nothing wrong nothing to hide behind that period or those dots...
I want to be able to pause again, to catch my breath, to let myself heal, I want to use the proper punctuation to be okay again,

My nightmares are no longer plagued with monsters or ghouls.
The setting is always a wonderful rainy day.
A day I spent with you.
I don't see flashes of thunder or gnashing teeth.
I don't see myself ripped to shreds by beasts of the night.
I only see myself being forgiven by you.
It's not real.
That's the scariest part.
A second chance only in my dreams.
Only in my nightmares

Dear home,
I'm sorry I was too late.
I talked to dad, he's changed so much.
He's too different to remember you now.
I thought I'd find you on the other side but you weren't there.
I came back hoping I was wrong and you'd be here.
But you aren't.
You've been gone,and I had no idea.
I spent all that time looking for you.
When I should have been building a new home, new memories.
I should have moved on but you were so warm, so comforting.
I'll visit your grave whenever I find it.
I'll leave the photo albums and home videos for you.
Maybe if you watch them instead of me, you'll remember me like I did you.
Goodbye home,
Yours truly.

Hello, dear self.
You are cold and unwelcoming.
You there, with the void in your chest.
I lay next to you every night wondering how we are together.
Who are you?
How are you?
Questions not to be answered.
Hushed tones tell of hatred for myself.
You spill your feelings to the mirror each night.
Being to afraid to tell others.
You know exactly what you need.
And exactly how you won't get it.
You cry when it's too much.
Saying bittersweet "I'm sorry".
You tell the ceiling you love them.
Your pillow it's your everything.
You ask the wall why she left.
Why you're alone now.
What will be left.
When all this is over.
You again, maybe whole.
It'll all blow over.
Did it matter? I'm not sure.
Will you matter? I don't know.
You tell yourself the answers in two short letters.
N o.
I'll greet you every morning until you get better.
Until we get help.
Or until we both die.
I won't just let go of me.
It won't be a pleasant goodbye.

I stare off.
Whether it's into your eyes or somewhere in the distance.
I listen to sappy piano music with the sound of rain falling on a city sidewalk as I stare at nothing and think about everything.
I wonder when I'll feel like I belong.
Probably when I'm in in your arms.
I think about what I'm going to have for lunch tomorrow.
Probably nothing as I forget to have lunch most days.
I wonder why some things are and why some aren't.
What I could do it I stopped time.
Spoiler, I'd sleep.
I stare off into space wondering if I'll ever find myself again.
Somewhere better.
Somewhere that feels warm and like home.
But for now it's cold and piano filled.
I'm not sad about it.
The thoughts will just wander freely.
Until I reach a landing point.
Out here among the stars.

Marching through the streets chanting and hollering.
Waving evil flags and burning tiki torches.
Calling out for the death of many.
Not thinking about their own.
Anger, hatred, met with silence.
Stillness, steadfast.
Mace and truncheons meet faces and bodies.
Close quarter hate-to-hate combat.
Swastikas fly protected by sacred badges.
While voices of peace lay on the ground in hopes of a better tomorrow.
Peacefully we try and violently it fails.
The fight never won by one side or the other.
We can't share our living space.
We can't share our voice.
Coexist is a death sentence to those without weapons.
We sharpen our tongues and dull our blades to fight this war on our own neighbors and friends.
One day it will end.
We just don't know when.
The drums of war will quiet and give way to new peace.

Two sides that are supposed to be together.
Fighting against a force of pure unbridled frustration and chaos.
Two inseparable sides cut in half by the monotonous buzzing of this horrid swarm of insects.
Home was on the other side of the country but they brought their enemy with them.
Home felt like D-Day storming an unfamiliar beach with familiar people.
Watching them fall away into the reality that this world hates us.
It's all noise and bombshells.
****** fire picking off the last of what I knew and loved.
Home was here when I was where I was.
Now this is a warzone.

I walk at night a lot.
It's still and cool at night.
Everything is vacant in a small town at night.
The buildings are quiet.
The smells of the diners no longer linger in the air.
I relate a lot to the night time.
I'm quiet and unsure about what's in the distance.
I'm vacant and cold.

Like this balloon, I'm filled with helium, as the things I love keep floating away

*******... remember when you loved me like that?

I get snappy with people.
I get impatient because in my head it all just turns to noise.
The talking and questions are replaced by the constant buzzing of TV static in my ears.
I feel overwhelmed by the simple things.
I get angry.
Not at them, at the nothing that's so loud in my head.
I can't explain it to you.
So I'm sorry you have to suffer the wrath of my bad attitude.
I'm sorry it's all just noise in my head.

I don't write a lot of poetry about me being queer.
Not because I don't like it.
I love that about me.
It's because I'm lucky.
I'm so  lucky that I grew up with parents who hugged me when I came out.
So lucky, that my friends reacted with a "hey, cool".
So lucky that all of this let me come to terms with myself.
I never hated myself because of who I am...I'm so so ******* lucky.
But there's so many out there who didn't have this.
Who's parents kicked them out or beat them.
Who's friends left them alone.
Who hate themselves for who they are, for the wonderful things that they are...
For me it was easy, for you it might not be
For them it can be so hard.

But I'm nowhere close to being done.
This game of chess between my mind and my mouth doesn't end.
So I write it down here.
Maybe 50 more and I'll be done.
Not likely.

I see you in so many other things
Other people
Your face still smiling at me
Ready to take me into your arms.
But that isn't you.
That's not what you ever were.
Please go away.

When I starred myself down in the mirror and said
"I can't, it won't, it couldn't"
It felt wrong.

I have hope that one day
One day I'll be happy
I'm getting there, I know I am
Day by day my smiles grow more genuine.
I'm starting to remember things like "you didn't deserve me".
And "you don't have to just have this you can get help".
I'm getting better
I know I am.
I know that one day, possibly soon I'll lay down and close my eyes and you won't be the only thing I ******* see.
This thing that stuck you in my head is letting go and *******, does it feel good.
I'm slowly starting to be a human being again and not just a stupid pile of obsessive thoughts, all started because you look good in a red dress.
I'll be happy.
You can't change that.

She looked so beautiful without me next to her

I have so many memories triggered by music.
I see everything flashing before my eyes with every note.
I see album covers in desk drawers in a house I haven't seen in years.
I see that one Saturday we grilled out in the front yard.
It all sounds like a different time.
It sounds so sweet.
When the chorus hits I see a different state.
Texas heat and Friday night drives, just to get away for a while.
I see so many things that are so far away now.
It all sounds so close though.
It sounds like it just happened.
Like two other houses.
Like three years of middle School.
It sounds like home.
And it sounds so good.

I just want to sleep why can't I forget about her already
I don't care about her lips or her arms around me anymore
Please, just let me go.
I talk to this mirror too much they think I'm crazy
I yell and scream at myself to just quit already
I'm so annoyed at this person who's only in my head
At these people who are only in my mind
At these ******* thoughts that only sound like an extremely angry swarm of bees at night.
I just want to be done with you.
I just want you to realize how much you hurt me.
How good I had it when I had you.
How quiet everything was because I could always look foreword to your texts.
How soft my bed was when the lingering feeling of the kiss you gave me that morning lulled me to sleep every night.
How much I've been arguing with myself because I don't agree with me.
I hate you so much but you just don't deserve it.
I want to love myself but I just, don't, deserve it.
I still check my phone every morning, 8 months later.
I still secretly hope I'll see you at the super market over by your house and you'll try to talk to me.
I still look at that picture you gave me and scoff like a disappointed father at a little league game.
I want so much for you, I want the best for you.
But I don't want to keep thinking that you were the best for me.

I don't feel the way I use to
I feel like someone new
I feel so different now.
Years ago I would never dreamed I'd get here
Out of hell, even if it's only for a little bit.
I may not like myself, but I can learn to.
I can try and be better now
I can make it better now.
I'm stronger than I know.
Braver than I could believe.
I don't feel the way I use to.
Because I feel better now.

It's hard to pinpoint the day it all changed.
I can clearly remember my parents in each other's arms.
Somewhere they started to climb a number of steps before finding the one to settle on.
Stepmom. Stepdad.
New words for the vocabulary.
It isn't a bad thing its just change.
Change hits like a truck.
Before it happens there's a moment of bliss.
A period of years that are unabashedly happy
Then it's there.
What happened before is the past.
The nights spent at friends houses.
Endless hours spent playing stupid video games to get away from school.
What happened before is gone now.
I can hope I'm not too.

One two three
the foot work is rather difficult
One two three
I'll let you lead this time
One two...lost it
It's okay we'll start again
One...Where are you going?
One two three
This is ******* my own
One...two three
I think I can get this by myself
One...Two...Three...
The music stopped a while ago
The band went home
You left without a word
One...
Two...
Three...
I can't...

There's a lot I want to say
Like I feel....
Or how you made me....
My mind overflows but my mouth is dry
I just want to be....
Right now I'm not....
Words don't work like Webster says
They trip me up in a net made of misspoken things
Like how I'm....
Or how I just wish I could say....

Dear home,
I'm writing this letter to catch up with you.
How are you? I'm well, for now.
Things were pretty dark, but I'm going somewhere new soon.
Maybe I'll find you there? I use to think you were here but, not so much anymore.
I wish I could see you now. All these memories, all the good times.
I don't know why you left or when really, but I hope you're well.
I've grown up so much, and not just because of the beard.
I've learned about all sorts of things, love, life, friends and family.
I have an idea of who I am, just not where yet.
I hope you're been well, you were always so good to me.
I have to go now, but before I do there's just one thing.
I miss you, so much.
Maybe I'll find you again soon.
With love, Me.

I write a lot of them
My mind thinks in bursts
So I'm sorry for the format
I bounce back and forth between sad happy and angry
I just want to document it while it's here

She took so much away from me.
My senior year of high school.
A year and a half of my time.
She took the love I gave and put it in the garbage.
I took it all to heart
I tried to **** myself
but here I am.
You there, reading this poem it will get better
It will look up
The storm will clear
Or if your like me and find comfort in storms
It will continue, or rain again some other day.
You will smile again
You will sleep easy again
Dear reader you will be you again
I just don't know when.
It's awful, the feeling.
Having the things I do is like a grocery list
Depression, check
OCD, check
Now heartbreak, check.
But dear reader I say this
I've improved
I find it hard to cry at her picture anymore
I get angry
I beat my fists on my table but it subsides much sooner than crying did.
Dear reader you will be better.
Write poems
Draw art
Go to that karaoke bar and sing your ******* heart out
Dear reader, it isn't worth your life to be miserable.
I'm moving to Oregon in a few weeks.
The scenery is so beautiful.
More beautiful than she could ever hope to be.
It snows there.
I'll feel at home among the cold because I like it that way.
My heart is broken but my will to fight isn't
It never will be.
The world is cursed and stupid
But we find reasons to keep going.
Dear reader, Dear me, it get's better.
Just keep living.

all the stupid ****
the notes
the pictures
the dumb little heart shaped pieces of paper that stacked up on my desk
I just want you to know
I kept them

Yes, I am trying
No, I have not made progress
You will still haunt me

You know at this point in my life I thought that holding a loaded handgun to my head would make me feel something
Regret
Fear
Sadness
Instead I feel cold metal as my own skin
I feel relief as I put pressure on the trigger
But the safety is on
Just in case

I showed my poems to a friend of mine and she told me it wasn't real poetry.
I asked why?
"It doesn't rhyme, the meaning is too open, you don't have to think to get it."
What is that supposed to mean
I want you to get my poems I use them to cry for help
I can't afford the help I need so I write words instead of crying
I told her if it was too simple she should go read Bradbury or something
I don't need to rhyme to tell you things like
Those who are heartless once cared too much
Or The most broken people smile the most
I know because that's me ******
I don't need your validation if you don't validate me at all.

I draw monsters.
Faceless, too many arms, disfigured, sharp teeth.
I draw monsters because they're fun.
Some skinny, some wide, some tall, some very very tiny.
I draw monsters because they're easy to do.
They start to look more like me however.
Somewhere along the twisted images start to remind me of myself.
I draw monsters because I relate to suffering.
Being twisted and evil.
Eternally in agony.
I draw monsters because I am one

I don't feel myself
Without you
Without me
What's wrong with me?
Too poor for therapy
Too proud to ask for help
I'm not myself lately.
If only I knew why
If only you cared

But I'm sad man
I remember what I had man
It was pretty rad man
But now I feel so bad man
I want to not be mad man
But it's all coming up sad man
One day it'll be rad man...

But the words still come
Old and rusted
New and glinting
Weapons in an endless battle with myself
When will I run out of words to write

My mom doesn't always get it
Sometime's I feel like she only sees and hears what she wants
But she's always been there
She's voiced her concern with an endless supply of "You're my son and I love you"
I'm left speechless.
I don't know exactly how someone decides to become a parent let alone become one twice but the second time was me and I'm grateful.
Without this life I live I wouldn't know the joys of having a mother.
Especially mine.
Lived in the same house for over 20 years but made it feel different from the walls to the atmosphere
isn't a chef but puts a homecooked meal on the table almost every day of the week
Sometimes falls apart but never fails to bring the family together "How about a boardgame."
I always thought the term, "find someone to love that reminds you of your mother" a bit weird
But I get it now, because it would be an honor to any human being to be compared to my mother.

I can't sleep
You're still there
I can't close my eyes
I wish I could
I could dream without you
I'm so ******* tired
Please let me sleep

Nothing is permanent
Except for pens
Ink stains everything
Graphite fades
Erasers take away marks that were meant to last forever
I'd rather stain my soul with something that will last

Hello
Goodbi
No, not incorrect spelling
I am a good bi
But what does that mean?
From the age of 8 all I ever heard about was mothers and fathers
That one day I'd find a wife and be a husband
But but​ 10 I had, feelings.
The first time I tried to open up about them I was explained that opposites attract so I must be wrong.
Two men couldn't possibly be right.
So I brand myself straight, after fixing the curve to fit in
By 12 I had learned a new word.
Bisexual.
But what is it?
Who is it?
Knock knock
Who's there?
It's me
Hello
Goodbi
Yes, I am a good bi
I indulged this new finding and what I found was myself
Among something I could call myself besides confused.
So here I am.
Spry, bi, and ready to try
Try to be the best bi I can be
By being myself.

My poems of love are usually sad.
Let's see how this one goes.
Love is love, it's a simple sentence.
Three words.
But for the world it's a difficult thing to comprehend.
I've been fortunate enough to have a family that understands but somewhere else in the world there's a place where no one does.
People are being rounded up, and killed like roaches in an infestation.
Shoved off roofs, shot in the streets and for what.
For loving just a little different.
For living as themselves.
My heart is heavy.
My mind unsteady.
Thinking of how my family would act if one day I came home for christmas with another man on my arm.
He'd be welcomed and greeted with the kindest of hearts.
Because here love is love.
And I wish the world could love like this.

This haunting refrain that leaves my mouth
It's your's you know
I've sung it for you a thousand times
The only difference is now it's lost it's soul
The heart behind it, broken in two
Some notes are now soured by sadness
And yet I sing on
I sing in hope for a day I can change back into a major key
An uplifting sound could hit my ears again
If only I knew how to right now

Do you miss me like I miss you?
Was I at least good some of the time?
Did our time mean anything?
Do you ever think of me?
Did I ever matter?
What did I do wrong?
What could I have done to fix it?
But they can't hear you.
They'll never hear these questions.