Everyone stands
Everyone must see
You can't stand forever
No one can please
One who sits down with a purpose
But no purpose to stand back up
You're comfortable in your seat
It warms you
It comforts you
It's unique to you
Even more than

No one else is aware of the connection to this chair that you've built
They do not acknowledge it
They do not question why you sit while they stand
Hand in hand
Everything seems fine in the end
But then you realize
You do not wish to stand
Nor command a hand of your own

In this seat,
You see the world from a different perspective
Your friends from a different height
Your love from a different heart
What a sight.
Most would stand up with a purpose
That being to never see the world from that angle again
Some don't stand
And question the consequences within their brain
And remain
Some can't even leave the seat

And so, they sit
They watch the world move around them
They watch the good and the bad
Not being able to do anything to respond
Traumatized
But yet, they wait with hope that some will ask them to stand
That some will entice them with new purpose
Some even have the world lift them from their seat
Others,
Hospitalized
Hypocricized,
Others remain in the seat where they theorize it's what's criticized down to the size
What a treat.
It's where they breathe
Such a feat
The world knows this
And let's them stay in the seat
Only to move the heat when they leave the world alone

And so they drone:
"Minus one."

Some people take seats away from the world
Back to where they know it's safe
It's where they feel comfort
The world can't disturb them in these seats
But when they can't sit anymore
They have no reason to stand
The world won't help them up
No matter what you planned
Soon enough by far
You don't want to leave this seat
You thrive off of your knowledge
Knowing you won't leave
You continue to create reasons to stand
But you can't be deceived
You can hear the world
You can see the world
Songs from birds that can not fly
But they don't know you're still sitting.

They think you're already standing
Gone to join them
There's no reason to go find you
You remain seated
Conflicting yourself and denying everything you know
At this point,
Can you still stand
Even for show?
Will someone ever help you grow?

Did you ever even want to stand?

You wait in your seat
But help never arrives
But the world has a question
A beckon
The world walks over to you with arms closed
A curious mindset and a simple reckon

The world wants to borrow your seat for someone that wanted to sit
But the world doesn't help you stand up
They just hope you'll take the hit
But you can't
You can't answer the world
And the world has no reason to answer you
So with nothing so true
You stand anew from blue answering the request of the world's shrew
It is here you take your one breath to contest the world's best request
Heart set
You've curled
And to the world you've blatantly hurled
A wisp
An answer
A silhouette
And yet

The seat is empty.

The host isn't here anymore.

The score;

Minus one.

Burden my collection
With the onslaught of familiar protection
Put words into me as the caricature
Of your burlesque, hymnic theater
Strong diction feed my fiction of a strong prediction
That a future is nothing more than a premonition
Found into the base of this scepter
Filled with substances to weather
My filibuster of poetic muster
Near-meaningless custard
That ****** the art of word
Be it heard
As I set forth the life of lyrical discord

Is it punishment
To serve or to die
Hide from the reality
In house we built to make us cry

It's all colored lines
Point A seldom trot to Point B
A mind grounded in grey haze
Matching hearts held in loving daze
Let it paint where we all stroke
Show the color of us
As strong as oak

Rainbow black and grey
Chaplin days of telling tales
Hands held high in blank states
Grips tightened on shallow slates
Suffer slim paint of a tree
Be the master of the canvas
And the picture is incomplete without thee
You, me, we

What's defined, heart-to-heart as key
A solemn "her" without a desperate "me"
The fruitless beg to start over
The "me" that can't live without "her"
Two combined, defined by God as One
Defy the language, I'm not done

Rainbow as vibrant as night
Modern day do flaunt said show
Hands do clap for deafened crow
My love for her unbeknownst, who know
Grow birch from ground to sky
Left me simply asking why
On top of lumber she live life
Yet on dirt I define by knife

Answers are not want we want
But another chance
Start over
With me
Flamboyant cadence
"Me" and "Her" left to a simple, single dance

The new hurt
Is not saying goodbye
The honest pain
Is seeing someone else say hello

Christmas alone?
I know what time of year it is, I just wanted to be here for you
Someone who could use it
A gift under their tree
Long rotting and wilted away
Sometimes a message needs to be ******* and left under the wrapping
Santa won't bring it
This gift can come every year if it needs to
Merry Christmas, blockhead
You can hate the spirit all you want
But others will bring the spirit with them wherever they go

Just what am I meant to be?
Hands on the piano
Brush on the canvas
Voice on the microphone
Hands on the papers

But do I stop there
Or is talent channeled forward?

Why stop at destiny
When I define it?

Within a mortal's lifespan
There is a dream that they wish to see through
As for my dream
I dream that I can see yours come true
Through loved and lost
I know not when this dream is due
But I know that I wish to be there and achieve it with you

Dare I say, lost
Confused even
Hemorrhaging at the directions
I know which way is north
But not where life is going
No map can plan that course
Charting maps with alacrity
Set sail as Magellan
Yet land with such insipid wording
That the book of tales I pen is a thesaurus of fabrication

I am number, I am statistic
My platform is digital heuristic
Built as soft and meant to harden
I am statue of Prometheus discarded
I am flat, I am round
I am guess to which we are bound
All but speechless, tools in hand
Talent defined by the holy man
I am truth, I am fable
I am guidance who is unable
Under the sea and burnt so high
My survival is all but fatefully nigh
I am Goliath, I am cell
My people are the building blocks of hell
Golden gates and iron bars
Basic texts and influenced memoirs
I am shelter, I am fear
Only today do the deaf hear
Live beyond burden and exhaust
Tales are told at an expensive cost
I am charade, I am enigma
Riddle me this: for what is my stigma?

I am honesty, I am lie
Conciseness with which we shall die
To be believer, to see as deceiver
To be born as simple conceiver
I am Poseidon, I am Neptune
Only one of which will die soon
Simple times of bearing song
Ages gone by where we were wrong
Built on faith, the blind do not see
Burning fields and dying trees
I am happiness, I am despair
I am the reason that you care
Run as Hermes, tread as Pheidippides
Gods you inspire are not as powerful as these
I am art, I am tale
I am the builder of this gale

I am success, I am fail
I am the human, I walk the ****** trail
I am individual, I am all
With simple words, We stand tall

My aptitude was a farce
An inadequate measure
"To be a poet" some time ago
My high percent sell my heart as sure
That this was meant to be
But with my time dwindling so
I see it not as blatantly as it be
But rather chance of mistaken identity

I am no poet
But a man with temporary troubles
A canvas to convey it
And thoughts popped in drifting bubbles
My perception is my rival
Changing my life as I follow through it
Making it harder to face my denial
As I splinter off of this conduit

My words are a sham
The meaning in them is hollow
Even I can not follow
What I write to define me as who I am
"A change in career, perhaps"
Another mindless change from fear
An accident made from confusion
Another wound I see as only a contusion

I don't agree with myself
My definition of a poet
To lock myself in rhythmic testimony
And charge myself for it
I say no more
I abandon the tradition of my rhyme
I have no stories to tell
"I've run out of inspiration"

Am I excused?
It doesn't feel genuine
I won't want to hassle you
...
Brief over me and dismiss me as fodder
A ticking clock in the form of text
Is this the journey?
The life of a poet, drowned in confusion and uncertainty
Am I destined to live without knowing who I should be?
Is this for me?
Or have I seen all there is for me?
Jaded skies in uncertainty
I am a number in forcibly
What I deem my constitutionality
A judgement I decide as worthy of personality

"Am I a poet?"
Hello.
It says I am.
I can think I'm one.
A poetaster, a lyricist, a bard.
But literature be ******, I'm destined to live as I am.
A poet or not, this is the life I've sought.
Whether I like it or not, I'll give it all I've got.

Told I was your world
Heart's around the sun
Love makes our eclipse
Connection true as one

Does the heart ache?
When the love breaks?

Galileo sees your love up high
But Satan sees my thoughts down low
All I want to do is cry
But you'd never know

If I left the world
Would we be unfurled
And left to the underworld
Our cold loved left lonely and curled

Poetry takes a lot of forms
The heart, the soul, the written course
Some writers plead to the beyond
Others plead to the
g
r
o
u
n
d

Paintings do not move down
But art travels up
Create skyward-bound
And die presenting

the only thing more difficult than doing it alone
is admitting you can't

Silver is a currency
A dollar to sling for dollar
Fire one sky high
The value to sink oh so far

Silver or lead
They would sooner be dead
Than be full of it
And quit flying to become red

The flock has flown off
The bird stayed the nest
"They'll be back," they said
"Just like the rest"

Winter.

Still alone
Little to their being
The future grows shallow
Not much they are seeing

Perhaps the flock, the rest
For betterment
The wings flap hard to the sky
Flying higher than ever meant

Out in the sharp blue wind
Eyes spy the sharp white feather
A lead dollar for your time
A silver price piercing the weather

The birds that fly highest of all
Come down with broken wings

The fidelity of the mirror is beyond me
Let not settle the forlorn, or I will watch it manifest
The ruminative stick of vapid saplings
Intent to corroborate my next passing
Be it tonight, tomorrow, or never again

To be accompanied in a time of sheltered pride
Demanding for the individual
The thanks, the praise, the shoulders
I seek a true scintilla of empathy
The dissociation
The one I see in my own eyes

Could a mirror be flawed?
Or am I peering the face of contemporary banality?
Is a plight such as mine replaceable?
Am I to age as a statistic rather than a life?

The devious catacombs of neurons
The enabler of my hindsight
The existential home of my saddened microcosm
Witnessed a single reflection
In my mirror.