I am king
of Wal-mart,

sitting high
in throne of $70 wicker chair.

“ this is
my kingdom. “

the toy aisle
thinks me a tyrant,

the way I bend
and break its barbies.

“ son,
we have to get going, “

dad says,
so I exile him,

plastic sword pointed
to his back.

“ no more
of your shouting! “

I live here now,
ruler of spoiling dairy.

****** if I know
I just have to write
It’s a compulsion
There’s nothing to fight

It comes and goes
I give it no thought
I will not take the blame
It is not of my lot

I wish I were cured
That I wasn’t afflicted
It wouldn’t be so bad
If my writing was gifted

But no it’s not praised
Not garnished with stars
It’s just the nonsense
Of an old guy with scars

He learned to change with the time because if he didn't he would be left in the past. He moved forward stopped being detoured by fake friends. Distracted by failed relationships, time had changed from young adult to being a responsible adult. When he was young he would lust because they never took him serious. He kept pursuing his goals they told him no and he couldn't do it. He kept doing his thing to prove them wrong and silenced them. He spoke the truth it got him nothing but hate he broke through all the lies. He wanted to be happy be normal even though he was different.
He got judged by people who had ridiculous standards they couldn't live up to. He never believed or gave into the eye. He was the one talked about not the one talking. He was tired of being the scapegoat when he did it they knocked him for it. He seen them struggle the front came crashing down but he was the better person and never judged them for their flaws.

the most frustrating thing
when it comes to a writer
is when everything
every word, every letter,
isn't enough to give justice to
the captivating picture of you
in the afternoon:

soaked in sweat,
grinning foolishly,
striking up a conversation
about coffee,
and how unhealthy it is
for me to drink
three cups straight,
to stay awake,

yet the bittersweet taste
stains my lips.

it spills down my throat,
covers my lungs,
and drowns them
with the addicting aroma
of coffee beans
and lazy dreams,
until i cannot seem
to breathe,

and the only thing
i can ever do
is to spill ink
for you.

stay safe and hidden
in my arms you’ve built a dream
when the cold is too much
i'm another breath for you
the warmth never runs out

fingers trailing on hips
poking surfaces with fingertips
smudged lipstick on pale cheeks
rumaging through strands of hair

i pick at thoughts through eyes
and they are too honest
forgive me for wanting too much
when you were all that i wanted

freedom to feel
within embraces
regain pureness
real and revealed

Remember
When we were kids
And a planetarium
Was a most wonderful place
Everyone simply obsessed
With outer space.
It was strange
And new
And beautiful
It was full of wonder
As was everything
A galaxy of stars
And empty space
We were flying through it all
To a new planet
For us to discover
Floating towards the future
It was like a dream
But as we grow up
We realize
Falling stars are chunks of ice and rock
Not wishes
And stars and the sun
Are ***** of flaming gas
The wonder fades
And you realize
Outer space
Would truly be a lonely place
Alone out there
But I guess it would still better
Than here
And you yearn
For that wonder to come back
But even if it would
Someone would take it away
They always do.
Growing up is sudden
And shocking
And changes you
Forever
And you wish you could go back
To planetariums
And outer space
But you can't.
We are all stars
***** of fire
That will eventually die out.
But some of us are falling
And hoping someone will catch us.

Poem he named ‘Magic’
Vanished the day next.
He knew not of them stanzas
Etched to his writing pad
Invisible forever; Magic.