Your mind is a tunnel
that never ends
and I need to slip inside it
immerse myself for a while
for I may never know
what I might find there
but one thing I know for sure
one thing I already found out is..
about you being a writer
a poet
who has written on me
who has written a part of my life
and darling,
you have done it..
so beautifully.

(j.a.t.m.)

I often write to many writing task.
But that's just because I'm trying to mask,
The inside of my inner thoughts.

They come back and forth like the waves to the shore.
It often gets chaotic making it hard to ignore,
The inside of my inner thoughts.

Regularly my head is drooped on my palm.
The hold it has on me, I want it liberated from...

I am broken
               heart and will

the world is broken
               festering and ill

its systems broken
                pillage and ****

careening out of control
                or standing still

from every side the scream
               answers mine, loud and shrill

I choke on tears that stream
               trying to swallow each bitter pill

to write like me
you must first review my routine
lift weights
take boxing lessons
drink beer in bars
laugh loudly in the street
sing karaoke every week
date women from different backgrounds
kiss like you mean it
and make love that soaks the sheets
take random trains
to far off places
work jobs until you hate them
and quit as you slowly go mad
then you will be half the poet I am
because I am still only half the poet
I know I can be
it's a challenge to balance
to juggle this routine
I am trapped between two loves
my love for life
and my love to write
between living life
and writing about it
between being alive
and writing about it
to me writing and living go hand in hand
but they cannot always co-exist
when you burn your light to the brink
as I do
i must find the line
but the line is hard to find
because there are only so many hours in a day
and life swoops us by like an owl
with a mouse in its mouth
leaving us with only a brief window
in which to carve a lasting legacy
beware this life style isn't for everyone
only the chosen few can pull it off
this artful existence
this vagabond life
a tiresome gift
from mischievious gods
who see themselves in us
but never mind kid
you are probably a better poet than me anyway