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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

My Lighthouse Poem
4/4/2014

You make my toes tingle,
I never noticed them before.
You're like my hit single,
in my mind every time I walk out the door,
to start my day.
You brighten my soul
and one touch makes me feel a million different ways.
One more positive than the other,
but each heading in the same right direction,
to you.

I can't wait to trace every single millimeter of your body,
like I am on a treasure hunt.
And all I can find at each spot I come into contact with is golden beauty.

Your words are pure and unadulterated,
like the low sodium soy sauce and fresh ginger with sushi.
Ooo, there's just something in your smile,
and no it's not spinach.
It's a reflection of a happier me,
knowing that I could be with you and be happy.

I'll call you my lighthouse,
and nobody will understand.
They'll think I was a lost ship,
and that you helped me reach the sand.

Really it's because you are a stable structure,
out at an emotional sea in a dark sky night.
Really it is because none of the others compare,
to your special kind of shine bright,
with that light,
that I'm fixated on.

On our first date we played bingo and shuffleboard.
On our second date, sushi and tarot cards.
Who knows what crazy adventures any future dates will be,
but who really cares when they include you and me?
Yeah, that's right, it's enough with just you and me,
my lighthouse.

Never Have I Ever (Slam Poem)
5/27/2014

Having a best friend makes you think of weird things.

Stuff like:
Getting slapped in the face with a fish is more about smell than texture.
13 nights in a row drinking isn't so bad if you save cash not using mixers.
A stranger hitting on you is a storyline for tomorrow's lunch.
Redecorating my room is just for you, nobody else will see it.
You asked me to go shop with you, are you saying I need new clothes?
Crushing Ritalin in a bathroom, because we stayed up 'til 6am before work.
Pooping is like extra time in the day set aside to call you on the phone.
Why do we play Never Have I Ever when we already know the ever's?
People think we constantly say inside jokes, but we're just telepathic.
I get into shape before you visit town, because you're my best wingman.
If we ever stop being friends, I really hope you don't blackmail me.
Can I designate you to speak at my wedding, babyshower, and funeral?
... or is it too soon to do that?

Losing friends can make you think of weird things, I imagine.

Stuff like:
1. I should stop ordering carne asada fries - I can't finish a whole portion.
2. I keep my curtains closed - I know your car won't randomly be outside.
3. Having lunch alone ***** - I shared a crazy story with the cashier today.
4. I take my poops with the stereo on now - I never could go in silence.
5. My voicemail inbox is full - I can't delete any when your voice pops up.
6. Maybe I should call you.
7. I need to talk to you.
8. I wish I could call you.
9. If only you'd come visit town.
10. Maybe I should go visit the cemetery.
11. I have a new least favorite Never Have I Ever.
12. Never Have I Ever had a best friend die.

And I hope I never ever will put that finger down.

Oppression Ownership Poem
1/26/2014

Why do we lead our hearts by the hand
into our lovers' volatile elements
quicksand mixed with fire
Why do we blame it on desire
say the heart wants what it wants,
but mine doesn't want this at all
Stop.

Alleviating your hearts of guilt and shame
because they're doing it perfectly.
to fall in love and be willing to take set backs
Stop.

Let's take a step back.
Give our hearts back their guilt and ownership
over the oppression of a heart beat you can control
but actually choose not to.
Stop.

Hear that?
It is the sound of a heart beating,
barely breathing
but
Stop.

Now we've fixed it
the problem we couldn't solve
but don't absolve
yourself of sin yet
We've got another oppression needing to be handed over
false ownership we play pretend.
rather than play in a playground with each other.
we blame another for our heart's oppression

but right now in this room
I am the only one holding a broom
trying to tell you that you can't sweep it out
out of your mind
or cover it up with doubt.

I'm not saying don't blame society for creating social constructs of love.
I'm not saying that we don't live in a world that is filled with a sickness
a sickness in some to say that like this we can't keep on living,
because
stop.

We can
and we have
and we cannot and have not
given up on each other, just on ourselves
with every breath we use to utter
that famous druther
that our hearts are victims.
needing to be fixed.
that the world wants to see us suffer
that we can't own our emotions they are far too mixed
with envy and rage and the deepest sorrow anyone could never know.
but I do know,
that
stop.

I do know
that stop

that
stop

stop.

I do know
no I don't.
I don't know but that's for you
to figure out
How to feel your heart's oppression
but don't keep it under ownership
instead let it out.
squeeze it out through your soul
before it gets to take its toll

you have too much to do on this planet
or even on mars, somewhere far up when you reach the stars
because you shine brighter than bullets baby.
when they get shot and hit something leaving a lasting impact.
you pierce through the hull of a steel ship
with that wicked bite of your lip
when your silver tongue speaks golden beauties.
to my wicker ears eager to be burned
with the splendid delight of your brilliant vocalizations
shouting, screaming, taming, keeping an eye opening message.

that you do not own your heart's oppression
and thus it does not own you neither.
because you lived it but it is not your life
like your heart
when you felt it
but did not control it
not because it was out of your control,
but because you chose to set it free,
and so too,
you should be,
rise above your society.

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.

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?

Personal Perspective Poem (Spoken Word)
5/30/2014

To the women who say they do not need feminism,
for fear of being seen as whiny or sensitive,
or for whatever reasons I may not comprehend as a mere male ally.
Please have it in you to look beyond your personal perspective.

To recognize that eye to eye, you do not see other women.
That there are those who cannot see,
acid dripped down their eyelids,
like a tear that burns their skin as much as the insides swell,
all just for wanting to reject a stranger's ****** advances.

To recognize the backs bruised,
bloodied buddies removed from bodies.
That little life extensions not allowed to live,
just for being born girls or maybe boys,
or somewhere in between sometimes.

Please, to recognize that no matter how inner your beauty is,
no matter how many months you spend spinning a cocoon,
so that you may emerge an empowered butterfly,
there will be evil spiders who prey and wish to restrain your flying wings,
in the entanglement of their webs.  
Spinning **** like it is the finest of silks.

To recognize a young female's suicide pressured by her peers,
either called fat, considered undesirable as a volcanic eruption of ash,
and coal, as dark as the hearts of those who have rejected her.
Or she was of dark skin which you might consider just as bad,
because your personal perspective probably left behind women of color.

To recognize that *** should be a sweet something,
not a spontaneously evoked sitting or standing or shouting and screaming,
inside silently, but knowing nobody will hear because you fear,
how they might react in the middle of a frat party,
where **** culture runs rampant,
ripping open limbs to toss in the trash with ****** wrappers,
but blame it on the ******* empty beer bottles.

To recognize that discussions about female TV characters,
and video games, are not about the pixels on the screen,
but the pixels ingrained in young girls' minds, an afterimage.
Left as if women who don't feel they have a place in this world,
do not deserve the avatars they want to represent their digital escape.
Such a simple request, please give her character armor suitable for battle,
her ******* need not be exposed to archers' arrows,
or a swordsman's stab, plunging carelessly into cleavage.

To recognize that commercial prostitution isn't something to sneer at,
when our society prostitutes women in commercials.  
Selling burgers that look like toxic bombs,
you are actually being advertised a buffet of *******.  
Selling beer with a wet white t-shirt contest,
drinks shouldn't be poured on anyone other than a **** at a bar.  
-
Climbing views in ****** slip videos trending on YouTube,
for a moment not worth the notice of any hash tag other than #YesAllWomen.
All of this shameless showing of the human anatomy,
as though it were a product.
Yet we can't seem to get behind feeding a baby the nutrients it needs,
anywhere in public other than an unsanitary bathroom stall!

To recognize the pioneers of past and present,
whose names now whispered in the footnotes of history textbooks,
can't be screamed loud enough at you!  
Shouting, Nellie Bly cannot save you if you voluntarily are a lunatic.  
Shouting, Mary Wollstonecraft cannot avert,
the monstrous male gaze you feel on your *** as you meander,
if you do not join her tribe as an Amazon Warrior of the Pen.  
-
Shouting, Betty Friedan cannot persuade you to liberate yourself,
if you do not think there is anything mystical about feminine mystique.  
Shouting, Laura Bates' 2012 Everyday Sexism Project,
in this modern fourth wave of feminism will become useless.
If you let it wash over you like another small wave,
in an ocean of daily sexist struggles you deny exist,
and blame on anomalies like the mental health of a certain shooter.  
-
Shouting, Kitty Genovese who screamed at everyone.
They watched but they didn't help. 
They watched but they didn't help.  
They watched but they didn't help.
And now shouting at you,
you are watching, but not helping.

Most importantly, to recognize the up and coming feminists,
of the future, with whom you do not identify,
because you think you don't need feminism.
To recognize those who will have to fight so **** hard,
to give you the privilege to be such an *******.
But that's just my personal perspective.

3-2-2017 (unknown date of origin)

Something's wrong... you don't belong here.
I said, looking down at the pineapple on my pizza.
I said, looking down at the ketchup on my macaroni.
I said, looking down at the cream of mushroom soup on my meatloaf.
He said, looking down at me and my boyfriend, holding hands in public.

Like I'm a creep.  I'm a ******.
What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here.

You see there's these things that we learn at the dinner table.
When we're kids we have certain items served to us on our plates.
Whatever doesn't end up there, isn't a part of the discussion.
After all, they say if you don't have a seat at the table, you are likely to be on the menu.

So, when ****** orientation and gender identity aren't seated at the table of childhood, they get served for the first time in unexpected places.  

Like an avante garde celebrity chef's designer meal, prepared for critiques by the food bloggers.  

They get served in college classroom debates or in dorm rooms with freshman roommates.  

They're on the menu in in some movies but served with a side of stereotypes and silly trope toppings.  

They get grinded into glitter dust sprinkled on the annual PRIDE Parades like an overly salty seasoning mix.  

They're on the menu in workplace diversity trainings, but too little too late - they get lost in the marginalized buffet.  

They get served at the oppression Olympics, or actually at the Olympics unwillingly by a journalist who only pretends to eat a well-balanced diet, but really has LGBT food allergies,  if you know what I mean.


In reality, these should be staple dishes consumed by commoners, consumed by you and me, consumed by children along with their healthy daily dose of broccoli and cauliflower, squash and zucchini, even eggplant.  

They should be in every ******* cookbook with pictures and all different kinds of recipes!


I want every child to have gay on their dinner plate, lesbian lunch, gender nonconforming on the brunch menu, and bisexual breakfast.  

And everything in between in the queer spectrum served during snack breaks.  


I want every child to look down at their plate and see pineapple pizza and say, gee that looks great!  

I love all of the pizza toppings, no matter whether gay or nay.
... except for anchovies, of course.

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.

(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.

Realization Alliteration Poem
4/23/2013

Radical reforms
Revealed and revered
Reveled in without reserve
Reject rest until wrongs righted
Resistance looks radiant red like radishes
Recently reequipped with righteousness reacting like radiation
Rowdy crowds race like rabbits to meeting rooms
Rain and rapiers can't quell rampaging rallies without recourse
Reserves have been replicated, ready to razzle and rebuke, revenge
Reclaim rusted roofs of the ruins, wrecked in rural rubble's roots
Reality's reign can't be reversed so remember it, refuse to relive it
Run from its reach, relying on the rare reward you've received, a refuge
Recognize that regimes rotate routinely like roadkill riding on rail-cars drinking with rancid rats
Reach for the receiver, become a redeemer, referee your own rehab, require resolute ripples - realization.

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."

12/24/2013


Sitting at the bar.
A man approached me with the line, "you have beautiful eyes."
A simple *** object he made my eyes
a device to leverage me into bed.
How cute.
I said Look into my eyes.
Tell me do you see hues of green and the most beautiful brown bestowed upon my body?
I call them Hazel.
as if they had a name for human pieces of flesh filled with blood.
Filled with the anger, Filled with rage, and Filled with envy which accompany sorrow.
But search further through my furrowed brow and you'll find no regrets even in the deepest depths of my iris and its solitude.
These eyes have seen themselves in the mirror.
Faced with a ***** reflection but don't blame the fragile glass surface with smudges and stains until it shatters.
You can't clean Hazel's ***** soul.
judgmental stares.
***** eyes. **** eyes.
Eyes that have been buried in armpits and stared deep into an *******.
Relentlessly unforgiving in his shallow stares,
Hazel was once so pure.
Eyes with a spark ready to ignite flames of fun now
Burnt to a **** crisp.
But you,
You with your drink in hand,
trying to pick up a trick for a quick.
You fueled the fire.
You burned down the bridge and led Hazel to walk off the cliff.
You killed my eyes.
My beautiful beautiful dead dead eyes.

Skinny *** Poem
(8/11/2014)

Every kid wants to be something when they grow up.
They picture perfect future families with puppies and kittens,
but for me something was missing.
I just wanted to be happy.
Maybe my vision wasn't so great though,
because 'happy' looked like it had 6 letters to me, and spelled 'skinny.'

People used to throw bricks at my glass house.
Shouting that I’d be skinny enough to slip through cracks.
Cracks of life,
cracks of struggle and strife,
cracks of everything not nice.
They'd tease me and say I looked like I smoked crack,
when I'd lose weight,
I'd gain it all back,
in the form of their extra hate.

But I didn't feel skinny on the inside.
Although I had skinny bones and skinny skin,
brittle enough to break within.
Under the pain of that pang
as their bricks shattered my glass house.

Tell me, have you ever been afraid of words?
Thoughts can be terrifying but once turned to spoken word,
that in turn will turn to shouted word,
that in turn will turn to incoherent nonsense.
Which starts a sensation of ear drums ripping,
being sawed in half immediately,
no time spent ticking,
by shrill shrieks and violent vocalizations.

As if a sound wave could burst your body parts faster,
no, more efficiently than a barrage of fists.
Because it will know exactly where to strike,
in fact, it will sneak through your solid surface,
into every single crevice,
knowing where the best place to hurt is.

All it takes is a whisper strategically said in your ear,
'skinny.' 'skinny.'  'skinny.'
I could feel it float away from me,
carried off by the wind.
As if a sound wave could carry an army of statements,
piled up and armed with bayonets of every decibel level,
ready and willing to siege each individual joint crack and muscle ache,
being pushed under imposed stiffness.
It will ooze out your pores, as if your fat face was an instrument amplifier.

They thrived on the thrill listening to my shrill shriek.
As I stepped on shards from my shattered glass house,
And stared into the million fractures,
each a broken reflection of the million me’s I could be.
But none of them skinny... enough,
skinny for everybody else,
but never for me.

I’d envision each day, blood drops staining my glass carpet.
Each ounce of that luscious red,
each day left my body filled with an ounce less of dread.
An ounce less to fit into a size small shirt,
and 30 inch waist Skinny jean.
My body became my own private ****** machine.

Every kid wants to be something when they grow up.
I just wanted to be happy, I mean skinny.

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.

Speak Power to Truth, but watch out for Lie Poem
3/01/2014

Sometimes we are afraid to speak Truth to Power.
Have you ever heard that phrase uttered
by some token card pushing sack of potatoes?

I want to know :
Who are these Truth and Power characters?
Why are we afraid to speak with them?

Fear not, I'll break it down,

I met Truth in 8th grade,
watched friends steal candy from a store,
then they shouted, "Wynn go take some more."
Egging on persistent - I couldn't ignore.
I snuck the snack in to my pocket,
pretended I dropped it.
left enough change on the counter
to pay for my friends and more,
high hived my friend Truth as I walked out the door.

I met Power high up in a tower
of offices.
That's right, Power is a bureaucrat who stamps a time clock.
Every single weekday,
as a weak single,
like you and me, maybe.
Power worked for my university
signed my paychecks,
and didn't like me at all.
Power threw a power trip, extorted, blackmailed me and all,
I got was secret meetings behind closed doors,
Power threw me out
said Wynn we don't need you anymore.

I met Truth a 2nd time when I fell in love
and had Truth tell me, Wynn admit it,
this isn't the stranger you've been dreaming of.
But I didn't follow Truth's advice,
Instead I listened to Lie,
and continued to suffer
until emotionally I wanted to die.

Lie, is another character you will tend to get involved with.
Each day in a mirror Lie reviews your clothes,
whispers in your ear you should starve,
need to become beautiful,
to lose weight,
and change french fries for grapes.
Lie wears a funny suit and shows up at your door,
will try to sell you **** on silver platters,
as if you needed anymore,

Power came again to me,
at a protest in the mall,
said freeze, put your hands in the air,
don't move, stay where you are.
Power wields handcuffs,
forged from metal, emotions, or money.
Power is tall and attractive.
Can be so friendly, sweet like honey.
Power is secretly a business partner of everyone in your life.
Power will be there for those who afford to buy its might.

Lie is the friend who your parents say you should kick out of your house,
but instead you awkwardly end up inviting to dinner.
Lie timed their visit strategically.
To dine at your table for free.
(Lie doesn't identify with gender pronouns by the way).

So speak Power to Truth, but watch out for Lie,
because Truth needs Power most,
and Lie will try to hide,
not caring for reasons why.

****** Poem
1/26/2014

In the mind of a ****** person who doesn't rarely ever get ******.

This is nice, getting to watch online videos on my laptop.
It is entertaining to think about.
Wow, what did people used to do in like ancient times when they got ****** without electronic devices?
Back in the ****** Ages, did they talk to horses in their stables or something?

I really wish I remembered to bring that guacamole to my bed,
I don't want to get up and grab it.  
ugh, but the salt sounds so tasty right now.
Hey, why do we say stuff like 'sounds tasty?'

Maybe I should write a poem about StonedHenge.  
haha henge henge
haha

Okay, that might have been a bit too much.
Do I always follow my stream of consciousness like that?
How long has this song been on?  
Wow, it feels like forever.

The point of this poem at the beginning of the high
was to demonstrate some big idea that I thought sounded really smart
but I think I've lost it now that I'm a ****** person who doesn't rarely ever get ******.
I'm gonna get up and get the guacamole, bye.

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.

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.

Follicle Poem
December 6, 2013

A mental relapse occurs.
I see hands plowing through my head of hair
They continue to grasp at the roots,
as if attempting to expose a truth hidden underneath.
But what secrets could bequeath a hair follicle?
Well, one might tell a tale.

Scared of the dark, a 6 year old Wynn laid awake in bed.
He prolonged the inevitable destitution of a dream state.
No longer wanting to accept a reoccurring nightmare,
he took to a dreary exercise of staying awake in the dark.
One hair follicle today may tell of how,
on that night it did not rise in a panicked state.
Wynn had finally conquered his fear of the dark.

"Something felt different today," said Follicle #567.
A new shampoo.
But more than that, strange scissors.
"Who is this new person cutting Wynn's hair now?"
remarked one hair follicle,
"I wonder what happened to the usual lady?"
She had passed away.

An emerging chest hair observed the extended family has grown recently.
"Darker relatives who look different and live in other regions of the world.
Who are they and why do they get treated differently?
Nobody has heard of the ***** region in the southern hemisphere,
or armpit land where our hair family members supposedly smell weird."
The perspective of a follicle in puberty.

"The loud sound of electricity and gears grinding scares me.
There is a storm which ravishes our lands.
First, a foamy cloud surrounds us.
Next, comes a sharp stinging sensation,
not a pleasant feeling to be set free from your roots.
A tidal wave crashes, washing away my follicle friends and family forever.
Then, the lightning strikes - dooming us all."
A ****** follicle's worst fear.

"We are a persevering bunch.
We cling to our conventions and grow, grow, grow.
But recently Wynn has done something new.
We thought he was feeding us honey,
so treacherous.
Sticky goop and stiff paper will be the end of us all.
Nobody wants to admit follicles are second-class citizens to smooth skin."
Waxing prematurely takes the lives of several million follicles annually.

"A rebel group of follicles known as the 'In-Growns' are up to no good.
They scheme with the pimples, plotting when and where to strike next.
I worry about Wynn - wish he could know we aren't all so ill-intentioned."
Follicle culture is derived from parenting, not just biology or anatomical location.

"The last of my kind, I have been contaminated with chemicals.
My color changed to blue.
I've heard the ancient legends about follicles once turned blonde.
We need to appease the summer sun god.
The others have all shriveled up or been brutally betrayed by the locals.
In hiding, we worry the scissor insurgents will discover our locations.
All I wanted was the freedom to express myself,
to be seen for who I really am - not just some color."
Follicles experience discrimination for numerous reasons.

"Drugs.
I can feeeel them in my DNA.
Something about me has changed and I like it.
Living life on the wild side these days.
I don't shower and don't care if I am greasy.
Every other follicle’s fears are irrational.
I'm gonna spread the word and grow out a bit.
Because that's what they expect of me, isn't it?
I mean, what good could come out of a drugged up follicle,
other than more waste of scalp space?"
Follicles who use drugs recreationally receive negative labels and harsh stigma.

"The wavy goodness from a gel rub,
is the highlight of the week.
We are fine, fresh, and fierce, ready to set the standard for follicle fashion.
If you are one of those lower class follicles,
who can't afford gel.
No worries - some might trickle down...
Just kidding!
Spray supports our monopoly on hair care products."
Fashionable follicles are extra sassy and have socio-economic privilege.

The relapse ends.
My head suddenly feels heavy,
swarmed with the hair follicle chronicles.
And the hands running through my head of hair become inspired.
They begin to tell their tales of times passed in Wynn's life.

Perspective means everything.

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.

There comes a time when
February 28, 2011

At least in my life, there comes a time when I have to make a decision, which to other people might not seem that big of a deal, or might seem wrong, or like something I don't actually support.  However, everyone else might not really understand my reasoning or might just think it is dumb or over-emotional.

But can you honestly say that you've never felt like you have an influence on people who matter to you?  I mean, what if you could take this hypothetical scenario where: you give up something that you like - no really enjoy, but were originally content living without - a really long time ago, before you changed.  And by giving this up, you have a chance of getting your friends to do the same.  Even if its only a slight chance, would you choose it, hoping that they'd follow in your footsteps?  Even if it means sacrificing the new, possibly better you.  The you that finally fits in and is 'normal,' and that is actually looked up for being so good at this something.  The you that has so much fun, when in the more recent past, it seemed like you could never be happy ever again.

I mean, what if they mattered to you that much.  Do you think that they'd understand and support you?  Would they really appreciate their efforts?  But then again, even if they don't, at least you can say you tried, in a non-cop-out kind of way.  and plus, you're arguably better off for having made the choice anyways, since now you have the old you back.

If those who I'm talking about read this, I doubt you'd know what I'm talking about, or recognize that it applies to you.  But I've made up my mind on the spur of the moment.  I'm so sorry, but it's over.  I just want to be Wynn again, the me that was so innocent and laughed at, but taken seriously.  And I want you all to be the old you's as well.  As fun as these days are, and as much as I want them to continue on again.  As much as I don't want to grow up now - this early, and I want to keep the image of what we Thought was older and more mature a couple years ago.  I am definitely not ready for this, but I feel like its better now than never.  So again, I say that it's over.

You won't notice for a while, but that's alright.  I know that it'll come sooner or later, I don't doubt it.

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.  :)

The Rules of Online Dating Poem
(8/5/2014)

Rules start the moment we decide to do online dating.
You can't choose Christian Mingle, because things get too spicy there.
You can't choose JDate, because they all want to sign pre-nup's.
You can't choose Plenty of Fish, because who wants to date a fish?
... I mean, I'm pretty sure that's illegal in most countries.
Grindr is great, but we're talking about the rules of online dating... Dating.

Now, OkCupid is where it's at.
Okay see here, you need a username.
Something quirky.  How about 'Quirky?'
Oh, that's taken, so add numbers!
The website suggested 'Quirky 69' ... okay, maybe no numbers.
Quirky_Cat, because everything on the internet is better with cats.

Let's move on to selecting several profile pictures.
Dust off your digital archives, and find one from that time you tanned.
Ever take a funny photo eating food?  Perfect, feed it to your fans.
Is it Halloween?  Because I'm thinking Headless Torsoooo!!!
Annnnd for good measure, let me take a selfie.

The hardest part is answering the match-making questions.
My soul is searching for its soul mate, and there can only be one.
It's like the heart hunger games.  
Who can shoot their compliments with the precision of a bow and arrow,
right through the wall of cats I've accumulated from being single so long?
The first one to make me feel so alive I want to die,
but not before devouring a pint of ice cream, wins!!

SO ANSWER THESE CRUCIAL QUESTIONS:
1, Is astrological sign important to you in a match?
YOU BETTER NOT BE A GEMINI
2. Are you a cat person or a dog person?
I DON'T DATE CAT-DOG HYBRID PEOPLE, JUST BE A PERSON PLZ
3. If you turn a left-handed glove inside out, it fits?
MY ****
4. Would you be willing to meet someone from OkCupid in person?
IF YOU ANSWER NO, *** ARE YOU DOING HERE
That concludes today's question answering.  
Stay tuned for rules on writing the self-summary.

Rule #1 - Bang your head on the keyboard for 12 minutes.
This is a mandatory, required start to every OkCupid profile.
Rule #2 - Use a lot of cliches
Don't worry if you don't know any, just copy some from someone else.
Rule #3 - Say you are bad at writing self-summaries in your self-summary
That's a good one.
Rule #4 - Say what you are good at... which duh, is your writing skills.
I mean you have a liberal arts degree after all.
Rule #5 - Tell them you are a real person, not fake.
Some folks need to hear this to get over the imaginary people they dated.

Rules require structure, and structure is built by bullet point lists.
So first bullet point, favorite books:
- Quickly go find the titles of everything you had to read in high school.
Second bullet point, favorite movies, and variety is key here:  
- Include musicals, rom coms, at least one low-budget indie film,
    a foreign film or two, and throw in a few Disney flicks for good measure.
Third bullet point is what will make or break you, music:
- For gay men this will mean you're only allowed to pick female divas, so...
To the tune of 'Kokomo' by The Beach Boys.
There's Britney and Whitney, ooh I wanna take ya,
to Rhianna, Madonna, ooh and then there's Robyn.
But Queen Bey, J. Monae, Miley, and Christina,
Katy Perry, and Coldplay, because they count anyway.
Cher, and Cher, and Cher, and Cher, and Cher.

Alright alright.  We've had our fun, but now it gets serious.
The profile is going to ask us to advertise ourselves like products.
Of course we are going to comply.
5 foot 6.  145 pounds.  Brown hair, Hazel eyes.
Bi-lingual and knows how to use a tongue.
Annual income?  More like outgo, as in out goes my money.
Do I use drugs?  Only if they're free.
Do I diet?  As in drink diet soda, as opposed to regular?
Slightly hungover on Sundays.
Can send more pictures of cats I wish were my pets, upon request.

Alright, start stalking people for endless hours,
sending messages sporadically.
Good news!  We're ready to do online dating.

But...  what if I don't really know what I want?
Maybe online dating isn't for me.

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.

Things That Don't Typically Evoke Poetry #1 Poem
4/28/2014

Fruit smoothie.
Never thought I'd see you featured in a movie.
One drink of you gets my stomach feeling woozy.
But you're juicy.
Might even taste a bit better when I'm losing.
My sense of taste.
Because I snuck some ***** in.
While near Bahamas cruising.
With fruit smoothie.

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.

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.

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?

Things That Don't Typically Evoke Poetry #5
4/28/2014

Fat giraffe.
You shouldn't feel like you're a social gaffe.
I mean, sure, you could use some definition on your bloated calfs.
They look like cankles.
But there's nothing wrong with that.
I bet you could still support me if I rode on your back.
Besides, I don't think eating too many leaves can give you a heart attack?
And if it does, then no worries.
At least you ate a lot and got to take the biggest best craps.
Fat giraffe.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Wanted Ad Poem
1/31/2014

I've decided enough is enough.
I'm putting out an advertisement on every dating website,
It will read at the top:
Wanted

Man or Woman,
scratch that binary.
Regardless of gender or sexuality,
Seeking a person who can communicate.
Someone who chooses words wisely
and even better knows how to use them,
not to wound you, but to woo you.

Physical features need not apply
all stripes, squares, and bulges of variety are acceptable,
as long as they limit their smoking to while drinking,
I can't stand a cigarette smell on furniture in the house.
That was a simple request.

Maybe I should ask for something in greater detail.
Must appreciate new experiences,
whether of the culinary variety
or involving outdoorsy adventures.
Don't worry about being good at it,
I only know how to pitch one kind of tent after all.
Although I admit I am savvy with a spatula in the kitchen.

TV isn't a big deal, neither are books or music.
Those things tend to blend when you meet someone anyways.
But the really important one is to enjoy cuddling.
When I say cuddling I mean the Olympic sport!

Apply the golden standard,
have at least 2 of the 5:
car, apartment, job, schooling, beautiful smile.
A laugh that makes me smile is worth bonus points.
... whatever you're supposed to do with those - I have no clue.

Voila - It seems like I need to meet myself
and fall in love with what I see.
Because lately when I look in the mirror,
there's a stranger staring back at me.
Someone who I don't know or ask how he's doing.
Lately I don't even take the time to say hello.

I think this guy has a lot of potential,
but I'm scared to really let him into my life,
you see I heard he is insecure at times
and might not like me back in that kinda way.

I need to figure out a way to make him
fall deeply, madly, in love with me.

I should pamper him,
take him out to dinner just the two of us.
We don't need others' company after all.

I should take a walk with him outside
for no real reason at all..
We could even go somewhere in public,
maybe to a club or store at the mall,

I should just show him these things so he can understand
that he doesn't need others' company at all.
He is fine with just me in his life,
the best part is he'd have nobody else to please.
Nobody else to cast on him their needs.
Nobody else to keep him from being free.

It seems like all this stranger needs
is everything in my wanted ad.
It seems like all I need is me,
if I could just learn to appreciate my own company.

Watch the Lighthouse Poem
4/21/2014

What good is a lighthouse?
A stable structure, sure.

Watch it stand on the edge of a ruthless sea,
Watch it house a five person family,
Watch it guide a ship full of sailors to shore,
Watch it flash light at some stars, as if the night sky needed any more.

Watch what a lighthouse really does.
What purpose is it for?

Watch it illuminate humankind's' disgrace,
juxtaposed against the vast empty space.
Watch it carve a cliff-sized hole into nature's soul,
pretend it belongs, as if Earth's man-made face should be so dull.
Watch it stare blankly at a gentle sea,
under false belief that what's underneath is understandable by we.

Watch how a lighthouse thinks it guides those lost at sea.
Watch how a lighthouse creates more darkness than anything.
Watch how a lighthouse sheathed in shade and ice will crumble eventually.
Watch how a lighthouse means absolutely nothing to me.

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.

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.

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.