Messy Soul Poem
1/25/2014

I cleaned my room once.
They say cleaning cleanses the soul, but...
What if I like mine *****?

What if I don't regret those nasty sins?
You know, those things,
committed in the parking lot of a bar.
Like that time I keyed a drunken *******'s car?

What about when I poured my drink down the sink,
because I didn't want you to think I was such a light weight,
and make myself a fool in front of you?

What about at your mom's house,
we stayed up all night watching movies,
trying to conceal our loud laughs to not wake her up,
because **** she is crazy.

What about at the movie theater,
during the opening credits,
when I threw candy at the people in front seats,
because really who the **** likes to sit in the front seats??  
I mean they had it coming.

Or what about those times on my knees,
and saying, "Nobody hear this please,"
but I really did hope just a little bit, maybe.
What?  Don't take that the wrong way.

I was talking about praying in my bedroom,
while you walked downstairs to grab a drink of water,
praying that you might really be happy with me,
and if not, then that you never find your happiness,
if that meant choosing to leave me.

I thought about these things,
these nasty sins.
And after, I decided not to clean my room again for a while.
I like my mess.
That shiny sheen of bland brown carpet covered in dust,
is the most beautiful thing I've seen all my life.


Because I've been the one holding 3 suitcases at the airport,
trying to get to my terminal,
back **** near ready to break,
but the bag broke first,
spilling out all my **** onto the floor.
and eventually I just said, No More.

My soul can't afford another spill
For that kind of damage,
I'd need a dump truck to pick up the mess.
But I digress,
there are some things I hold on to,
somethings that I refuse to clean.

Like that love note I found under my bed,
from when I had just turned seventeen.
or like the math test I got an A on,
because I ****** at math and I felt really proud of it,
or like the first pornographic photo I ever printed out,
don't worry I've kept it clean.

And there are some things in my soul,
that as much as I don't want to see them anymore,
I keep held in store.

Like my middle school friend Deja.
I told her my life story and lived a bit of it with her too.
To be fair for asking her to keep it,
I've held on to hers too.
Like the time she played in her rock band,
at the largest school assembly.

She dedicated the song to me saying,
"To Wynn wherever you are."
she looked up at the audience and people thought she looked to heaven.
They thought I died and were relieved to see me at school the next week.

I wish I could dedicate this poem to her in front of all of you
and look somewhere distant in the audience saying,
hey gurl, this is for you.
but truth is, I know where she is, where she lives,
we just aren't friends anymore.
but I won't tell her I wrote this.
Because truth is, sometimes my soul likes to keep its little secrets.

Somethings take me longer to clean than others.
Like the bottle of body wash my first love left at my apartment,
thinking someday I would return it to him,
but instead I'd frequently wash with it
to wash him out of my mind
but his trace wasn't hard to find,
easy to recognize,
his scent was stuck to my pillow,
and I tasted him in my tears,
as I wept each night,
wondering how I could cleanse myself of everything
we had been through this past year.

Sometimes I like a mess in this ***** soul of mine.
Sometimes I like to think if I leave it there I'll be fine.
But sometimes when the mess gets too big,
I'll feel the need to clean it,
but the funny thing about a mess is,
it comes back,
the more clothes you wear,
the more food you eat,
the more promises you don't keep.
the more times you lay awake at night, unable to sleep,
drink, ****, *****, scream
wondering when you'll wake up from this dream
It looks like a hellish nightmare,
staring at the piece of you trapped in my ***** soul.
My vacuum broke, it won't pick up the dirt anymore
My heart feels sore,
brain broken dumb and numb
can't seem to clean up this mess,
get lost figuring out where I should start from.

Ouch.

I think I'll leave my room messy this week,
to reflect my inner think.
because I don't think I could make a bigger mess than all the things I ****** up with you.

but what if I don't want to be clean
if that means cleansing my soul of you.


I want to make new bad decisions and have room in my ***** soul to store them.
So every now and then I cleanse it, letting go of things stored, but paying their toll.

Love So Strong it Hurts SLAM Poem
1/22/2014

My mother loved me in the ways she thought she should.
Sometimes she drove me to school.
Her nickname for me was 'Cool.'

My mother loved me in the ways she thought she should,
as much as she could that is.

For who could love with a broken heart.
still hanging on to your dead husband
that day I died too.
I knew
growing up had to do.

Turned 12 and games stopped,
lacked desire to talk
just sat - watched the clock
run out
hands break
couldn't escape
so many times
tried to recreate
that night.

Let's go back
Christmas Eve, before 20 four-teen.
I visited the cemetery
Showed my father I had grown.
What would he think could he see what I had shown.
Would he be proud I finished college.
call my generation's music garbage?

What would my father think if I told him I am gay.
"Son that's okay?"
Or would he push me away and say, "Son,
I don't know where I went wrong.
Mother must have loved you too much,
she made you sing a different song,"

But that's wrong,
I don't even know how to sing,
and don't think my mother ****** up on anything.
Can't help but feel resentment though,
which I try my best to hide
deny verbal abuse left feelings' scars everywhere inside.

Suffered a lot from tragic death,
she took it out on me, with that big mouth on her head.
One day, she told me, "I wish you were dead,
I wish you had died, leaving my husband alive instead."
It hurt more the next day,
Drove me, then she started to say,
"Wynn, is everything okay?
You seem upset today.
Don't forget your lunch,
Hey!"

I'm talking to you!
She forgot just how much it meant
things said in fits of rage.
I wouldn't, instead,
inside I'd age and age and age
until I broke down into mush.

Need a walker,
please a little push
of emotional support
stranger to kindly escort
me
keep from falling further
into a world that needed me not,
but never had me forgot,
just locked
up in miscreant prison
a palace for teenagers whose youth had gone missing.


Maybe it had left me on that fateful night,
filled with cold air, *****, and fright.

December 24th, twenty-oh-four.
My dad woke up walked through heaven's doors.
At morning I fought with my brother,
father was a lazy guy, stomach big bloat,
wanted us to get batteries for his tv remote,
and I,
didn't know that day my father would die,
but I,
wish I didn't fight with brother,
march away, ignore simple tasks for another.
Wish I got the batteries,
I didn't know that day my father would die
I didn't know that day my father would die
but why would I?

I learned to be kinder
listen a little longer
made me feel wiser.

My mother looked at his picture on the wall
screamed, "******* leaving me alone with no money at all!"
Just because she wanted to take care of us small
people in a big house
with big hearts match her big mouth
and a slowed heart
match the red hot
fire of hers.
I never tried to start the fights
then again, my memories blocked out blurs.

My mother loved me in the ways she thought she should.
telling me become best I ever could.
Brag about me to her friends,
"Look what my little Wynnie did today,
got his first job at 12."
had no time for my happy hooray,
been working ever since,
make ends meet,
mostly just to hear her say,
"Wynnie is my little prince, he can't be beat."
But I'd go home at night
and she'd say, "You little ****." spit in my eye.
Where were words of praise to be
vanished before they could reach my face

Still I tried to please her,
loved her as much as she loved me,
needed the world to see,
we could make it keep spinning,
with persistent power of our broken family.

Did well in school, got a 4.2 gpa
started partying,
didn't hesitate
to tell her everything,

Because each piece of me
or part of me
became a thing,
and led to yearning
for satisfaction
of recognition
I have motivation

She wanted me to be
the **** best.
Scream at me
and plead for me
Beg me please
that I wasn't trying my hardest.
Couldn't help that it was shallow,
I'd dug up where my heart was long time ago,
filled in cement, escaped torment
of a dead father at age 12,
never wanting to delve
any deeper into tragedy
of life's greatest comedy.

Letting him die that day,
leaving his family
to **** each other,
deny thy mother
and thy brother
any future lover
the ability
to clearly see
what I could be
you here with me,
still,
still,
still,

my heart stopped still
ceased its beating
ceased it bleeding,
ceased its needing,
for toxic things like love
or lust
or any other must
have must not
can't feel
too ****** up.
for you
still,
still,
still,

Still, I hurt from being loved too much
by a mother who could never care enough,
to stop the screaming,
end the shouting,
terrorizing my dreams,
my sight, my hearing,
is still fine

Yet I still I hear her shouting my name
distant in an open plane,
or on airplane
a million miles in the sky,
way up high,
still hear her
hear...her...in...my...ear.
or in my mind
in my memories
never in my sight
because love had me blind.

Now all grown up
I guess I am alright.
Although skin does look kinda white,
bleached from the lies,
I tried to erase,
these scars that still retrace
when I think back to that night,
my father died,
and how I thought my family could be just fine,
if I let my mother continue to love me in the ways she thought she should,
because with a dead husband I thought that was all she could.

I hurt from your love mom,
today we're in a better place,
the way we communicate,
sometimes you still get irate,
I no longer let it penetrate.

Now I love my fate,
the way life sold my childhood,
for that I am great-ful,
to have been so wishful
someday I could stand here say,
I love my mom still,
and that's okay,
because she loves me more, each minute of every day,
sometimes she just shows it in the wrong way.

City Lights SLAM POETRY
1/21/2014

Look momma,
out the airplane window.
There's city lights,
they're pretty,
but what they really mean you wouldn't know.
Las Vegas, ain't it beautiful though.

But oh, you see,
the city captures me
and keeps me held up at night
lacking fright
as the city sees my drunken might.

Because sometimes I get a little lonely,
and sometimes I wander.
But most times it's irrelevant,
I'm just the big purple elephant,
in the room,
that nobody wants you to see.
Because that side of me,
is in you just as much as in me.

Just wonder, have a little wander,
View tomorrow fonder,
maybe we'll strike thunder,
or settle for down under,
the ****** dancer,
make your moves romancer.
Tell me it's the season,
but you don't need a reason,
to put your body out there,
feel the warmth of cold stares.

You see it's these city lights,
they keep me trapped in the night
of Las Vegas,
And I know it sounds heinous,
but please could you come save us
from the city lights,
before they eat us tonight.

So maybe
we could go somewhere
Save our money
get the hell outta here.
Instead we stare
into those city lights,
oh so pretty.
Oh so mesmorizing,
oh so ******* gorgeous.

He'll take your wallet,
pick your pocket,
kick your door in,
though you locked it,
take your money,
you're in need
not just of some
but of everything
that's not in Las Vegas,
but we're not that shameless, are we?

Sometimes we do things,
we don't want the world to know,
Sometimes I think,
I'm my own private show,
with the freak side attraction,
maybe get reaction
split a fraction to know
that one *** and another ***
don't make a rake
just a couple flakes
that fall down
that fall down
that fall down
and break,

under these city lights
I don't think we can make
it out of here alive.
We just crumble,
and slip through the cracks,
as we try to survive,
can't work a 9 to 5,
because we're lazy
and we do drugs
and we hate stuff
and we have ***
and we **** up
my life
ain't it nice
to live in Las Vegas
and see the city lights?
as they keep me trapped in the night?

Until I die,
Nothing leaves Las Vegas huh?
Have any of you seen the movie Leaving Las Vegas?
You should because it's famous,
not just because Nick Cage is,
but because his character was nameless,
or might as well been,
could you tell me
more than just his story?
Of a washed up, pathetic alchie and a *******?
His name was Ben Sanderson,
but that's not the point you're still missing.
His character was based on a real person,
At first I thought his name was John O'Brien,
the writer of the novel,
who shot himself.
But we dig a little deeper,
and find this message steeper
than we had imagined,
the real victim's been hidden,
in plain sight,
under these city lights.

*******, druggie, you don't know what I see,
on that airplane,
through the window
there's just something
that don't show,
but it's in the spotlight
of these city lights,
it's those people,
dying while still alive,
alcohol in their arteries,
could be you
and could be me,
trapped in the night,
by these city lights,
but you'd never know,
because what happens in Vegas,
stays in Vegas,
but they don't tell you why,
it's these city lights that keep us alive.
We need them to struggle to survive.

Interpreting Dreams Series Part 1
1/15/2014

I've got this idea
that the world has too many feelings.
Too many smiles that have turned upside down.
Too many tears that have gone unnoticed.

This couple sits at a table with a pretty white cloth.
Glasses of fancy carbonated water, bubbly like their first date.
But now, they hate each other.
They sit and complain about everyone in their lives.
and on their minds, they just hate their selves, not even each other.
They look at others with a scathing jealousy.

One guy takes a nap
He finds an electric taser in his dreams
He uses it to shock himself back awake, but then
he realizes he didn't want this moment to ever end.
Where dreams are reality and you don't have to suffer fraught with what's not.

She puts on her pearls
and then walks out the door.
She knows how she got them,
lies to herself, doesn't want to feel like a *****.
But still, she wants more.

There's something special about being the only one standing in a crowd.
Whether you're up on stage or in the middle of a pit.
You feel this sense that the moment is great
but it isn't amazing without another person to stand beside you.

They cried at a bus stop,
a family knowing
they had no money to celebrate holidays this year.
They don't need to, but it's the feelings that matter.
They cried.

We never know what we will find, when we look for something.
Our feelings are dangerous if we go looking for them and end up lost.

Professional Poem
1/14/2013

The shelves are full of papers.
My e-mail folder full.
Workload maxed capacity.
But still got more to do.

Each day the office seems to shrink.
Buried under business.

But each day my experience grows.
And with it comes persistence.

My confidence has gone out the roof.
As I dress up in tie and suit.

I wear my watch.
Look my best.
Never sloppy.
Slim-fit vest.

So here is my confessional.
The life of a new professional.

I kind of like the grueling hours.
and even the underpaid wages.

Because the more I learn,
The less I yearn.
For this happiness to become contagious.
Professional will save us,
from our lackluster lives.

A poem isn't enough
1/13/2014

A poem doesn't quite do it right.
To tell someone how conflicted I feel.
How could it, when I don't even understand
myself,
or you,
or what you do,
to me,
to my heart,
can't you hear or see,
when we aren't wee,
I feel like just mee,
and that isn't enough.

It isn't enough.
A poem just can't do it,
not for you babe.
not for us,
and never for me, just me.

Permanent Poem
1/10/2014

What is permanent?

When flesh fades, bones decay, and a spirit soars
When ships sink, foundations crumble, and the closing of doors
When feelings falter, ashes burn, and a willow wilts
When sounds silence, pencils snap, and the crashing of stilts

Tell me, What is permanent when you have to say goodbye?

Learning Not to Love Anymore
1/8/2014

Have you ever captured a firefly?
Watched it flutter, trapped in a jar?
Well my heart was once captured,
but trapped in a sinkhole of emotional tar.

I first told you, "Take a chance,"
but we started with an ending, engulfed in azure.
My heart stretched further apart, as yours stayed unsure.
It broke finally.
Vanished in a month's mournful moment,
by the blink of those refusing to cry eyes.

It was the first night I met you,
on my 21st birthday.
You were the stranger of the party.
Nobody knew you, not even me, not yet.

I wanted you to stay that night.
It wasn't love at first sight.
It wasn't lust, but something just felt right.
When your eyes caught mine across the room, my heart took flight.

As time went by and I got to know you better,
I gave you a lot of things you had never really asked for.

I gave you my money when I paid for your drinks.
I gave you my funny with all my awkward winks.
I gave you my secrets though I didn't have many.
I gave you my ***, my first, my virginity.
I gave you my time although it was valuable.
and now I give you this rhyme even though it's not rational.

I gave you these things because I didn't need them.
I gave you these things, hoping that you'd keep them.
But I didn't give you my heart,
although I would have, had you asked for it.
Yet somehow you captured it,
all the while, keeping your's well hid.

Those wings you gave my heart,
eventually they caught on fire.
Crimson bursts ablaze with blood.
A heart that bled but refused to break.
Something inside of me wanted it so badly.
To believe that the good and the bad times would balance out.
And then there I was.  There I left myself.

I live in a world where someone I love lives.
Stuck with a heart whose loud palpitations still vibrate to the rhythm of his.
This heart that refuses to break, but bleeds through its holes
needs to Learn Not to Love Anymore.
I exist on a planet with someone I love.

That ******* firefly in a jar suffocated someday.
But I refused to let my heart break,
no matter how much it gasped for air,
for him to release it from captivity.

I know I didn't write about the great things in love,
How can I share something made up, that  I only dream of?
I never owned your heart or felt it in my hands.
I never saw it in a jar,
or watched it twinkle in your eye, your own private star.
Because it was always buried under your emotional sands.

but that's not the point.
I lied.
I felt your love.
I felt it a lot.
I just don't want to share it with anyone, because I'm clinging on.
I think that with each tear I drop writing about my love for you,
It too will fall from my insides onto my face,
down to the floor where I won't see or feel it no more.
It's not for others to know.
I wouldn't wish that kind of love on anyone.
No, no.

That firefly could have been set free from a jar,
allowed to continue living and fly away somewhere far.
But no matter where it went and no matter how much time passed,
its lungs may have been collapsed from suffocating, trapped.
It would live out the days, its big brave beating heart with a timeless tiny tear.
Then, the firefly would know what it is like to lose in Lovers' Warfare.

Lovers' Warfare Part 2
7/1/2013

You turned right
As I looked left
Behind you in the dust
Of a rusting heart.

The battle of our love was fierce
No words nor weapons used
Not needed when feelings could explode and do more damage.

If I would set off a grenade with a 'I miss you' trigger
You would put the pin back in and lock aim on my emotional headquarters
With a 'You're a dork' ****** scope.

My piercing combat knife with the word 'Boyfriend' engraved on it
Was used once or twice
But not against you - into my heart,
Hoping the wound would heal and cover up what I had wished could be real.

1/5/2014
Tomorrow is a funny word Poem

Tomorrow is a funny word.
Not that it makes me laugh.
It just feels more preferred,
to think of the potential unheard.

Tomorrow should be used when we go to sleep.
At the end of the night when it's time to count sheep.
But that's not what people use it for,
the literal expression is such a bore.

When we say tomorrow,
it creates a strong of sense of hope.
When we say tomorrow,
it gives more time to tell our problems, "Nope."

Nobody wants to say tomorrow and feel something negative.
It is such a dreadful thought that we demand an alternative.

But what if tomorrow is going to ****?
What if?
...
and there you go.
That's why tomorrow is a funny word.

11/22/2013
PitterPat Poem

The trouble of a pitter pat
Tracing where the leak is at

A pitter pat has drip drip drops
Although overflowed it never stops

Once I tried to freeze a clock
But still I heard its tick tick tock

The pitter pat sound once it goes off
Feels ominous an auditory gunshot

And when I sleep, the pitter pat slows
But when I dream, still it shows

The pitter pat has no care for where
It pierces the veil, any shrouds it'll tear.

8/11/2013
Summer Reflection

The summer of 2013.
The summer before my senior year of college.
It was the summer of sensations.

As time proceeded and I lost sight of nearly all initial goals,
I found myself frequently giving in to impulsive behaviors.
The money spending and time spent scheming my next dating endeavor,
or some other wild adventure,
reached an all time high.

It turned out not to be a time of learning as I had previously hoped for,
but instead,
a time of experiencing.

I lived like I never had before - irresponsibly,
yet completely embracing the throws and tides of life.

At first, I fell in love.
Not with my new found lifestyle,
and not with my new identity.
But I fell in love with another human being,
ultimately proving to myself that I am capable and vulnerable of and to the same vices as every other individual.

That started early in the summer as well as ended early
- my own decision,
which I thankfully did not feel damaged or jaded as a result of
- a sign that I have finally formed some semblance of emotional independence!

It was so nice to experience the trust from many friends who due to my recent 'coming out' decided to confide in and come out to me.
I felt kinda like a beacon of hope,
by serving as on open conversation opportunity for many of these friends.
A great responsibility which I gladly took on for them.

On that note,
I noticed a motif for the summer.
It seems as if everybody has recently developed a love life...
or at least a *** life.
So much *** gossip out of nowhere from people who normally don't dare to experience such an escapade.
It was an unprecedented growth maybe having something to do with age trends?
I'm not sure.

But then again,
who could have been back then?

We live in a society that is reluctant to hold individuals accountable for their actions.

They did this to him because of his smile.
They did this to him because he was in the bar bathroom a long while.
They did this to him because of his clothing style.

The environment can create stimuli and stressors which trigger predispositions.
Predispositions of behavioral tendencies to make bad decisions.

They did this to her because they saw it on TV.
They did this to her because nothing comes for free...
or at least easy.
They did this to her because of how they were raised by mommie.

However, at the end of the day, you have ****** autonomy.
Physically responsible for your own actions,
you have damaged another human...
being.
You don't want to accept you could do something so heinous to another human's ****
or ******.

Morally responsible to actively educate,
yourself.
How to live in a world with other humans whom differ from you.
People who you may not completely understand.

She said no, but things happened so fast.
Kept go-ing on, not for long he didn't last.

He might have been interested at the start of the night,
but wasn't trying to be perceived as putting up a fight,
resisting what his assailant created, his forever tragic night.

I'm not big on the concept of 'deviant behaviors' or 'social taboos.'
Certain things however, you should know what to do.
We violate others' rights, freedoms, privileges, happiness, mental stability, and personal well being.

And For What?
It doesn't matter if you're gay, like metal music, or get drunk, because
We can't blame the color gray.  
not tomorrow nor today.
Don't sit, just stand, get up and say.
Advocate that **** is wrong every innocent second of each precious day.
more clearly defined, not merely social constructs within a particular society.

Long story short; **** is Wrong. Get and Give Consent. Be Safe as well.

12/30/2013
I Met the **** Hater

Have you ever seen someone so beautiful
that you felt like crying?
Have you ever felt so utterly Disgusted by someone
that you wished they were dying?

Do you think I feel gay guts and gayness in my genes?
Or did society manufacture me - one of their gay liberal machines.
I'm not sure which is better,
Either  way you'll make me a martyr.
But I'll be your Hester Prynne baby
with my Big Gay Letter.

I cannot erase
that look on his face.
when he told me **** ****, Go Away.
I'll punch you in the face just for being Gay.

A separation of message and mind.
Hateful judgment is not hard to find.
When I stand in the shower,
or sit down on a park bench,
I'm a **** to him clear as gay.
It's like he thinks I ate some magic flower.
My girlfriends don't fare much better - to him called a bar *****.
This guy is the part of society that makes being gay scary to say.

He thinks Gays making out in public can't be allowed.
He thinks Legalized gay marriages should be disavowed.
He thinks Animal ***, *******, and ****** are because of gays.
He thinks Gay **** between two women might be more okay.
He thinks *** should **** more gay people.
He thinks Criminalizing ****** would make things more equal.
He thinks Adam's choice of Eve or Steve is all that matters.
He doesn't care about myself, or your heart's fragile rathers.

This man is the **** Hater.
Not a rare breed at all.
He could be your waiter,
or your teacher,
maybe even your sales assistant at the mall.

I Met the **** Hater,
while I made out with a guy at the bar.
The **** Hater was kinda old, yet strong and tall.
But I didn't fall
down.
or become dehumanized.
When I caught a glimpse of his face
and saw that utter look of Disgust
that I just cannot erase.
I saw it in his face - the **** Hater's
'**** Hate.'

12/27/2013

I cried in the shower.
When nobody was around to see,
except me - looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
But it was enough to make me cry harder, cry louder,

cry softer, cry unseen and cry unheard.
Cry out of sight and cry out of mind and cry without saying a single word.
Cry for the fallen who can't get up.
Cry for the tortured whose lives have been messed up.
Cry for a family I've never heard of.
Cry for the homeless and poor who just needed a little bit more love.
Cry for my friend who recently contracted ***.
Cry for him, because I wish instead it had been me.

I sat up in bed after midnight, writing a diary entry it read,
"No happy greeting tonight."

I laid down in the empty bathtub with the shower running,
spraying hot water, only on to my side.
The rest of me, freezing cold, exposed.
I played a song in the background, called Wounded.

There were three separate streams running down my face:
water, shampoo, and are those Tears coming out of the shower faucet?

It seemed like a perfect scene for a tragic movie.
It definitely felt 'unreal' enough to be in one.
I was spitting a lot.
maybe because the bitterness of words trapped in my mouth contaminated my palate.

He might have ***, Highly Likely.
and I always viewed him as invulnerable.
We spoke on the phone and he pretended to be strong but I can sense feelings.
I guessed it after all.
Only we might know so far.
Tomorrow he finds out.
Don't worry about me.
No ****** involvement - I'm not lucky enough to get a guy like that.

I feel a fraction of his fear and pain though.
I've been an idiot and a bad friend.

So no happy greeting tonight diary.
Please excuse my sorrow and don't take pity.
No worries, I think those were just Tears coming out of the shower faucet.
Like the single Tear I wake up with each morning ever since I heard he got it.

Less is Nice, but Never Not
October 26, 2013

I have this problem.

of turning whispers into shouts.
of my silent cries becoming visible pouts.
of a violent tendency to dislike.
of knowing how I feel like.
of believing that the worst thing I can be,
is just me.

I open every door so the world can come in.
Effortless distraction.
To keep introspection away from myself,
I pull people off the shelf.
I'll take anyone who won't keep quiet.
Hell, if needed, I'd start a riot.
I am a dreadful juggernaut, filled with fright.
Trying my hardest to stay up all night.
Fighting to keep people in my fortress,
creating a collection of voices,
building a constant chorus.
Hiding from the solitude of an empty room in the house,
I advertise to anyone, who I am, and my whereabouts.

But after every conversation in-person or on the phone,
I go home and it sinks in.
I begin to realize,
I am always alone.

Being alone feels like being without.
Being alone feels like being lonely.
Being alone feels like being lost.
Being alone feels like being lonely.
Being alone feels like being misunderstood.
Being alone feels like being lonely.
Being alone feels so lonely.
But being alone feels so much better with someone else.

I feel less alone when I'm not by myself.
I feel less alone when I step out of the stealth.
I feel less alone when I'm surrounded.
I feel less alone when people keep me grounded.
I feel less alone when I laugh or hear laughter.
I feel less alone when I get sought after.
I feel less alone when I live life with a zest.
I feel less alone when I get recognized for trying my best.

Less alone is nice,
but let's be real.
Alone is someone who I will always feel.
Not one second spent not lonely,
not once, not twice.
At least, being less alone can be quite nice,
but this life still hasn't shown me,
how to never feel lonely.
Nobody ever told me.
Being me would mean having to be lonely.
All life has shown,
is that my name should be Alone.

Depths of Death Found in Drowning
September 21, 2013

Night will fall,
and the darkness of it all,
will wash my woes away a woah-oh.

The reckoning of wreck has been beckoning to be bet.
Find the ship that is destined to fail,
it set sail, on a demised trail.

When alone at night,
found lost without sight,
count the stars, for they are numbered.
They speak of one's destiny,
to meet morning slumbered.

It's been heard before,
the shark's shrill thrill,
yet still,
plunge into the depths of death.
A shrinking, sinking, step,
leading to a sleep deeper than can be dreamt.

Sweeping struggle,
breathing in bursts of bubbles,
drowning in what should be water.
But who would will,
that power to ****,
to what is in nature,
able to sit so still and serene?

See the scene,
picturesque - not obscene,
with a shiny gleam on the surface.
What does it mean?
To hold beauty never seen,
unless drowned in the dark of night fall.

Tell me,
What does it mean?
To find the meaning of beauty,
in the death of it all?

azure sestina
July 16, 2013

Brought to face ourselves finally,
what choices do we have in capturing the moment?
If I were given this chance
it would be most important to know for sure.
Look life in its eyes,
and see their sad shade of deep, blue, azure.

No matter how black my heart taints, or how bloodied my lips are stained, all that matters is azure.
I'm up against a stare that petrifies me, until I beg for freedom finally.
But I am powerless to escape those eyes.
I begin to enter your forever after ending never, in just one moment,
and I feel as though I can't say goodbye until I die, so I can be sure.
Sure that there really would be no second chance.

I first told you, "Take a chance,"
but we started with an ending, engulfed in azure.
My heart stretched further apart, as yours stayed unsure.
It broke finally.
Vanished in a month's mournful moment,
by the blink of those refusing to cry eyes.

I had to see things through your eyes.
So I could know that I should have left this all to chance.
You can blame me in the end, for ruining the moment.
As I rope back in my emotional tide, from the dark depths of azure.
I'll dock that torn up boat at your door, and conclude the voyage finally.
You wanted space, so you've got it, sure.

lovers' warfare poem
June 30, 2013

If I fall into love
Will falling further take me out?

The more I learned about them
The less I knew about myself.

When it came to kissing
They had something I'm now missing.

I've closed off communication
Awaiting some big transformation.

But I'm like a machine gun without the bullets
Scary looking yet can't damage anyone.

And I suddenly am hungrier for food
Must be the rift inside me, side-effect of my mood.

Today my bed isn't made and clothes strung out
I've got nobody to impress, my room matches my heart, the scene of a bout.

I lost in lovers' warfare
And since I've felt bruised under my skin, lost reason to care.

Morning Mystery
May 26, 2013

What oh what, wuh-oh what will my early morning bring?

A bird's chirp to greet her family.
The sunrise says hello to my eyelids.
No better medicine than the sunlight no longer hid.

Slowly a car passes either starting or ending their day.
Either way, the driver seemingly reluctant - understandably.

Leaves, branches, twigs, and sticks all being toyed with by the playful wind.
Sweeping through the trees in my front yard.

I see a world awake beyond my window.
This morning mystery is begging me to solve
what it takes to make a day great.

What I Wanna Do
April 30, 2013

I wanna rock back and forth on a swing set in the summery sun.
Get rid of my backpack, **** thing nearly weighs a ton.

I wanna lay in the grass at the park and get bit by bugs.
Stare with googly eyes at runners wearing tights and give strangers hugs.

I wanna run and chase the ice cream truck only to discover I don't have moolah.
Talk with friends late at night in my backyard as we tell stories and smoke hookah.

I wanna complain it's too hot outside and that my pool is too cold.
Stop sleeping early and stay up late, pretending I'm not getting old.

What I wanna do is with all of you.
My friends and family in Las Vegas.

Lost the Light Poem
April 23, 2013

Hello darkness.
Can you help me find my friend - the light?
I seem to have lost him.
Ever since, I feel this stinging sharpness.
It’s scary, I feel like I am jumping from a great height.
Unsure, I feel as if I have been paralyzed in my limbs.
What if he doesn’t want to be found?
Will my friend - the light, ever return?
When will I see him again?
No matter how many poems I write.
Or a sad, sad diary entry.
I just can’t make things feel right.
These emotions rock me anything but gently.
It’s all ****.  Gone to ****.
I’ll delete the memories from that day we spent at the mall.
I’ll take another hit.
My medicine can be smelled all the way down the hall.
I don’t want to look at another piece of paper again.
I refuse to pick up my ***** of a pen.
These feelings become thoughts and they translate into words.
I look at them in front of me and read them, they stampede me in herds.
I’m done being undone.
I want to finish what I started.
But if I try to pick up where we left off, I run.
In the wrong direction - away from the sight of you;
so you can’t leave me broken-hearted.
Please release me from your torture chamber.
Being a stranger to your love is no easy labor.
I refuse to be unrequited.
I want to hate you just so I can be spited.
But I can’t.
I’m just a miserable plant.
Denied the light needed to grow.
Until the the darkness fades and you let me know that you’ve decided not to show.

MLK Day poem.
January 16, 2012

It speaks as if rainbow was a color.
A prism pyramid, built by a union of bricks.
Brick by brick, it stands, a structure, with the purpose to deliver a message.
A message as simple as that it stands there, as a structure.
A message, which promotes we, over she, he, it, they, or them.
It stands at the door of indifference.
It lies asleep, in an enclave of humanity's mind.
Awaiting its great awakening, the rainbow has always been there.
But no matter how much you may search for it, only we can find it.

Song in My Head
March 2, 2013

It’s a song that I try to write over and over and over again.
These tiny finger tips touch the pen cap and click, click, click, click.
But this paper just stretches too far to fill.
And this process refuses to start, until it doesn’t feel unreal.

I want you to see my vision.
Not enough to bring to life
Your reflection in the mirror.
A lifeless portrayal is the only way I could hope to get you right.

You are the song in my head.
And that’s okay.
I sing it every day.
I sing it just to show it and also so you know it.
That hey, hey, yeah that’s okay.
I’ve been singing this song, all along.
Just to get to you.
Because this is our song.

Perfect Poem
December 29, 2011

I look at you and tell me what do I see.
A pair of eyes, nothing else, ‘cause I can’t stop looking.
I think about how much I need you home.
-
Laying in bed, my arms around you.
Tell me, do you go to sleep, and dream of me too?
You make me want to write a perfect poem.

It needs to sound like a song.
It should last as long, as I want our love to.
You could listen to it once, or as many times as you can do.
It gets me begging to get the chance to kiss you.
My heart gets heavy, you make it feel full.
I was lost in my emotions, but baby, then I felt, your pull. oh.

And when I’m there beside you,
Everything feels so peaceful, I could fall asleep.
Let’s create more moments I’ll want to keep.
Each time I see you is special, it all becomes brand new.
We’ll cuddle as I whisper, “I’m so glad we met.”
That first night was one I’ll never ever forget.

Unfinished poem.
August 11, 2012

Is anybody out there?
Can anybody hear me calling?

I'll throw my tears in the sky
to create a light
for those of you who understand
to hear my plight and take flight.

Please ascend for the sake of my defend!
My pride loses its will, and continues to bend.

Someday I'll finish this poem.
When I've built my home
- whatever it may be.

Stretch My Arms out to you
July 14, 2012

My arms can stretch farther now.
I can almost reach my father somehow.
I've come so far but have more to go before I bow.
I still love my life, as I reflect and think, "wow."

Some friendships have a shattered surface.
But nothing's perfect.
I take pride knowing its all been worth it.
Yet I can't help feeling nervous.

My memories, I paint them blue.
To help remind me of you.
I dedicate my talents to the shadow.
Of what kept me feeling so hollow.

A picture of the moon is an ideal symbol.
I want to touch down on the Earth after my great ascent.
It will someday be the destination to which I went.
Once I've demonstrated I'm capable.

One day I will stretch my arms out to you,
While I stand on the moon.
And you will receive me.
Whether I am a shadow or blue.

Summer Heat Poem
May 24, 2012

Man, this Summer heat has got me beat.
got me thinking how I wish some Winter snow would show.
That's when I look around the corner.
see an ice cream truck come to bring me something sweet.
There seems something 'bout this day outside, where the hot continues to make more heat.
But I stand out on the ever-so-thirsty lawn, I say it could use a good mow.
take off my shoes, pick up my trusty, rusty, old waterhose.
Walk around, let the crisp blades of grass wiggle through my toes.
Next comes my trip to the pool - pour on lotion - summer clothing.
instead of hot *** bikinis or trunks pieced together by string.
No sunburns for me!  I'll gladly skip out on the red, awful sting.

These Words Poem
May 6, 2012

It's these words I just don't understand.
Whether I write them, recite them, or strategically place them in some plan.
Words come together, and they seem to make sense.
But these words I write are light, while in my mind, they feel dense.

There needs to be something more to these words,
than a pen, paper, and my fingertips' push forwards.
In order for these words to be present full force.
So I won't have to settle for this mind to material divorce.

I throw more words out to test,
but keep losing my best,
in an attempt to show the world what these words really mean.
So that somebody else can finally see what I've seen.

At long last, when my words ceased to come out,
I said nothing, suffering from the drought.
Suddenly a thought struck me; a single word stood out the most.
The word thought was more important than these words, for it was their host.

These words weren't meant to describe a thought.
Their meaning wasn't something that could be taught.
For these words are designed for a thought's deliverance.
But are only a small part of the thought's whole experience.

Wish Each Day
April 17, 2012

Ups and downs these days.
Fill up my life, a haze.
Summer craze will just leave me dazed,
but no, I can't be phased.
Nothing can just be simple, in my sorry life,
Everything has gotta be complicated, so tell me what's the hype,
When I just keep getting stressed out.
Takes my head from the clouds, covers it in doubt.
'Till then, forget my worries and my strife.
Just wish each day, for something out of the blue.
Someone to come along, make everything new.
That one day my life will change, it'll be when I finally find you.

Tragedy from a Distance is Still Tragic
February 21, 2012

I heard what happened.
But not from your note.
Earlier, I already knew.
I felt it intuitively as your world blackened.
I was far away, overseas on a boat.
But that didn't matter, our bond penetrated the distance through and through.

WHY couldn't you let me be there for you?
I'd show you my feelings were true.
I'm sorry lately I'd been so blue.
Now I know you had been too.

It just seems so unfair.
That you made yourself go alone.
WERE'NT we supposed to be a pair?
You could have at least told me goodbye over the phone.

I'm stuck feeling lost.
Not sure what I should do.
This life has become tragic.
This space between us has become too much.
To see you again, I know comes at a cost.
So just you wait - I'll be right beside you.
I have this one last shot to make some magic.
I'll leave this miserable world as such.

Here's to eternity.
As a worry free entity.
As long as you're with me, I can smile, happy.

I'll ditch this feeling so sick.
In one fleeting moment so quick.
Yet I can't shake this suspicion that forever, I'll remain,
tragic.

Victory with Triumph
February 10, 2012

Victory with triumph.
It leaves a pleasant taste in my mouth.
A thought so cool and kind.
That I succeeded,
a testament to humankind.

I can appreciate the moment.
For, for now, it's all that is on my mind.
I have finally had my chance to shine.
And so, from now own, I will show the world,
this talent that is mine.

I'll write a poem for every occasion.
I will read it to my friends.
And each poem will further serve to mark today.
As a great day for the literary world,
for I have finally made my way.

Death is not pleasant.
February 4, 2012

I bear a pain so deep.
It creates a hole in my chest.
Teary eyed, I can't sleep, can't rest.
These feelings so steep.
I can't help but digress.
This is stuck with me,
for the rest.
of my life.

A death, a painful memory.
Oh, how you were so close to me.
Even though I'm not there,
I feel like I'm watching you walk away from me.
Slip out of my grasp.
My voice is growing rasp.
I can't talk, can't breath, can't eat, can't feel.
Anything but my heart ache and my layers of strength peel.

I haven't felt this hurt in a very long time.
Watching your condition climb.
From better to worse,
up and down we go.
Something I couldn't know.
Is how much it would hurt to watch you go.
So.

How do I move on?
How can I let this be a phase?
Something to move past,
Just a temporary daze.

I just can't stand this pain,
even though I knew it all along.
This is not a happy song.
But a reminder of the good times gone.
Oh, how I long.
For your sweet embrace.
Your pleasant stories' tastes.
Life feels like such a waste.

To be given to the young,
Yet flung,
far away from the deserving ones.
Death's battle has been won.
You're just another one.
A casualty, to feelings so salty.
My tears pour and run like the sea.

How can I continue to be me?
When you were such a part of me.
It's like I am a tree.
With its roots sawed off.
Dying with a nervous cough.

It's enough to see you wither.
It's enough to see life waste.
It's enough to know there's no tomorrow,
for you, or your warm embrace.
I just can't stand to let you go.
Or even to know.
I'm so sorry to see you go.

I love you,
and I want you to know.
That I'll never forget you.
Even when I'm old.
And it's my turn to be told.
That it's time to go,
not allowed to say "No."

Destroy
January 26, 2012  

I been swaggin’ while the haters keep raggin’.
But they goin’ nowhere, pants saggin’.
I knock ‘em down one by one, black baggin’.
I ain’t got time to join ‘em, I just run ‘em over with my wagon.

But look, now by the time that I’m through,
Its like there’s been a demolishing crew
If you think you can cross me.
Yeah if you try to come hurt me.
I’ll take every single dollar, and every last cent.
I’ll **** up your ****, I don’t show mercy, no repent.

I will rise to the top,
Hell no, I won’t stop.
Haters just wanna see me flop.
‘cuz every big mess needs a mop.

I’ll take my seat on the throne.
Have a  sip, good patron.
Spend a moment, clean up my spill.
****, now I’ve got some time to ****.

Totally forgot to post my new poem.
February 2, 2012

Friends

Do they ache?
Do they break?
Will they be there when you wake?
Can they be fake?
Could I make
one,
or maybe a ton?
Wouldn't that be so much fun?
Fun, fun.
I want some.
Who can I get it from?
Street ***.
Stranger's hum.
My feelings going numb.
um...
**** my thumb.
Like a baby.
Please, someone save me.
Whine, whine!
You are mine.
On these drugs,
tonight I'll dine.
Sublime.
But then turn on a dime.
Throw up.
Wish I'd just grow up.
Give up on this drug cup,
I mean cocktail.
My lungs fail.
I look so pale.
And this is the end of my sorry drug tale.

Are drugs good friends?

The Taste of Bitter Grapes
November 1, 2012

The taste of bitter grapes is what they do to me.

Do they ever wonder why people are so strange?
Of course not, for they are usual as in their ordinary lives.

I make a splash, and bring tidings of vitality.
Only to flop like a fish, utterly uninterested, outside their tiny ponds.

I chomp chomp on their hearts.
Tug on their brains with my toll on their souls.
But what's in it for me?
They become another casualty, and then nothing more than my inventory.

Maybe this hole was a birth defect.
Something like a mole?
I don't really want to know.
To get on with my days, I just need it not to show.

So, solid snow of this barren baron.
Please excuse these hoes, and the rakes too.
They didn't realize they were just a sideshow.
The main attraction is to never possess any true attraction and see how these things go.

Until I finally find my first true delight.
This is my plight.  
I take another bite.
Of these bitter grapes.

Directions?
October 1, 2012

My life as an unfinished portrait.
I trace lines through the veins of my brain.
Place down these paper thoughts.
Distinguish between what I teach myself and have been taught.

Let me get this straight.
I can only be one person?
Get a single choice of the careers I'm searching.
Only to make it under the burden of weight.

Each step closer, closer, is saying no to no longer options
I feel this is a mean means to an end.
Need to follow the signs, but of which signals I send?
Leaves me tying corners together, assimilating assumptions.

Put on a pair of glasses to spectate.
I sit in the hot seat until I matriculate.

Relationship in Reverse Poem
September 29, 2012

Together always means we're alone.
Moments shared take us far along this road.
Walking wherever like the world doesn't own them.
Our steps stretch the ground to make our own unlimited zone.

Sharing stories of when the driftwood someday sinks.
Doesn't floating only work with living things?
But separation isn't death, solely some sharp stings.
Live life as your own, not forced under others' bindings.

We live in a globe that spans the whole Earth.
A place we created, made of our happiness and warm mirth.
Stretching apart, sure it makes some big holes.
But with talks late at night, those gaps, together we close.

Where can this structure be found?
Is this Atlantis others sought after, solid and sound?
Just as a book can be unbound.
We may live this story rewound.

Relationship in Reverse Poem

Hmm
August 15, 2012

How does one co-exist?
With peers or like-minded individuals?
These relationships can be examined and statements regarding be made.
However, co-existing with one's own entity is another story.

Even in a stable environment, emotions will unavoidably be unstable.
So, how do you pull yourself, and your goals, apart from the seemingly trivial?
Those limited instances, which many claim comprise you,
also may not define you, or perhaps not properly, or entirely...
giving off to others, the wrong interpretation of who you are; a second, potentially fake version of you
The emotional side, which only appears in limited instances, due to certain events.

So, in an all-encompassing scope, which piece of your puzzle are your emotions?
Are they interchangeable, do they cause other pieces to be created, or do they stem from an original root?
Your true identity deep down inside is amendable, due to this other you - the emotional side.
Now tell me, how do you co-exist with yourself?

Why write a poem
October 10, 2011

Sometimes it feels like
I have the need to share a word.
As if I have the power to change the world.
Or to save a herd - of people,
from hurdling toward bad things.
You be the one, and they'll be the many.
Satisfying the masses can be done with just a penny - for your thoughts.
Find peace in a pen and paper, and write your worries away.
It doesn't matter if it's night or day.
You just do what you need to.

Transcend to depend on your stupend-ous thoughts and thoughts alone.
For our thoughts are what shape us and what need to be shown.
Rather than lend your ear, give your words out freely.
If someone should tear, then hear you me,
they need it all the more, let your words rain down, let them pour.
Write a poem, and put it on your wall.
Read it daily, whether Winter, Summer, Spring, or Fall.
If you think it's stupid, then share your 'stupid' poem and call it dumb.
But you know what, even if dumb, it's something to hum,
when you're feeling down, remember it, and recite,
the magical words to make you feel alright.

You might not need to call it a poem, just keep your thoughts in a diary.
But still you need to communicate, the people in your life are your family.
If you can't get what's on your mind out, then trap it in a book.
Once it's written down, you can give it a look,
and have an easier time deciding what's making you feel down.

I would if I could
October 6, 2011

I would if I could,
stay up all night, awake in my bed, thinking about you
- just because I wanted to save the dreaming about you until later, when I need something to cheer me up.

I would if I could,
put pictures up on my walls of all the places we go together,
arrange them in the shape of a smile, from how happy you make me.

I would if I could,
stop everything I'm doing in my awful, busy life,
just to spend one moment with you, and remember it forever.

I would if I could,
if we could and would.

a poem i wrote briefly in homage to my legit airport creeper.
August 25, 2011

Face to face, definitely not a warm embrace.
Eyes on me, make me nervous enough to ***.

Creeper, Creeper.
Please don't follow me hoooome.
Creeper, Creeper.
Go stare at something of your ownnnn!

jump, skip, hop, then POP!
August 2, 2011

So here's a playful tune
to make your body swoon.
Shake and bake those hips
pucker up and lick your lips.
Because tonight, we're dancing!

da lada dee da daaa laaa la laa ohhhh

I love the way you move like that
jumpin' 'n jivin', you're one cool kat.
So now we're getting down
laughing so much, are you a clown?
In our serene meadow, together, we're prancing!

Lemme catch you off guard, sweep you off your feet
this is the most romantic way I could think of for us to meet.
Now don't get me wrong, I mean I dress to impress
but girl, for you, I'd much rather wear less.
If you know what I mean, hiding my eyes glancing!

Excuse me mam, but I don't mean to be rude
or have you think my humor is too crude.
But for a special lady, lady, lady, oh so cute
I'll give it my my all, gotta take aim, then shoot.
Gotta get, gotta gotta, give you my all, all my romancing.

Boop boop be doop buh bahhh tra lalalahhh

Baby, so I've got you now forever maybe.
Squeeze you so freaking tight, 'till your soul leaves.
Enters my body and we intertwine, as it mentors.
Me and teaches how to be we.

koo koo cuh cahhh shoop doop la lahhh
Jump, Skip, Hop, then POP!

expanding progression part 2
July 18, 2011

So maybe just maybe, maybe maybe maybe.
You're not so bad at everything, just at being you.
We tried you being me, but when we were we, everything was just dandy.

So, as a collective entity known as weeee.

You were the cup in which I poured my tea.
You were the funny joke that made me tee hee.
You were the water in my emotional sea.
You were what made me we.

Then one time you became our and in our finest hour, our we became so much more.

You were our most favorite song.
You were our feelings for which I would long.
You were our chemicals I smoked in our ****.
You were our days we stayed in and watched King Kong.

But as time progressed, our faded into us, and with us, or without us, us would always be us.

And us was the way we danced in the wind.
And us was the unfinished sentence you always chimed in.
And us was the times when to eat we had searched many trash bins.
And us was the moments I would sin - to return to.

But now is now and has you and me.
We're just two more people the world will never see.
As a single entity - anymore, I'm not sure.
If I'll ever take the time to see you and if you'll think of me.
And I'll never be us, we, our, or anything more or less than I or me, or you and he, she, it,
ever again.

expanding progression part 1
July 18, 2011

You can be the greatest man in the world.
Hold power in the palm of your hand like a deck of cards.
Whoops flipped upside down, impending doom, the jokes at your feet.

You're mediocre at best, a solid 2.
You're a dim light bulb in my closet, helping me spend too much time searching for what I want.
You guide me so great, that I feel lost even when I'm found with you.

Your moves are so new and fresh, you remind me of my annual rereading dusty books from the shelf.
When you dance, I feel the rhythm pulse through my immobilized  knees, as they collapse to the ground.
You can make the very trees dance as they sit still in their roots.

You're the fiery flames on a boring sultry day.
I don't care to do much today, yet on today of all days, you are there eager and ready to go out and play.
Your fire is so fierce that even when burned out, it's far too expansive.

I think that I may be on to something.
So you're not good at what you're good at at all.
Maybe if you try something that's not quite your passion.

Farming, stock trading, free running, leaning on walls.
Boating, animal tracking, forensics investigations, and conjuring spirits.

Tics are worse bugs than butterflies baby
May 16, 2011

You give me tics in my mind.
No, not the little bugs type.
The nervous kind that bugs me in my brain.

You used to give me butterflies in my stomach.
But with time, they digested, and now don't fly.
I'm p-p-p-pretty sure this means it's time for this kind of thing to end.

So this is goodbye, goodnight, farewell, yet you're not done with me.
But I don't believe in miracles, Santa Clause, or you and me.
So leave, I don't want to hear your plea.

The next day, I get these nervous tics.
A panting sweat makes me move ways I don't wanna move.
I think thoughts that make me long to shoot your silence in my life.

This is a disaster, train wreck, airplane crash, all caused by me.
Some smooth operator I am, collect call, no change refund.
I wasn't sure, but now know, I'm no good for you, though you're great for me.

So now, the only recourse is to di-vorce.
We'll split our ways, having learned a lot.
But geez, you'll never be replaced, you'll remain in that special spot.

I'm on to my next victim.
Maybe someday you'll meet her, since you two will have so much in common after I'm through.
I'm a mother ******* monster, with tics that drive me out of my mind.
I am the devourer of butterflies, feasting on your warm happy feelings in order to survive.

There was this kid
May 3, 2011

There once was this kid who was afraid of airports.
He had many fears, but flying was not one of them.
- Just the airports.
He tried and he tried as hard as he could to prepare for his travel experiences,
but time after time, something would go wrong.
and then one day, he missed his friends and family soooo much,
that he decided he needed to conquer the big, mean airports.
and it was with that positive thinking, that he entered, sent away his suitcase, and boarded his flight,
all with no problems at all, what-so-ever.
The kid who was once afraid of airports, did it!
He accomplished his goal and made it home with time to spare, receiving tons of warm welcomes, hugs, and kisses.

Now That, is the story I would like to be able to tell after my adventure later today, coming back home.  :)

Sometimes, Words are Just Words
April 28, 2011

Have you ever had that feeling
when words become boring?
You get that idea
that you really want to express yourself today.
Too bad that everything seems so plain.
You post a provocative status on Facebook,
but you already do that all the time...
You get that idea
that maybe you should try something different.
You could scream at the top of your lungs,
jammin' out to your favorite song.
But those words aren't fun either,
they're not yours after all.
Even writing a poem seems dull today.
You get that idea
that you can just shake it off
but the magic of your words doesn't come back.
I wonder what good words are when you lose the will to use them.
You could build castles, toasters, pudding, people, anything you imagine.
You get that idea
that your words just don't excite you today.
Thinking, speaking, writing,
have never ****** so much.
You get that idea
that if words are just words today,
then maybe today,
you are just you.

Aspirations
April 22, 2011

The heart and the soul are indeed tender matters.
If I were to say that I put forth all of my spirit into that which I do,
it would differ greatly from pouring monstrous strength, practice, effort, or skill into a task.
It will not suffice to simply write off emotions as such.
They carry such a weight as well as a healing hand which can either break or mend someone.
Those who claim to have experienced the extent of an exercised heart or soul are wrong.
The yearning that is required, the distant outcry for something unobtainable,
the starving blood thirst for internal satisfaction,
that which I, myself do not yet know, and am merely able to speak of due to my unusual reflection.
I should say for us all to stick to mere movements for now.
Build steps here and there, crumble foundations occasionally,
this is how one should practice in order to one day know of the heart and soul,
and should that day arrive all too soon,
one will not feel complete, but a stinging emptiness,
the resounding echo of being bare handed.
For I truly believe that the heart and the soul are the wielders who hold us tools in their hands.

Your Life as a Poem
March 24, 2011

If I could write a poem that would touch the world, I would.
If it could reach out beyond the paper and touch your face, then it should.
Something so surreal, that it's like a scene from a movie brought to life.
It embodies all your struggles and your strife.

Your life on paper, written as a poem.
Since you can see it, how does it look?
Does the poem talk about your home?
Does it tell your life story like an open book?

Do you like what you see?
What would reading your poem say about you to me?
If your poem reaches out to you, what would you do?
Would you be content and let it sit on a shelf, or be concerned and try to change yourself?

Since the poem's still unfinished, it's up to you to write the next line.
It belongs to no one else - your own unique design.

Do you wonder where it should start or how it will end?
Or have you already made up your mind?
I trust that you know who you really are, somewhere deep, down, inside.

This is my poem that I have shown.
Now it is your turn to write your own.