Clumsy Gazelle Poem
10/??/2015

Dear Dad,

The last time we spoke, was spent walking down the sidewalk together in some metropolitan area.  There was a tunnel up above, I guess we were in what you would call an underpass and a giant graffiti'd dumpster was awaiting our passage.  You pulled on my arm with strong resolve and guided me into the street, as if the cars would dissolve in front of us as we inched farther away with our feet.  I felt like a modern day Moses, it was magical.  Once we reached the other side of the Chevrolet sea, you pointed out to me that our sudden death match with the traffic was a tactical maneuver.  There was a gang operation being run no sooner than just beyond the trash bin... I woke up from that dream and immediately knew what could have happened.

I took a trip to Chicago this summer, the first of its kind.  I felt like you were watching over me, keeping me safe the entire time.

I can't recall too many words you've said to me, but I have quite a few for you.  Like to start, here's two.  I'm gay.  I wonder all the time, if maybe you already knew.  You always called me by the nickname Cool.  You told my mom that when I grow up I would be a ******* and a big drinker too.  You got one-and-a-half of those right.  

I inherited your hair and your goofy smile too.  Neither of those are all that great, but I guess they'll have to do.  I've heard the story from your poker pals about the time you won at pool.  You got up on the table and in your most graceful pose and poise, the pool stick struck, and as the 8 ball sunk, gravity grabbed and you fell.  Once you stood up, you addressed the **** up and said, "Like a gazelle."    

I've made my own leaps too, but every gazelle has its gaffes.  I've fallen in front of friends but made it out of every situation's extremes. It seems that when gravity pulls me down, all I can do is laugh. I'm glad I got that from you - I'd rather be a 'clumsy gazelle' than a 'graceful giraffe.'

Haunted Poem
11/10/2014

Sometimes you feel haunted by the past,
and sometimes you feel haunted by the present.
... Neither are very easy to escape.

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.

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?

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?

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.

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.

(Not really a poem, but I wanted to share).

Wynn’s Quarter-life Manifesto
4/27/2014 at 12:25am (post midnight)

First Section – Regrets:  These are things to learn from in the future.
. I regret expecting myself to understand the deeper meaning behind all of life’s recent transitions.
. I regret not spending more time appreciating nature without technology.
. I regret putting awful unhealthy foods into my body too often.
. I regret obsessing over the way my body looks too often instead of listening to how it feels.
. I regret abandoning most of my volunteer work and attending less social activism events.
. I regret getting an industrial ear piercing.
. I regret taking it out within just a few months, even more.
. I regret not overcoming my fear of driving entirely yet, but it is in progress.
. I regret spending so much money on late night drinking at bars trying to meet strangers, instead of spending it doing more fun things with friends.

Second Section – Reliefs:  These are things to celebrate I have done.
. I am relieved I let love walk out of the door, not once, but twice - I can wait until the time is right.
. I am relieved I was accepted to law school and a PhD program with great scholarships to boot.
. I am relieved my family honestly tries to embrace things which make me different or less relate-able to.
. I am relieved I have accepted that *** can be an ordinary thing and should not be feared.
. I am relieved that I choose to value it regardless and still maintain some of my old-fashioned values.
. I am relieved that it took me 22 years on this planet to become slightly jaded – longer than most.
. I am relieved I am capable of change and adapting to difficulties, even if those changes confuse me.

Third Section – Reality: These are things I need to be more realistic and grounded about.
. Life goes on no matter how lonely you get or how much you want to be in a relationship.
. If I want to achieve difficult goals, they require a few things in addition to harder effort, including more sleep, effective stress-coping strategies, positive empowerment, and breaks – remembering to laugh.
. Communication requires listening and so in order to be a better friend it is important to listen more.
. Don’t be that person who always complains.  A lot of people are really jealous of you for their reasons.
. Say hello to people, even strangers, and smile – how they’re feeling today is important.
. Not everything is about you.

Fourth Section – Relish:  These are things to sincerely appreciate.
. Relish friendships, please – they can come and go so appreciate them for what they’re worth.
. Relish relish, ketchup, mustard, mayo, and even the horseradish – variety is a great thing.
. Relish a calm night by yourself finding new music.
. Relish when you discover interesting things about yourself you’d yet to learn.
. Relish material things you own like a bed, more than one pillow or a tv maybe, a closet with clothes.
. Relish being born as who you were.
. Relish having become who you are today.
. Relish your willingness and opportunity to work towards who you want to be.

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.

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.

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.

Things That Don't Typically Evoke Poetry #3 Poem
4/28/2014

Oh mailbox.
If only you had a voicebox.
You could bark like a dog.
Scare off that suspicious mailman named Bob.
Or yell at the kids playing in my yard.
You wouldn't have to try very hard.
To be good at your job.
Because I'd stop by to say hello everyday.
Just to know that I could receive my new news.
In a more interesting kind of way.
Oh mailbox, the things you would say.

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.

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.

Things That Don't Typically Evoke Poetry #4 Poem
4/28/2014

The weight of air.
As it blows through your hair.
******* out moisture with its warm whispy touch.
But can it hold very much?
Without the ability to clutch.
For if something needs to be so small.
To be carried by the wind.
Then is it possible for air to weigh anything at all?

Wind Howl Poem
9/24/2014

"Why does the wind howl?"
I think it has lost its voice.
Now only able to summon screeching sounds like scratches,
clawing their way up from a wispy throat.

"Why does the wind howl?"
I found myself asking this unusual question,
for the second time this week.

I think it has found a reason to blow breeze with such brutal force.
Breaking silence found in strange places it visits,
not wanting to whisper - the wind would rather howl.
Its presence must be known.

... Wouldn't you want to howl, too?

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."

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.

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.

Fears for Forever Poem
5/19/2015

What could happen if we lost our fears and let love in?

It would just take a moment to gaze into your eyes
and know I'd have a place to rest my own as long as you look back.

It would just take a second to stare and know how deep
our feelings could impair our thoughts or any logic,
thinking this could turn out so bad, but right now hearts pumping,
blood running through our veins,
my thoughts become overcome by feelings,
and I think I've turned a little insane.

It would just take a minute to comprehend
but it would be 59 too late.
Because from the first count poison is consumed,
you've become another victim.
You've gone from new to used.

It would just take an hour to kindle our spark
into a full force inferno.
Temperature hot enough to set this bed on fire
and combustion would blow up the whole **** building.
But not before we both explode together.

I couldn't imagine what harm letting love in for 24 hours would do.
but now that I know, I'd do it, I'd do, I'd do it all night with you.
Let love in, shut the blinds, and seal the door, locked airtight.
I'd let our love destroy everything in sight.
Tell myself everything will be alright,
if I'd just have you to hold me through this tragic plight.

... I guess this is why fears exist
to keep love out of mind, out of life.
Something to be scared of,
sometimes so wrong, it should be left when you take a right
step in the opposite direction.

So turn and face the fears and feel afraid.
Don't you know what would happen if you allowed yourself to stay?
if you let love in, even just for a moment?

Then walk away and say,
goodbye my... almost lover.

That's Grass Poem
5/16/2014

If you think about it hard enough, you can feel the life tingling on tips of grass.  As if they are blades true to their name, yearning to clash against your soft skin soaked in the sun's sweat.  The thrill of the fight when you're feeling alive.  That's grass.

Getting chopped up into tiny pieces by the violent churning grummm grummm grummm of a mechanical ****** machine, the lawnmower.  Spurting out what's left, the ruins of a once emerald empire, into twisty bendy bits thrown to the fierce winds, allowed to dissipate into dust at dusk.

Who thought time could pass without you?  That's grass.

I went to the park the other day and guess what I saw?
Grass.  But on top of it.  There were picnic tables adorned with checkered table cloths, and I could just smell the waft of hot dogs, hamburgers, and acidic pickles.  But this is not about what I saw.  Not what I smelled, nor the fabricated memory I longed for as the moment fleeted, like a photograph fade out at the movie credits, when the characters' lives become just what they always were - figments of your imagination, allowed to live on the big screen for just a brief moment of viewing pleasure.  

I saw a family of four.  Picturesque, painting the scene one would like to see.  A father, mother, and two children.  Sons of separate ages.  Laughing, that laughter.  If I could just capture one of their smiles and keep it in a jar, I wouldn't have to ever go very far to feel happy.  And who knows if they went home later that day and cursed each other, or pulled out their phones at the dinner table, completely ignoring the company of one another.  Maybe, just maybe they hated each other with all the scathing loath one's own family can create.  But, they had the option.  They could grow together.  That's grass.

A. They had the ability to knock on your door and be told you're too busy to talk.  B. They had the ability to call you and let it ring to voicemail.  C. That older son had the ability to sneak out of the house late at night and wonder if you've noticed and been worried.  D. The younger son had the ability to have you drive him in your car and receive whatever wisdom you'd choose to share, even if it's only a belch or burp and then have a nice day school.  E. The mother, she had the ability to be a human being with you and live life happily, not just a mom, but a partner in love and life.  

W. The ability to see your smile at the law school acceptance letter.
C. The ability to ask you for a cash loan when times were tough.
M. The ability to watch sci-fi movies with you in bed and eat Chinese food.
A.B.C. The ability to share life's monumental moments with you, like learning the alphabet.

Those sons, they had the ability to fight with you and refuse your request to pass the tv remote from across the room when you were sitting down comfortable, and they were standing up.  Something so shallow and stupid,  not giving a ****. not knowing that at a few minutes before midnight that Christmas Eve... you would leave.  Is this what grass is supposed to be?  A ****** broken down family.

I saw grass this Father's Day.  It looked a bit overgrown, but 9 years can do that I guess.  It's almost gotten hard to read that plaque on the ground, but I know it still says Michael, father, husband, survived by sons and loving wife, now lost to the grass.

Who thought time could pass without you, and I could continue to grow.
But that's grass.

Grow Old Poem (Spoken Word)
5/15/2014

I want my heart to drop at least one more time before I die.
If it can tingle with that sensational micro shock wave,
feel it pulse fast through arteries and veins,
pumping ever so slowly, yet surely,
I can know that I am living in my last moments of being alive.

The thought never struck me that I could someday die of old age.
When the world out there is as scary as ours was,
one learns to not be afraid of what the future brings,
but instead of what's beyond the window in the present.
What malice is awaiting your dim-witted arrival out the door this morning?

Aging is the reason a Hell doesn't need to exist.
It can make a common theme among all of Dante's burning infernos.
How cruel is it to find things you love and ignite passions,
only to watch those things flicked off like fleas,
faltering into willowy whisps,
small pathetic pitter pats fluttering away into dust.

I did it right though, you know.
Growing old.
I did it by growing, after all, and not shrinking.
Step by step, things got harder, but in turn became more enjoyable.
My only wish now is to ask my 22 year old self some questions.

Why didn't you go to senior year prom?
Even though you didn't have a date, it would have been fun,
you and I both know it!

Why did you spend so much time obsessing over when you would lose your virginity when there were so many better firsts to be taken?

Why did you refuse to date for long periods of time,
closing off your heart as if falling in and out of love was like a fatal fall off a cliff.

Why did you care about little old me,
trying to make plans for the future, without realizing I could care for myself when it got to that point?

Why did you lie at your high school reunion as if anyone's opinion mattered if it wasn't something positive or interesting?

Why didn't you take better care of your body.
I know it's a low blow, but I'm not exactly a fan of my brittle skin, a little lotion daily could have gone a long way.

It's funny that these are the things I think of today.
That I remember out of all the moments, these few.
Why are you listening to me talk and answering these silly questions?

Go forth into the hustle and bustle of life,
Be enthralled in its tendrils,
letting its life force seep through your veins like a brilliant canal system.
Don't shrink as you age,
My advice to you is to Grow Old.

Poem on Thanksgiving. =]
November 24, 2010

Bombs tick-tick-tocking in my mind.
Clocks click-clocking in the sky.
Motion rock-rocking all around me.
Eyes stalk-stalking the shadow.
Sound talk-talking from the ground.
Obstacles block-block-blocking the next stage.

So loud I can’t count down to the final explosion.
Please help me, I’m running out of time.
Time, being a lost concept built on fears.
My fears have become more than just a notion.
They are all set into motion.
It’s a commotion.
I’m reaching up for some calm, some land, some shelter.
But I just get the rage and fury of drowning in the ocean.
I’m caught swept in a torrent.
Its abhorrent.
How detestable this is, I’d rather beg for silence.
But if you suppress noise with silence, what good can come of it?
Aren’t you just manufacturing a new bomb?
A bomb made of new fears.
New fears created by this absence of noise.

So which is better, when you fear both: noise and silence?
Perhaps neither is ideal, when all they do is negate and null your existence.
Dare to ascend, to transcend, to begin, to become something better, higher, different.
Reach the next new stage of being, void of sound, and silence absent.
Simply a state of nothingness but everything at the same time, but with time being gone as well.
What is it?
Something which is unobtainable, not understandable, never tangible.
Unimaginable.

Sharing Hate Poem
September 4, 2009 (I recently found this poem I wrote years ago)

Trigger Warning - Abuse

Sharing Hate

He keeps me locked up in this room daily.
He calls me ugly, then starts to beat me.
My bruised and battered body lays there numb.
I think, "Don't worry, help will one day come."

He took my teddy; it was my mommie's.
The other girls here look just like zombies.
Dad always said, "Find the silver lining."
But the rare ray of light's all I'm finding.

He told me, "Tomorrow you'll be famous."
I asked, "Why do you blame your hate on us?"
He said, "You don't get it... I'm just like you."
"When I was little, I got abused too."

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.

Lovely Petals Burst Poem
3/10/15

Why do we tears petals off of flowers and contemplate love?
He loves me.

Why do we tear clothes off of strangers and contemplate love?
He loves me not.

Why do we tear into lobsters and steaks over candlelight and cloth and contemplate love?
He loves me.

Why do we tear out our hearts to expose them and interrogate them and contemplate love?
He loves me not.

I guess when we think about love, it becomes a destructive force.
Sometimes we throw our hearts like emotionally explosive hand grenades, filled with blood,
these lovely petals are ready to burst,
and I'll get damaged first.

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?

I Want to Hold Your Hand Poem
(6/16/2014)

I heard holding hands is what gives an angel its wings.
Maybe because they want to hold on so tightly,
that they need some help flying away.
They know they must go,
but don't know how to say no.
So does that explain why after we held hands the first time,
you disappeared?

Maybe you wanted to hold on.
Maybe you went to heaven,
because you didn't want the stars to see you cry.
So high above those celestial bodies you could do as you'd please,
and watch over me.

Maybe you felt...
the time, just might...
Maybe you were attracted to some other person's light,
Or maybe you were actually a devil in disguise.

One that rips wings off of angels
and traps them on Earth.
Watching with your hideous eyes,
as they hold hands with humans,
trying their hardest to fly.
While you feed off the fleeting might,
that causes their unstable plight.

Maybe you were a snake charmer,
and I, the instrument you played.
Like you could convince the sneaky shadow inside of me,
to slither out into the surface,
and convey its venomous intent,
ready to strike.
That's how you taught me to hold hands.

Maybe you were a tornado.
One that hijacks airplanes,
ripping apart houses,
and wreaking the most unnatural disaster,
that something so naturally beautiful could bring.

Maybe you held hands to stay on ground,
selfishly motivated to keep king status of your worldly mound
of dirt and keep yourself superior,
with the ability to stay,
due to simple saying "hey"
and seducing my hand to move your way.

So my angel,
Oh yeah, I'll tell you something,
I think you'll understand,
When I'll say that something
I wanna hold your hand.
I wanna hold your hand.
I wanna hold your hand.

Oh please, grow your wings
and fly away from me.
Oh please, please come save me,
I wanna hold your hand.
I wanna hold your hand.
I wanna hold your hand.

10 Word Poem
5/3/2015

Awake at 4am, you're in my head - away from bed.

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

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.

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?

Things That Don't Typically Evoke Poetry #2 Poem
4/28/2014

The under-side of a butterfly's wing.
Is an under-appreciated thing.
Untouched and mostly unseen.
It doesn't require cheap beauty tricks like sunlight shining.
The hard effort of flapping.
Creates a constant working test.
But if I were ever to offer a sweet soft caress.
I think it would be worth it.
To give the under-side of a butterfly's wing a rest.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The Ninth Father's Day Poem
(6/15/2014)

A 12 year old Wynn,
wandering around the house.
Not so different from a spirit,
one that had shed its oppressive shackles of daily struggles.
A lot of people came to my father's funeral.

Everybody kinda threw a hodge podge of advice at me.  
Saying token phrases that they probably picked up in a movie.  
Things like, "Your father loved you, you were a lucky boy."  
I don't care to remember the rest.  
Although the worst was the people who had the audacity,
the nerve, to tell me, "Time will heal all."  

They must have meant it takes enough time for me to die too,
only able to heal once I can see him again.  
Because I spent the first 6 years numb,
carrying on through awkward motions,
like I needed a good grease or tune up.  

You could hear the **** squeaks
as a poorly maintained robot should.  
Devoid of emotions, unfeeling,
unable to accept the traumatization of tragedy.

I spent the last 3 or 4 years successfully.  
I graduated college.  
I've fallen in and out of love.  
I even grew up into a promising young adult.  
But I also learned how to miss my dead dad.
Time only makes it hurt more as I count each year.
This is The Ninth Father's Day.

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.

Flavors of Love Please Poem
2/26/2014

I don't want to live in a world without love.

Without cheap dates.
Without wallowing and wine,
wondering where things went wrong.

Without melodrama,
Without attempts to understand,
why we get hurt when we open ourselves up.

Maybe to others,
a world without love
would be alright.

Maybe to others,
they don't need those special feelings,
to be feeling just fine.

But not me, no no.
I need to live in a world with love,
a world with laughter and a world with light.

A world that doesn't forget to include the things,
that aren't quite so nice,
like someone turning away from you,
but you know their ****** expression anyways,
cold as ice.

A world that is harsh and tormenting,
where you can easily retrace the footsteps,
that once held two pairs of feet,
or you can retreat,
but would much rather follow.

I demand to see the stars disappear into sunlight,
trying to decide which option is the better kind of shine bright.
A bold blazing sun, easy to spot in the sky,
or the millions of stars that look like they are struggling to fly.

And I,
don't want to give up on love anymore.
I just needed some time to press my heart's snooze button,
and snore away the hurt.

But now,
I am wide awake and hear my heart's drum beating,
it calls to me at night,
pleading for something it is needing.

The sizzle of eggs I cooked in a pan for breakfast,
with little flecks of salt and pepper,
a slice of butter on some whole-wheat toasted bread.

Together, this breakfast conglomeration,
told me what the point of this poem is.
To live on, without love, is to eat boring eggs.

And I,
would rather live a life filled with hate,
then be stuck eating what is served to me on a plate.

Give me all the flavors of love please.

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.

Up Late but not Contemplating Poem
4/27/2014

1am to 3am
Refusal to endorse the typical behavior one might partake in at this time.
Still awake, but feeling trapped by sleep's scheme.
It's like we are forced to close our eyes each night and open come morning.
But what if I want to resist?

3am to 5am.
These are the best a 24 hour period can hold.
Magical things happen when you lose your will to sleep.
You realize you have been living with eyes wide open, constantly asleep.
That only when you deny your eyelids their longing kiss,
will you truly fall awake.

5am to 7am.
You have planned out most of your day tomorrow.
Eagerly awaiting a trip to your favorite early morning cafe or diner.
What a great feeling to be awake when you really shouldn't be.
It's a small taste of nostalgia from grabbing cookies out of the forbidden jar.
You get a sense of content as you let the remaining hours of the night drift.
Think about the most amazing fresh shower in a couple hours.

7am to 9am
Living in the moment with just yourself.
It is great to know the world exists not in your bedroom,
but for these few hours,
you were able to block it out.
You are up late but not contemplating.

Frozen Heart Poem
10/22/2015

What's a winter without withering?
What's a winter without solitude?
What's a winter without higher gas bills to heat the apartment,
because without you in bed I lost my natural heater?
What's a winter without a frozen heart?

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.

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.

Out of Place
Date Unknown

I once got swept up in a tornado and landed in a pretty place.
There were trees along the sidewalks and bike paths on the roads.
The people looked like flowers, all their petals in full bloom.
But once I got a closer look, the perfect hair and perfect teeth didn't look quite as pretty underneath.

Smirks and Sperries couldn't hide the scary scars
of people who put so much effort into hiding who they really are.
The world map wall decor marked with push pins of places traveled,
at first glance appeared like a fairy tale, but slowly became unraveled.
You see, these things were shallow.

My steps couldn't be traced, so instead I tried to recreate.
By the time winds subsided my thoughts had become divided.
Too late to second guess, take a chance, change my fate.
The decision had already been made.
When you land in a foreign space
sometimes its natural to feel out of place.

Fearing Changes Poem
5/3/2014

I want a divorce from my feelings.
Lately I've been thinking,
about changing,
about becoming,
someone really bright,
burning full of wonder and life,
amazed by the world.

I don't want to grow into jaded angst,
taking life's anger inducing tragic bait.

I need to shower myself in streams of light,
bringing in a brightness that stirs crazy,
ushering in  a fierce ***** that can't be tamed.

I need to plunge headfirst into a fist full of firsts,
breaking through boundaries yet to be crossed,
ultimately setting the stage for my future in a neat new place.

It's these changes that I fear.
It's these changes that I think will become me.
It's these changes that I don't want to absorb me,
and take away my favorite pieces of person-hood.

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.

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.