Truth, what a grand prize,
Truthfully, I think truth is lies.
But I wear a stark disguise
Of being mesmerized, hypnotized
By all that people idolize,
of what the righteous advertise;
But truly I’m demoralized, unsocialized,
Thoughts practically mechanized,
Belief has been excised,
potential unrealized,
And my spirit’s been vaporized.
One benefit to being ostracized:
At least I can’t be radicalized.

Maybe I went a hair too far
And maybe should have cared a little more
Maybe I said some things I shouldn't,
But you said you loved me for my candor
I was never one to apologize
And I hate that about myself
But even so I’ll never call you back
Or collect my things from your shelf.
Just know I’ll not forget
The time we spent together apart
Talking about poetry silently
And bashing modern art.
Did you see the signs?
That I valued time most when I spent it alone?
That I love that Keats quote,
“The poet has no identity of his own.”?
For even this is a manufactured feeling
I tell a lot of lies
I never had a loved one
And I live a lot of lives.

I do not feel a desire to rhyme
Nor work within any sort of structure
Traditions are a waste of all our time
And who needs iambic pentameter?
Whoops.

Feeling warm again:
Clouds, making way for fresh light;
wheels will turn themselves

A simple dream
Where decency was found:
The low were raised to high esteem
And the wealth was spread around

If we can never sail the ocean
We’ll still dream of the sea;
all have their own notion,
Of what it means to be free.

Patiently waiting
There, in the next world, where you
See all coming things.

When everything looks the same
Stay home and play a video game,
When you lose track of the things life took
Sit down and read a book ,
When justifying yourself becomes a chore
And you can’t take it anymore,
Question your choices and your existence
Give yourself a little distance,
Some time to figure some things out,
Like where to go and what life’s all about.
Think about how far you’ve got
What you’ve found and what you’ve sought,
Do a little introspection,
We feel a little better upon reflection.

Why, simply because,
I hardly need a reason
To do anything.

How terribly dull it must be
Relating exclusively with fact
Where everything is a known quantity,
Is your sense of wonder even intact?
Or did you leave that behind too,
With everything interesting about you?

Reminisce, sweet bliss:
The lasting worth of
A summer night’s kiss.

Evil isn’t caring more about yourself than others
But tricking others into caring more for you
Than themselves

This is not about recreation
Nor the asinine seeking of thrilling sensations
Rather it is my focus
To reach an apotheosis
As a kind of deity
Using the splendor and solemnity
Of the universe and it’s energy
Paralleling eternity
Crafting a new identity
To trace serenity
We are all on the path and the road leads upward
Ever

Some few are immortalized for millennia,
But how long is millennia, truly,
Compared to when time began, newly
Forged, to the time where we
trace history to Mesopotamia?
Could it be?
That we are fools to seek peace of mind,
In the things we may leave behind?
All will be forgotten and fall into nothing;
So please someone tell me,
Why our names should mean something.

They told me I could be anything,
So I tried to be something.
They said “that’ll never work”,
So I ask them what I should do
They say “why are you asking me?
Be yourself.”
Gee thanks

I had an interest in archaeology,
Sorting truth from lie,
‘Til I realized those remains,
Will someday be you and I.

A simple solution
To all the world’s problems-
Have you tried turning it
Off and on again?

Your typical conceited bore,
Forgot what they’re searching for,
Everything becomes a chore,
Others’ pains don’t register anymore
Can’t resonate anymore
Can’t be held accountable anymore
Cause you can’t even see the shore
Anymore
Lock and bolt the door,
Pass out on the floor,
To dream of things which you adore
A mental sub-conscious war.

I wish I could cut out my heart
So I would never have to taste disappointment
again
How could something that causes so much
Needless bitterness and despair be such a vital *****?

Do not lose sight now
When you’re far enough ahead
It seems you’re behind

Untold times reaching
Out with grasping fingertips
But invisible

The wind howls today
Like it could spur me away
I will root myself

Colorblind, you see in mournful grey
You speak of all you rue,
Commiserating, I try to say
For you I’d paint the skies blue.

You think yourself invisible
But you are heard, you are seen
Know your fears are divisible
Try and let the grass be green

Quiet your incessant mind
Erase everything they said
Think of all your ties that bind
And don’t let your blood run so red

Coal dust, pressure-diamond,
Blue men, horse people,
Pretend we’re Cincinnati-an
Some old Baptist steeple
Appalachia,dying slowly
Educashion, all flunk
Accent, speaking drolly
Moonshine whiskey drunk
Class traitor, transgression
Fly-over, fat food
Pensions, Matt Bevin
Impertinent, cancer brood
Capricious, whimsy seasons
Quaint house, rusted down
Leave, many reasons
Stay, familiar town

Bile risen,
Unbidden,
To my throat.
Liquid crimson,
Of my own volition,
Reminds me I’m still human.
In spite of what I’ve wrote,
I crumble up the note.

20 something year olds should be writing about how in love they are,
Or about how they’ve come so far
Or the beauty of a day,
How green the grass is in May.
Not about our collective disappointment,
Our detestable confinement,
Trying to find a culprit,
For a hostile employment market.
Celebrating illness and anxiety,
Losing hold of sanity,
From feeling superfluous.
God, who failed us?

Love and Hate
Are not opposites
We hate what we love
And love what we hate
And I have never hated
That which I’ve never loved
And I’ve never loved
What I have not hated
Indifference
Apathy
Hate and Love’s
True antonym

Pessimism, it’s been done before,
and nihilism’s quite outplayed.
It’s the latest to be a pleasant bore,
than gloomy and cliched.

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They have forced me to the cliff,
And I am on the verge,
Now I must choose to jump,
Or my true self must emerge.

Everyone you ever knew
Is really just a part of you.

I haven’t the strength
To be the change I’d like to see
I have only just enough
To simply just be me
These shoulders were not made to bear
All the burdens of the earth
Only room for my own trials
Ordained from my birth
It might be selfish
But it has to be this way
Otherwise I’d crumble
Or else be spirited away

Welcome to isolation,
We hope you enjoy your stay.
Our rooms have no windows
And the WiFi password is decay,
So you don’t have to use data
While avoiding your acrimony,
And you can talk to people from far away,
So you have no excuse to be lonely.
Just relax; it’s just a little illness,
Do not suppose or apperceive.
It’s a fad that’ll end soon,
And at least YOU will get to leave.

You think ‘cause I’m not saying anything,
I haven’t anything to say?
You’re an idiot.

Everything that you do,
Seems so wonderfully new;
It’s so obviously true,
That your kind is but a few.

A newborn spirit cries in my cradle
An uncorked spirit falls from my table
Innocent Spirit claws at their cable
Renew my Spirit I am unable

If you raised those downcast eyes
And opened up your mind
You would quickly realize
You were one of a kind

A heart lying cold and numb, black to its core,
It was so lucky I had a thousand more
Tucked away in a little drawer
Ready for when I needed more
So, not that I’m keeping score
But each time pain knocks at my door
Or else my spirit is knocked to the floor
My newest heart tore, my body sore
I take a look in my little drawer
And again I find, more and more.

There’s a selflessness
To selfishness
Only by taking care of yourself
Can you begin to take of others

Take this pain, as a token
To trust the heart, is to be broken
The mind alone, sets you in motion

There’s still places, I’d like to see,
People I’d still really like to
be,

A hundredth chance; in theory,
I really love
humanity,

But there’s a voice, in my head,
And it says everyone wants you
dead,

It doesn’t matter, where you have
been,
Nobody gets to go home
again,

So what’s the point, no one will
tell,
They’d rather see you live in
hell

Heir to a line of poets and stoics
and know-its
Who stoop to assuage
Within cold margins of a page,
Shameless praises take
Grandiose claims
they’ll make
Til 8 lines of nonsense remains

Hollowed out dreams
Cracking at their seams
Still grasping for the star
Which never seemed so far
Still searching for that fire
That shields from all that’s dire
The cathartic placation
When you satisfy inspiration
The iridescent heat
That comes when lovers meet
It must be real obscene
To be this routine
To stretch that errant prime
Into a lifetime

I want to have poet friends
Where we sit in coffee shops
Caffeine and idea high
Until we find our flow
Laugh and cry
Bring each other low
So we can fly back high
And we can’t pay our rent
And we are disappointments
But in those little moments
We are finally something to be jealous of
A clandestine union of talkers!

Verse and poetry
Is an emotional release
Pristine and beautiful.
So wonderfully simple,
I don’t know if I could ever
Write a novel

Emaciated  eremite,
Elegiac eccentric,
You are seen,
Though not entirely keen
On being so;
Unfortunate that those who wish to hide
Cannot turn invisible,
And that those who are so rare,
Are prone to such despair,
That one capable enough to scry
Cannot yet hide themself from one blind as I:
Nevermind;
Your true self you will find.

A smaller God
Held in the palm of your hand
That will dissolve in you
And you with it

The weight of the universe,
But I’ve never had such strong arms
Seems to me a bit perverse
Deliver the sleeping to life and then immerse
Them in hostility and harm,
But for a few consolations
We would refuse to bear it
Preferring the cessation
And subsequent damnation,
And misery outwit.
But that imperfect face,
And the words it leaves spoken
Gifts me trust in the human race,
A suit of armor encased,
Until my faith can again be broken.

Never get too close to anyone
For awhile it’s almost fun
You may be even glimpse the sun
But inevitably it’s always over
All you’ll find is two leaf clovers
With death, a goodbye, or just an arbitrary day
People always go away.
Sink back into your pit
Consumed by manic fits
That you love too much to let go,
It’s how you cope with woe.
They are not meek
Certainly not weak
Wise beyond years
They forgo future tears
They’ve found, having been hurled-
Innumerable times from a great height-
They just prefer the underworld.

A dream half dreamed is
A life half lived