Try your best To remain unfazed The world will test You, leave you dazed But you don’t have to change In order to be free Compromise or rearrange, Who you want to be Wear your heart on your sleeve And embrace the pain Dream a dream, make-believe, And cast away disdain
A name follows you- Even when you’re made anew. Neither can you leave your face, Or entirely forget your birthplace; We must have done some misdeed, In a past life, indeed, Because we’re of a lower caste, Doomed iconoclasts, Fighting for nothing, And eternally suffering. And when we’ve had enough of it, Enough of being misfits, When we realize it was designed this way, And that there is no “someday”, Then we’ll venture six feet underground, To tear a heaven down.
Just one, red rose, Red lips, cute nose, A smile, bright eyes, An hour, time flies, Dancing, the rain, Car drive, fast lane, Forget, the time, Useless, bad rhymes, A drink, or two- No, never that few- The future, the past, The outcasts, outlast.
You say you hate the human race I say you have a lovely face You think you’ll never reach the place I think that you would miss the chase So I unlace And you embrace And with the world we keep pace ‘Til the day we disappear And leave without a trace
It feels as though something has ended, Philanthropy has been expended, People are left to their own devices To sink into their own vices. It’s not right, that we’ve lost our care For how our fellow man fare; Blind to one another’s pains And entropy is left to hold the reigns. What we lost, can we ever find When we ourselves are so supine? Nevermind we’re all one soul That together form a reconciled whole, Different branches of a single tree Limbs that emblematize you and me; And when we leave the poor out in the cold, Forget and ridicule the old, Renounce our secular vows, We’re just splitting off another bough.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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!
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?
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.
Maybe it’s me who’s changed, And I dread to sound Old, Or pretentious, Or out of touch, Or Like I’m trying to sound like something I’m not, But the world seems a bit more superficial That’s it used to be
I’ve always been an all-or-nothing Kind of guy: Give me everything, or I want nothing, Triumph, or don’t even try. I never could quite surmise The point of compromise. If I could not win, I would rather lose Without being handed a consolation prize.
I realize now the nuance of it all: Nothing’s black or white, Short or tall, Wrong or right, There’s more than one kind of fight, And the blind sometimes have more sight, The middle road’s sometimes the best one, And always the least contrite.
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
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.
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
Can’t be told told how to see By those who have never saw Or how to them I should be When their sight is flawed Can’t be told what to do By those who have never done No advice on how to think By the ones who’ve never thought Or how to fight When they’ve never even fought How are they so certain that they’re right?
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.
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 *****?