i long for release

i want to let go of the stress

to feel free again,
as if i was a child

and yet i can't

i don't know why

the subtle whirring of the grinder hums in the air,
the dark brown and green colors keeping the ease of everyone inside

middle-aged women talk,
girls with blue hair work on essays,
a construction worker gets his caffeine fix on a government- mandated break

your glasses fog when you enter out of the cold,
into the warm embrace of the dark gray walls,
needing a latte,
and perhaps something more

as chairs screech on hard floors,
you approach the wooden counter,
worn down from coins being exchanged,
mugs being passed,
and elbows being rested

acoustic guitar lulls in your ear,
inviting you to stay for awhile

maybe you should join the dance of quiet purpose,
enjoy the energy,
and try to get some work done

just like you, everyone inside has a job,
a purpose to fulfill,
each an actor reading their lines to complete the aesthetic

so you decide to stay,
absent-mindedly order your coffee,
telling yourself you will finally complete that assignment,
when you know you'll end up writing,
titling your poem "a day at the coffee shop"

Everything is a choice
You don’t have to live in this society if you don’t want to
Public space isn’t really public
Public does not equal free
If you live in box that belongs to someone else, having your own corner doesn’t mean it’s yours


Are you really alive without your own thoughts


Is your identity really yours

You set boundaries because you’re told to, not because you have to

I wish everyone could see what i see


Really successful people are profiting off of those who they suffocated in the first place

The ones with the strongest opinions and morals are the most ignorant

The only absolute is physical harm, everything else is up for interpretation



What does it mean to get out

It's terrifying to know what leaving might mean


How does it feel to know others don’t see the same way
How does it feel to no longer believe in the same things
How does it feel to be so in control you’ve lost sense of purpose
How does it feel to only care about energy and structure
How does it feel to know the lack of limits of intelligence
How does it feel to finally know who you are
How does it feel to know nothing about what we are

Does it feel worth it

Is this it

The entirely subjective perspective showing its face

Only experience matters

Existing is everything

In the heat of battle she lies dormant
The flame of life questioned outside as thousands burn
The flicker can be seen through the window
But she doesn’t move to squash it

Instead, she basks in it
Lets the rolling orange lick her body clean
The subtle red cauterizing her wounds
Closing each hole with precision and painful accuracy

It is here she finds true peace
For what others fear she thirsts for
Like a newborn just latching on to a river of milk
Yearning for sustenance, balance, and life

Do not mistake her love for pleasure however
For she writhes at the flame
Hates it with a burning passion, but still doesn’t submit
As it is the only entity keeping her alive

This is how she will live the rest of her life
Hopelessly contained by a force she needs but doesn’t want
Forever trapped within her own being
Never able to be truly happy

And as the battle ceases she quiets
Lies in her bed and prays for the end of war,
the end of fight,
and the end of pain

His hands caress her skin in a way she’s never felt before
He peels back each layer of softened vulnerability
Not quite prepared for the horror lying underneath

Beneath him, she shivers quietly
Each breath a struggle
As he opens a door
That has been carefully locked for far too long

Her emotions tumble out slowly
Like a strained creek
The water dripping through the rocks
Bending and swirling endlessly

His piqued curiosity turns to bewilderment
As he slowly becomes aware of the secret treasure he has discovered
He watches her writhe as everything pours out
Knowing he is the one who opened the floodgates
But not quite ready for the responsibility of calming the tides

And so he closes them
Locks her door again
Making sure to throw away the key
Because some secrets were never meant to be told

As her body becomes her own she returns angry
Not at the man before her
But at herself
For allowing a ****** she promised to never reveal

But through the guilt a part of her soul is saddened
As some hope remained that her secret could be trusted
To the man who dared to venture into her in the first place

And so he leaves her, ***** and alone
To blacken his hands with another
Forever scared of opening up Pandora's Box
Not quite ready to face the music

Meanwhile, her body decays
Because before the man closed the door
He took a part of her with him
And with every other stream he contaminates
He leaves a portion of her purity

Now a piece of her is spread across many
Like a broken up jigsaw puzzle
Never truly able to fit together again

She disassembles
As her soul leaves her body
And she regrets
Ever letting herself feel at all

I’d like to propose a toast to the artists
To the visionaries
The ones we’ve long since forgotten
For real dreamers are endangered
A species so minute they replicate that of a speck of dust on an old counter top
Foreign, and rather unwelcome
The last strand of a generation whose favorite question was “why?”

They are contaminated with an incurable plague
Of unsequestered life
Letting the savage nature of the world run its course, without letting in the demons they were destined to succumb to

Like a sailboat bouncing in the cool breeze of twilight
They float above the rest
Knowing their infinite wonder crowns them royal
Their jewels a testament to their unbiased sentiments
Ones only few have the glory of basking in

It is here we see the true treasure
So carefully preserved
Useless to the rest of the world
Yet priceless to the king

For he uses it to free himself from the slavery that binds him to land
More valuable than any glistening rock ever could be

But as we know every Caesar has his Brutus
Such that every singer has their cynic
And every cook has their critic

Which is why we place these dreamers on probation
And lead them to skate on ice so thin the blade cuts straight through the narrow cracks to skim the surface of the daunting water beneath
Leaving a vulnerability the so-called “modern” generation hungers for

Why celebrate passion when we can pity peril?

And so the common fool grabs the microphone, speaks his truth, and lays down a tale even the great Aesop would envy, while being blessed for his experience
When the visionary says his piece he falls on deaf ears, his lack of forebearance leading to his opinions being baseless, rather inconsequential

And so the artist grows numb
Letting the novocaine of society draw away all sense
Leaving the empty husk of what was once a king
Now degraded to a common peasant

“Normalcy” they call it
“A cure” for an outspoken tongue and relentless heart
The vaccination for a cancer that never needed healing
For it drove the very spirit of humanity

“But no!”, we cry,
"His body never belonged to him."
Like the effortless movement of a marionette, he was forever destined to be guided
By the well worked hands of a madman

He dies that way
Bound to his maker
Always knowing he could fly
Never given the opportunity to use his wings

And the ones who come to his funeral are the very people who tightened the noose
Their tears are not of sorrow for him, but merely the exclamation of their own pain
As the beloved puppet leaves their blood-soaked hands

They lay him down peacefully
Lick their lips at the satisfaction of a job well done
And celebrate
The death of the romantic