Little boy locked up
Walled in by insecurities
chained down by his own
******* proclivities
too blinded by the darkness
to see himself in the honest
The coldness of the air
Is a little more then one should bear
and the dirt floor
brings more confort
then the few once adored

Little boy locked up
Walled in by insecurities
chained down by his own
******* proclivities
too blinded by the darkness
to see himself in the honest
The coldness of the air
Is a little more then one should bear
and the dirt floor
brings more confort
then the few once adored

crafting emotions on paper is difficult when your lost of words
frantically searching for a meaning to my scribble
but never finding any connection to them
it comes down like a death sentence when I write happy endings
I'm constantly trying to edit my mistakes
but always tearing away at the medium instead
it's like etching out a new existence and never living it
I'm not a man of many words so don't bother reading my mind
you'll blur your vision and you'll become lost in the pages
Just add a bookmark to me and come back another time
or leave me on the shelf to collect dust
because checking out was always a fiction

Pe'ahi


The emotions are rising
like an unbreakable wave
it is reaching its peak
do I dare to be brave?
I've tried to surf  this before
always knocked right back to the shore
swimming against the currents seems counter productive
so I'm searching for a flow that's more constructive
cause drowning is no way to breath
and the clear open water is not always what it seems
I'm jaded here
sitting and watching the sunset by the beach
but this stubbornness keeps the big waves out of reach

we paint a picture with dull colors
choking on the paint fumes
a dream piece turns into an nightmare
the time swings on its pendulum  
the coming of judgement
staring into the light
there was no vision to our sight
A insight,
we choose to live without passion
no tears of joy nor sorrow
unconsciously giving into
the night

locked in his mind
listening to  his own echos
bounce off the walls
he'd built up around him
was trying to keep the world out
must have left a crack somewhere
sunlight coming through
it makes him unconformable
his hands are getting shaky again
can't hold the shovel steady
to dig a deeper hole for himself
he begins to wonder what's
lurking for him outside his walls
they come crashing down around him
dust settles, he opens his eyes,
and with all his worries
it was a beautiful September morning.

The worst thing is not knowing
 how your going to feel in the morning
 a constant worry
 needing a new direction 
 not knowing were to go
 pretending often
 that I'm not bothered by my indecisiveness.
 Truthfully
 I have a hard time deciding if I really care at all.
 I know this makes me a burden,
 maybe a burden to much to bear ?

I've lost it
the emotion
tried searching
too far gone
backed up against a wall
in chains again
mind racing , panicking
only freed for a moment
air was invigorating
wishing I never had a glance

some days, I think about how much
I use to make you laugh
and it makes me smile
I wish I had told you

 End of thought

if I take this journey
I risk getting lost
but I may stumble upon a path
never walked before
if I become too weary
will find a stone to rest upon?
or will I carry on with my blooded feet
when I come upon that old bridge
will I dare walk along it's broken planks?
or will I find another way too cross
what new dangers lay upon an uncharted road?
it is an path I must walk alone

I wished I was more honest with you.
I valued your innocence and naivety.
When I think back to it I feel that was to my benefit.
Doesn’t mean I didn’t love you,
but maybe some of my intentions weren’t pure.
I know you cared and wanted grow
but the idea of you seeing me for who and how I’m really frightened me.
I didn’t want you to fly little bird
but I wanted you to be happy.
I don’t think I’m a bad person.
I I’m afraid of being alone and that thought persuades me to act in ways I hate. Insecurity is a monster especially if society tells you your suppose to be strong.
I see you flying now and it makes me smile a little but I can’t help but feel a little lonesome.

I'm starting to feel like
I enjoy just sitting around
and wasting away
I must right?
all I do is find a new outlet
to keep me distracted from
my real problems so I don't
have to face them
you know sometimes
most days
I wish I could just sleep all day
and trust
I don't like feeling this way
I've grown oddly complacent with everything
and its so much easier for me to to be angry
at the world
then look at this monster
of my own making
I feel like I'm falling
and can't catch myself
it's such a cliche thing to say
all I have is hope for a better day

life is a true work of art
apart from it’s imperfections
its mystique never lessens
The touch of the wind on my skin
reminds me to search for clarity
in moment’s of uncertainty
watching sunbeams dance
around whirling leaves
clouds floating like unrestrained dreams
I finally come back to an time
when I wasn’t afraid to fly among them
take this paint brush named ambition
and create new canvas titled redemption
life is an work of art, absurd and abstract
but we can only see the beauty of it
in light of that fact.

it's getting really hard to keep caring
everyday I keeping pushing on for no reason
maybe its hope that guiding me along
but most days hope seems like a pipe dream
 keeping up appearances for everyone Else's sake
 that's what a good child does
 most days I live in a dream
 a dream of something I try to be
 something people can be proud of
 I always fail at what I try
 and everyone is so nice
 pretending not to notice
 don't know how much more of this
 I'm willing to walk through
 but I guess time will tell