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Sep 2019 · 42
The Old Dread
I’m too tired,
Don’t wake me,
From this sleep,
What can I do,
Yell and shake my fist,
I brush my teeth,
And tie the handcuffs to my wrist,
I'm just another,
cog in the machine,
I go to work,
I rinse and then repeat,
Seconds pass,
And days turn into weeks,
I tell myself I’ll make them count,
And I believe my own deceit,
Like words writ on concrete streets,
These are things I can’t delete,
Just pretty please,
Can you leave me be,
And let me sleep,
I sowed doubt,
And this is what I reap,
Just five more minutes,
Let me think,
And let me steep,
I got so busy dreading work,
That I drank to fall asleep.
Aug 2019 · 443
Give me a Raise
I don't know what to do,
they're asking me questions,
it all feels so new,
is it all just a test,
they're looking to me,
and I'm doing my best,
I have no experience,
my knowledge is sparse,
I am delirious,
I am a mess,
I'm drinking again,
to control the stress,
back on my *******,
like I never left,
back to my old self,
like I never changed,
I'm dreading tomorrow,
it's coming so soon,
I'll call myself lucky,
if I make it to noon.
Work is stressing me out, and I'm doing things that I wasn't hired on to do. Hope you all enjoy. If you're stressed out, you're not alone, friend.
Oct 2018 · 146
The Doldrums of October
For weeks now,
the rain is incessant,
There is a sickness within,
dark and unpleasant,
and it festers,
half in the past, stuck in the present.

It is within me,
this illness not spoken,
I was a boy,
that is now broken,
I am a man,
not yet awoken.

I have not seen the sun,
I cannot feel warm,
I have not left the house,
I cannot be harmed,
I keep to myself,
and I snooze the alarm.

I feel it again,
like all hope is lost,
Like a window,
all covered in frost,
I don't know what I want,
or how much it costs.
Oct 2018 · 244
I'm afraid of eveything
The world is yours,
Nas whispered to me,
And I'm still trying,
but I don't see any achievements,
I am afraid to work hard for nothing,
I am afraid of commitments,
and airplanes,
and driving,
and student loans,
and being alone,
and living paycheck to paycheck,
like my father did,
and I know our paths are different,
but I wish for the path of others,
to walk in their steps,
I guess I'm afraid of making my own,
and to take the world,
because what would I do with it,
I don't even know what do with myself,
I couldn't tell you what I want,
I am afraid to know,
what if what I want,
is out of reach,
what if the world,
is not mine,
and if it isn't,
because it's probably not,
then what does it mean,
the land of opportunity,
but I can't find my own,
maybe I am afraid of looking,
that would make sense,
I went to school,
that's what they told me,
and now what?
the jobs aren't coming,
the phone isn't ringing,
the debt collectors are though,
my mom did though,
but I wouldn't loan her money,
it was for school,
I was afraid she wouldn't pay it back,
what does that make me,
don't tell me,
I continue my path,
wherever it takes me,
and where it doesn't,
I am not afraid of that,
but I am of failure,
and it lurks in the depths,
waiting for me.
Mar 2017 · 423
Hedonistic Ruminations
Little littered liter bottles of liquor on the balcony,
My girlfriend said she's tired of me,
I just tried to find myself,
And found out I was a catastrophe,
Now I question my morality,
I'm testing my mortality,
Did the same **** a hundred times,
The definition of insanity,
Nothing ever changed,
Never listened to suggestions,
Went searching for the answers,
But never asked the questions,
Never questioned my decisions,
Looking back,
I should have noticed my deficience,
Became a man out of requirement,
Nicotine so gripping,
Might not make it to retirement,
am I product of procrastination,
Or of my environment,
Haven't found my path,
Haven't found my purpose,
These are submerged thoughts,
That might not ever surface,
But here's to my persistence,
Which always makes me,
Improve on my existence,
And I know these thoughts are existential,
But without them,
I would squander my potential,
And if not for this nocturnal anxiety,
Who would listen to the boy,
Deemed an outcast by society.
All a man has,
beyond material things,
and ideas invented,
is his word,
a declaration of his reputation,
not pride,
nor hubris,
and i’ll confide,
that i’ve done the worst,
went back,
on promised words,
to do a deed so treacherous,
like a sinner so lecherous,
I promised the world,
but gave her naught in return,
and now i wish,
if my word was more than rotten fish,
because I’ve repented,
all I’ve done to her,
I’ve resented,
but if she leaves,
i’ll be demented,
lost and tormented,
but now i promise,
it it means anything at all,
that i’ll do my best,
to treat you fairly,
to love you dearly,
drink less,
and wake up early,
i know i’ve promised to change,
and in exchange you accepted,
you loved, and I neglected,
you reached out to me,
most violent of storms,
and I respect it,
but please,
and i do this with unease,
will you believe in me again,
like so many years before this day,
and you remember,
a fateful day in September,
when we were young,
and we talked way past your bedtime,
a stolen kiss after midnight,
two separate hands joining into one,
one young boy,
and a girl that deserved better,
have lasted half a decade,
here’s to five more,
and greater expectations,
here’s to you firstly,
and to us secondly,
because presently,
you’re the glue in this relation,
the rule in the equation,
without you,
I am clay unmolded,
a boy with no ambition,
a man lost on expedition,
love me for my word,
love me for my sin,
love me for my laughter,
and my spontaneity
because i am mortal and make mistakes,
because I cook like Bobby Flay,
drink like Hemingway,
smoke like a chimney,
and curse like a sailor,
because I read past midnight,
and play video games way too much,
because you showed me what loves is,
when no one else would look at me,
now look at me,
love me because no one else does,
and no one else will love you like I do.
Jul 2016 · 649
Ephemeral confessions
A Lyrical criminal,
With subliminal syllables,
Misunderstood verses,
Like satirical miracles,
Cynical, whimsical,
dope since they snipped the umbilical,
Left butts in the ******,
They'll throw butts at my funeral,
They'll ash squares on my casket,
Be surprised that I lasted,
Its only logical,
I wasn't infallible,
My rhymes never laudable,
Fictitional thoughts of wisdom,
Had friends, now I miss them,
He had friends that dissed him,
Text inbox full of pardons,
Littered cartons on the stoop,
The prophet hiding in his coop,
No kids,
Gonna get a coupe,
Stupid with the vocabulary,
Had a fight the first of January,
She said I ruined new years,
Blanket full of salt tears,
Had fears of her leaving,
These words have no meaning,
These verses are cursed,
She said I'm the worst,
I think she's the best,
I'll give it a rest,
The bird left his nest,
Before he was ready,
Clipped his wings in the fall,
And now he's unsteady.
Jul 2016 · 666
42 bars/3 am in Mesquite
There's no reason to deny,
That sometimes I cry,
And get in my head,
Have all of these thoughts,
As I go to bed,
Whiskey with water,
Whiskey with ice,
Whiskey alone will suffice,
3 am crisis, existential,
Remembering forgotten potential,
And squandered opportunities,
Changing communities,
Like at&t; to Verizon ,
10 new phone numbers,
And no one to call,
No one to text,
I wanna know what's coming up next,
I need a palm reader,
I need a prophet,
To tell me the future,
If I smoke too much,
Should I get off it?
So many questions,
A man full of mystery,
Who failed all his maths,
But passed all his history,
Wanting to change,
but haven't been able,
Walking on ice,
But haven't been stable,
Been a while since I wrote,
So many things to report,
But never the time,
I sleep when I can,
I smoke when I wake,
I drink when I write,
I drink when I don't,
I wake when I want,
I'll die when its time,
I'll live while I wait.
I'll try to do right,
This is goodnight.
Jul 2016 · 686
The parables of Eros
Sometimes I take you for granted,
You get mad,
But just want to feel wanted,
All I've ever wanted was for you to be happy,
But lately you've been giving,
And I've been taking,
I hate the decisions I've been making,
Too late for forgiveness,
When I never asked permisson,
But every moment together,
Is a lesson on bliss,
when we're apart,
I'm like a horse without his cart,
Joyless days come and then go by,
I hope we never say goodbye,
I still remember our first "Hey",
Two needles in a college full of hay,
And our story is one to tell,
Because I couldn't tell if you liked me,
Back when girls thought that I was ugly,
But you found a diamond in the rough,
Someone you could love,
Someone you could trust,
You're the pizza to my crust,
The sauce to my spaghetti,
I've let you down,
and heavy is my heart,
And so it is my fate,
To see mistakes too late,
But wait for my return,
You gave and gave,
And now it is my turn.
Jun 2016 · 737
A short poem named Fierro
Back on the road once more,
The smell of morning diesel,
Of men still hungover,
Black coffee,
No sugar,
Can't you see we're men,
A whole day ahead of us,
Hammer smashing against nail,
Concrete falling like a grey pudding,
Covering every edge,
Early morning, late evening,
Wife estranged,
Kids unknown,
A few beers after the chaos,
Some steaks with the boys,
The smell of barbecue,
Like bait is to fishes,
Hoping for the weekend,
Just to sleep in and drink,
Maybe fish, maybe hunt,
Maybe none, and go home,
See the girlfriend you call at night,
Buy her things she never asked for,
Do more in two days than others do in thirty,
But the Monday looms,
A great cloud of money on the horizon,
Asking you to stay,
But begging your body to quit,
You're a man now kid,
Act like one,
And take your gloves off when shaking hands,
Work ***** but look clean,
And tonight you buy the beers,
And don't complain,
You're a rookie, hands still soft,
Alcohol tolerance beginning to increase,
And the guys are there on Monday,
Bud light evaporating from pores,
Like condensation on soda cans,
Diesel perfuming the air once again,
Yelling, cursing, laughing,
Like concrete pirates,
The captain shows,
To work lads, to work,
Hammers to nail,
Boots to dirt.
Mar 2016 · 1.2k
Bourbon Soliloquy
I've never been so stressed,
Born to Christians,
but never have been blessed,
Born to Catholics,
Never once did I confess,
But I now have a confession,
I'm not the man im yet to be,
Not the man,
My family thinks they see,
In reality a pretender,
In all honesty a ***,
Do not return to sender,
Do not ask me where I'm from.
Because I've lived too many places,
Shook too many hands,
Seen a lot of faces,
But never kept my friends.
A web spun by the fates,
But as of late,
It's just whiskey to the brain,
Old fashion's so I'm sane,
And too many cigarettes to calculate,
I'm just too drunk too operate,
Just imagine and I'll illustrate,
It's Saint paddys and I'm parched,
I grab a bottle for the thirst,
Its rough but it's the first,
And then goes down the second,
The third, the fourth
The fifth and then the sixth,
The room is spinning,
Face the mirror and I'm grinning,
Face myself but can't look,
Like the last sentence in a book,
I hope there's a sequel to this novel,
Maybe even a trilogy,
I apologize for my soliloquy,
But I do digress,
There are truths to confess,
I'd like to never be my father,
Or to have kids before I'm thirty,
I'd like a home that isn't *****,
And a wife that will forgive me,
For smoking like a chimney,
After all I'm only but a man,
Who makes mistakes along the way,
But the way to hell,
Is paved with good intentions,
and I intend to live in peace,
Somewhere quiet, full of trees,
Away from the noise,
Drugs, guns and the disease,
Call me what you want,
I just want to be at ease,
Head up high, stand up tall,
As I drop my demons to their knees.
May 2015 · 2.1k
The things we measure
Since I can remember,
we have measured things,
measured our heights,
to look down on others,
and measured our weight,
to put others down,
for succumbing to basic human tendencies,
because we measure beauty,
something no one has,
but everybody pretends to have,
because beauty is subjective,
an internal quality,
that cannot be measured.

Humans have always measured success,
by counting the digits in their bank accounts,
the amount of credit which affords tangible things,
money alone is not sufficient,
it never has been,
to have money,
one must have a job,
but first get a degree,
a degree measures intelligence,
and schools measure how intelligent one is,
intelligence is measured by how much you can memorize,
not common sense,
critical thinking,
or skills,
schools just measure all the useless things,
that can be crammed in one's head,
success is measured by material possessions,
like how nice a house is,
a house is where humans dwell,
success also depends on how nice a car is,
and how many cars one owns,
incidentally, a car is a machine,
humans use them to end their lives prematurely,
success depends on one's job too,
and their spouses job,
how well the spouse looks,
and the car they drive,
also the success of their kids,
kids are selfish copies of parents,
created to continue the sadistic human legacy,
success was, in men, privately measured,
by the length of their reproductive *****,
so they could please women,
women are aliens that men will never understand,
and women measured breast sizes,
their weight,
their beauty most of all,
and I will never know why,
because I am a man,
and will never understand women.
We also measured success by social media,
the more likes the more popular,
imaginary friends behind lit windows,
we measured self-esteem through comments,
and we thought we measured social media,
but social media measured us,
and how much we were worth to others,
but especially ourselves.

We, as a species, were so busy,
measuring everything else in this universe,
like the stars,
and other planets we could exploit,
when we were done with others,
so we could continue measuring things,
indefinitely and incessantly through time,
but in all this counting, this  excessive measuring,
we forgot to measure happiness,
or if we were even happy at all.
May 2015 · 1.5k
Coming of Age
There was a boy,
who thought himself a man,
so he went to college,
as men-to-become do,
he got himself a girlfriend,
who did everything he didn't want to.
he left home with no money,
just dreams,
the things that men hold onto,
when they haven't got anything else,
and he studied,
but the schools never gave him the tools,
for him to become successful,
so he failed,
because all great men fail,
but he got his grades up,
a little too late,
his girlfriend pushed him,
and she graduated,
turns out she is a great woman,
with a great job,
a great body,
an impeccable work ethic,
and scarily efficient,
incidentally she is very beautiful too,
and every man needs a beautiful woman,
but more than that,
a woman who will motivate and support,
so he stayed in school,
another year he said,
two more semesters,
10 grand more in debt,
because a man needs a job,
a good job,
to support his family,
as all men will do,
the good ones,
not like his old man,
who's seen the inside of a cell,
more than his own son,
but this person persevered,
wanting badly to become a man,
knowing he had not done so yet,
because he was still a boy,
and he was scared,
as all men are,
he was terrified of the future,
as all men are destined to,
he knew he was far,
from becoming a real man,
and that hit him,
like the first cigarette of the day.
One more struggling minority,
slightly disrespectful,
with disdain for authority,
I hate what i've become,
not a man to make a mother proud,
but to weakness I succumb,
22 and feeling like life's just begun,
my dad was my age,
when he had me, his first born son,
and I won't talk about him here,
or talk about him ever,
as if he ever held me dear,
Hoping to not be a statistic,
but a proud example,
so my kids won't be sadistic,
and my life won't be a fail,
leave some **** good in this world,
before I finally set sail,
I always get like this in the dead of night,
after all is said, all is done,
I'll go down without a fight,
without a breath of air,
thinking I am owed the world,
but knowing life ain't fair,
at least I always told it true,
even when it wasn't necessary,
I just hope I am not through.
I always said it like it is,
but what is, is no longer it,
and i'm no longer coherent,
a belligerent experiment,
a degenerate illiterate,
indefinte conclusion,
repulsion and confusion,
a writer with delusions,
like a magician and illusions,
increasingly neurotic,
depressingly chaotic,
excessively impressive,
impressively refreshing,
incessantly defected,
inherently rejected,
never been respected,
always been detested,
repented and tormented,
internally dissected,
there are my confessions,
a man with no concessions,
mentally lascivious,
obviously oblivious.
May 2015 · 1.3k
An Oath to myself
Some do it in four,
some do it in three,
some can't 'cause they're poor,
or they are like me,
might do it in five,
if I wasn't at war,
with my dreams and my life,
as I plan to go far.

Some place that is new,
but feels just like home,
with a beautiful view,
that will help my thoughts roam,
to achieve all my hopes,
and cease to be stressed,
to cut off these ropes,
so i'll feel like i'm blessed.

Somewhere out there,
is my cap and my gown,
I do not know where,
but I won't let me down.
Dec 2014 · 1.2k
A Verbal Dysentry
Whiskey on the rocks,
make it a double,
I dont want trouble,
just a forgotten soul,
looking for truths,
trying to make memories,
like in the picture booths,
what I remember  don't make sense,
used to be a good seed,
graduated to bad apple,
pour water on my head,
some jack in my glass,
get my head out my ***,
staring down the barrel of life,
I've never known strife,
never known anything,
except that I know nothing,
and that troubles me,
sit down and shut up,
drink up with me,
im feeling melancholy,
thats another word for sad,
like when you leave home,
without your wallet,
because its empty,
my glass is full,
my heart is the opposite
and the ice keeps melting,
the rain keeps falling,
classes i keep failing,
here is a confession,
I make a horrible first impression,
never win concessions,
just eat horrible confections,
and I didn't care about the election,
Jon snow 2016.
Where will i be in 2016,
been five years since i was 16,
and havent changed since,
one procrastinating irresponsible excuse,
excuse me and pardon me,
just dont silence me,
that's in case I scream for help,
I dream of peace,
the internal kind,
not the infernal kind,
although it might be,
that my soul is wicked,
and my mind is twisted,
take my word for it,
or dont,
im just a human,
who thinks too much,
a thinker who smokes too much,
a smoker who drinks sparingly,
but sparingly does anything,
and anything is up in the air.
Dec 2014 · 702
Tacit Parables
A little too young to be tragic,
to think of the future,
become breathless I say panic.
Speechless, for I'm late,
too **** old,
to sit and contemplate,
As if the past could cease,
a dove in my hand,
to love, nurture and release.
Into a man, eventually I'll grow,
an apple that fell far from a tree,
at least that much I know.
The winters might get colder,
the days slightly shorter,
as my bones turn years older.
Soon I must become of age,
about to graduate,
and I'm no wiser than a sage,
four years for this result,
I blinked,
and now i'm an adult
School; my punishment and pride,
tired of being exhausted,
my brain is nearly fried,
and my will has flown,
to the impetuous wind,
surely it has blown,
but for now I shall remain,
drink a toast for me,
let it be champaign.
And lets forget this verse,
as one grown child,
tries to tame the universe.
Jun 2014 · 685
Bleak Deductions
As the rain does,
when the sun comes out,
I evaporated into the wind.
Only to come back again.
I hope you know,
you are my muse.
When you're away,
I have the blues,
When you don't answer,
I begin to fear,
and never stop worrying,
till you finally appear.
I miss you so much,
I've forgotten how to kiss,
Is it true,
that ignorance is bliss?
I rather not know,
how I would be,
if you weren't mine,
and standing right by me.
I try to tell you,
that you're pretty,
I'm your cuddle bear,
and you're my little kitty.
It is so weird,
I am befuddled,
its been a month,
since we have cuddled.
I hope you still remember,
how I look.
Our love is ageless,
like the words inside a book
Without you,
I am lost,
like a driver,
in the frost.
My life is just,
a beacon in distress.
I love you dearly,
and that I must confess.
#longdistance #imissher
Every bone in my,
body is telling me to write,
But nothing comes out,
there are words in my head,
and they cant escape,
and I ask why,
like when I see the sunlight,
there are a thousand thoughts,
flowing through my soul,
the being that is me,
but when I sit,
and try to paint a portrait,
my brush is dry,
my mind is lost,
and I am writer,
at least that is,
what I tell people,
but a writer that doesn't write,
is simply, by default,
an absolute farce.
Jun 2014 · 1.1k
Sometimes I look at people,
and just know they are lost,
I wonder, if ever,
they look at me,
and somehow think the same,
I judge automatically,
but the truth is,
I don't know them,
I am, If anything,
a stranger in their life,
an extra, in the movie,
in which they star.
I stand in the back,
the loner,
but there are a billion stories,
with new chapters,
new heartbreaks,
and pains,
That is sonder,
the realization that,
we are just pixels,
making up a huge picture,
and every pixel lives,
every pixel dies.
Somewhere across the world,
there are other problems,
which wont matter,
things will happen,
that others will never know about,
and we will be inside our heads,
wondering why,
that person is buying milk,
and cheetos at 3am,
or why that lady,
is trying to change her tire,
and we will forget tomorrow,
be another background person,
obscuring the vision of other pedestrians,
someone we see today,
sitting in a park bench,
might die that night,
and we will not know,
the family will cry,
and yell towards the heavens,
while we watch TV,
deciding if,
it's going to be Chinese or pizza.
The truth is, if that is even relevant,
that perhaps,
this giant globe of hours,
does not care about us,
and that always,
somewhere in the vastness,
that is this world,
this exorbitant universe,
we are a nothing,
pretending to be something,
wanting to decipher,
the meaning of life,
and maybe,
If I may be candid,
we'll never know,
and I am okay with that.
The uncertainty which is,
the human species,
will continue to unravel,
the mystery,
of this dissonance,
we call existence,
but I will watch from afar,
another Watcher in this,
eternal galactic entity,
and I will see some lost person,
and they will look at me,
while I look away,
and think, that I am too,
another soul,
adrift in the chasm,
that has become our society,
and I will go home,
and never,
think about that person,
ever again, instead,
I will continue,
in my own predestined path,
and that path will,
never crossover,
into the stranger,
that I saw once,
And that will be it,
And I will say.
This feeling has a word,
and I will remember,
It is,
Jun 2014 · 746
Choices and Habits
There are things,
Im trying to ameliorate,
If I do it,
then I deviate,
If I smoke then I die,
Im trying to live,
so my parents wont cry,
my girlfriend wont grieve.
My lungs are so black,
darker than my skin,
I want to quit,
to not dissaoppint my kin.
And I want to go back,
with every single breath,
But gods, Im trying,
so I wont see death.
May 2014 · 664
Google Hangouts
I miss you like someone,
who has ever loved,
will know.

I love you and that's honest,
but we're so far apart,
So I need to write you this.

Wake me from my nightmares,
they are dark and lifeless,
the opposite of you.

When I see you soon,
can you not let go,
I couldn't bear that.

I thought about you once today,
but the thought was too much,
and I had to stop.

I'am trying not to think,
but you're the mustard,
to my hotdog.

It's ******* us,
I know, I need to grow,
just stay with me and I will.

Tonight get online,
I'll be there too,
Get on Google Hangout.

I've been waiting all day,
thinking of what to say,
and I have to tell you everything.

My life is boring,
but when I tell you,
It's more exciting.

I know you,
I know your soul,
because we share one.

I haven't seen you in weeks,
and I know you hurt,
it hurts me more.

So when we talk tonight,
tell me everything,
and I will close my eyes.

And pretend you're right here,
head on my lap,
half asleep.

And it will be okay,
at least for right there,
in that firework of a moment.

And we'll both understand,
that this is love,
and no one else has it.
I want to tell you something,
but don't get offended,
You don't have to listen,
but I do recommend it.
We must put down the phones,
our situation is dire,
either we drown with the tide,
or burn with the fire.
What I am saying is simple,
you should learn to socialize,
if i'm talking to you,
don't look like you’re paralyzed.
Am I telling you to not have a phone?
No that’s impossible,
Will I ever quit texting,
Nah, that’s highly improbable.
But always being on the phone,
what do you expect?
you think 1000 friends,
deserves all my respect?
I know it feels like a lecture,
but could you show some manners?
***** the hash-tags,
worry about what matters,
like tulips in the spring,
the mockingbird and his serenade,
reading Hemingway,
cigars, and sweet sweet lemonade.
I don't have a smart phone,
of that i am proud,
people look at my phone,
and turn to me wowed.
Like “How do you live?”
and so I laugh,
look them in the face,
and say that I telegraph.
I guess I prefer people,
to the walking dead,
Not the show but those who,
prefer phones instead.
Don't look at the bright abyss,
for once just be a person,
Do something without screens,
before your brain fries and worsens.
I’m here to convert,
to try and show some leadership,
I’ll share this on my Facebook,
but don't dare call me a hypocrite.
I want to wake you up,
and see the sun at dawn,
do something memorable,
before you’re dead and gone.
May 2014 · 637
Ephemeral Thoughts
I am the dreamer,
that I must confess,
I am a smoker,
and do it in excess,
I see myself in the future,
with a bushy beard,
maybe as a boss,
who'll be respected and feared,
and I see that I might marry,
unload these demons,
which I carry.
might buy mother a home,
but thats not relatable,
whether she deserves it,
is heavily debatable.
but that is out of topic,
my life is out of order,
I only feel happy,
when im back at the border,
but I dont know where home is,
I only know couches and dorms,
I try to be me,
and not one who conforms.
I try to be open minded,
and become enlightened,
I sleep with the lights off,
but im terribly frightened,
I see myself after college,
who is that man,
he's still a boy,
if he's got no plan.
May 2014 · 771
Let tomorrow be full of surprises,
and not regrets,
we’re too young for creases,
too young for worries,
for mortgages and leases,
for good wine and craft beer,
aged whiskey and imported ***,
too young for big bills,
and asking the doctor,
for hard prescription pills,
more like drugs for recreation,
If I may, for enjoyment,
not to crumble from stress,
but to escape reality,
because our lives are a mess,
with no health insurance,
and exorbitant debt,
We might as well enjoy our luck,
staying up all night,
because we don't give a...

For tonight lets drink,
because we don't have kids,
we don't have houses,
we might have moms,
but we don't have spouses.
We’re still in school,
calling home for wire transfers,
which we’ll spend on *****,
setting up three alarms,
just to hit snooze.
I could complain,
my wallet is thin,
my waistline is thick.
I’ve been long boarding,
but it won't do the trick.
At least I am young,
and still have a future,
I've seen careers fizzle,
like hoping for rain,
and then getting drizzle.

Right now let us remember,
that this will not last,
we will become older,
the seasons might change,
but we’ll remain colder.
There will crows feet,
and back pains,
there’ll come a time,
when even big moments,
won't be sublime.
We’ll try to remember right now,
like looking at Rome,
and feeling nostalgic,
but we’ll look in the mirror,
and feel nothing but tragic.
One day we’ll say
“we are exactly like our parents.
They are what we became,
tried to resist it,
only to end up the same.”
May 2014 · 915
Good Morning, Good Night
I hate when things get personal,
because I get angry,
and you get emotional,
I yell and you scream,
an abrupt interruption,
as if rain were falling on a stream.
I think right now I will be blunt,
You’re ugly when you’re mad,
and you regret saying,
things you wish you never had.
Truthfully i am your servant,
I am your one and only.
I used to be a boy,
but that’s when I was lonely.
So then I wished upon a star,
but nothing did come true,
and then we met,
so that is when I knew,
that somewhere this was written,
because we kissed,
and I was smitten,
we held hands,
and it was true,
that good things come,
to those who wait,
I waited 18 years,
but there is no certain time,
when you rely on fate.
We've been together,
for close to three whole years,
and I've done a' lot of things,
that have caused a' lot of tears,
and for that I ask forgiveness,
I hope we do not ever,
go our separate ways,
because I am torn,
when we’re apart for several days.
Even though we get frustrated,
I rather be with you,
than to be separated.
I try to hug you every night,
so when you wake,
we forget about our fight.
I do not know many things,
for I am still learning,
but I do love you,
and I tell you every morning.
Winners and losers,
winners and losers,
That's all I can think of,
and that is honest,
when you really think,
that you just might win,
but you don't.
Feel the rage in your stomach,
the fire in your eyes,
the dryness of your throat,
the loss of confidence.
And suddenly you're shorter,
looking up,
trying not to get squashed,
and it's true what they say,
that you are your own worst critic.
Now you have two options,
and that's okay,
no one will care,
no one will ask you to comeback,
no one will cry,
but you could keep going,
trudge through the mud that is your soul,
fight through the rage that resides deeply,
and maybe,
if you don't **** yourself,
if you practice within an inch of your life,
and sacrifice the things most beloved,
lose weight,
your significant other,
your career,
your happiness,
but it wont matter,
just maybe,
by some miracle,
by some sheer force of destiny,
and preparedness
you might come out victorious,
and then everything will be okay.
Mar 2014 · 951
Let's Go
Let’s go someplace,
we’ve never been.
Visit a european town,
we’ve never seen,
and take a hike,
to a desolate mountain,
throw a quarter,
and make a wish to a fountain.
Or how about,
we stay in?
and do things,
considered sin.
or actually,
we could just kiss,
create a moment,
we’ll always miss.
With books,
and google for translation,
we’d be young for once,
and have a **** vacation.
Dancing in the street,
swimming in the sea,
We’ll look at things,
we’d never see.
And you with your plans,
me with my beer,
you with a bikini,
while i whisper in your ear.
Let’s fall in love,
like way back when,
when you weren't yet a woman,
and I yet a man.
Before the fights,
and empty threats,
before the yelling,
let us forget,
and let’s remember,
we were smitten,
when you said yes,
and then history was written.
Mar 2014 · 4.5k
Open your eyes,
now close them again.
There is nothing to see here,
except the rain,
that falls so rarely.
Lashing at the earth,
like tiny wet bombs.
There are some kids there,
riding their bikes,
up to no good.
And the lady at the corner,
who sells chips and cigarettes,
and ice cream for nickels and dimes,
Speaking of nickels and dimes,
there are those brothers,
who sell something else,
and it always smells there,
like skunk, and herbs.
Their dad was deported,
but they continue his path,
living with their grandma,
also up to no good.
Then there's that girl,
with all the make up,
that comes home,
in very strange cars,
with big rims,
and off colored doors.
Yeah, that girl is lost,
those bruised eyes will not heal,
those lips will always be whispering,
things that she's too young to say,
but those legs will not shut.
And no one's been shot,
at least since I can remember,
but I hear the guns on new years.
The dogs run wild in the thrashed alleys.
And the cops,
they roam the streets,
always with the windows down,
but that happens almost never,
and no one comes here anyways.
Just welfare queens,
Food-stamp families,
Illegals who work jobs,
that no one will do.
And even though,
everyone is poor,
the fajita is always on the grill,
the accordion bangs on speakers,
the ladies dance with their husbands,
the kids walk to the park,
the teens find a spot,
steal a beer,
smoke a stogie,
inhale the product of those brothers.
There is nothing to do,
everyone knows everyone,
dates everyone.
By the time you date,
it's second, third, fourth handed.
It's either the mall or the beach,
with its humidity and stickiness.
And all the restaurants are Mexican,
serving the same **** thing.
and the same **** thing
is what you eat at home.
And the houses are wooden,
falling apart, rotten and weary,
Creaking with the wind,
disappearing in a hurricane.
There is never enough money,
and the parents never laugh,
just work and work,
until you work and work,
for what?
So don't come here.
but if you must,
then open your eyes,
just to see the poverty,
the neglect and mosquitoes,
the border with all it's immigrants,
the river with all it's pollutants.
And just when you can't handle it,
when you miss your bed,
and wonder how it got this bad,
then close those eyes again,
There is nothing to see here.
There never was.
Mar 2014 · 1.2k
Nicotine & Caffeine
Coffee and Cigarettes.
Coffee and Cigarettes,
It used to be Whataburger,
and cartoons.
Now its words of struggle,
denials of pain.
I am nothing,
that is,
without a woman,
my woman to be exact.
Say what you will,
but actually don't.
Unless it's something nice,
but people hardly do that anymore.
What happened to us?
People I mean.
Or have they always been like this?
A liberal in Texas,
Is like women before 1920.
A Mexican in the united states,
is like a Mexican in his own country.
Abandoned, mistreated,
robbed of opportunities.
Though I make my own,
write my words,
and wait for praise.
Take the praise and write some more.
I am after all,
addicted to the truth.
I am,
if nothing else,
a wallflower in my own country.
And though they say,
it is the land of success,
I haven't had much fun,
since 6th grade recess.
Pardon the rhyme,
I'ts been too long,
to not write verses.
I'll be 21 soon,
thats halfway between 42,
in case you didnt know.
Another year, another attempt,
to find out who i'll be.
To know If I will rise,
or be an average joe.
It's taken everything to not scream,
to not blame my mother,
for leaving me alone,
for dumping her 4 burdens,
on my own grandmother.
I still grieve,
for my family is dead.
And I'm sitting here thinking,
Will I be better?
And I write away,
hoping that I will be.
With coffee,
to keep from this cold,
and cigarettes,
to keep me from old age.
Nov 2013 · 536
Execute Them
They might just be words,
at least when you say them,
but when you write them,
they should be loved,
and caressed with utter comfort.
They should be whispered to,
in their ears, seductively and silent.
Take them to bed,
and **** them, **** them hard,
those little ******.
They exist to please,
shame them, and beat them,
beat them to a ****** pulp,
do it you brave bull,
tear them up, and tear them in,
make them cry,
cut them up,
dissect them.
Just like a scientist would.
Study them, and experiment,
do the unspeakable,
until you know everything about them.
Then put them on their knees,
make them look forward,
spit on them,
do whatever you want,
but in the end,
just execute them.
Sep 2013 · 906
Curtain Call
He’s up there reciting,
and he's strategically deciding,
if he should say this line,
maybe a little or alot,
and it could turn out to be fine,
so why the hell not.
But he truly is frightened,
and his skin has whitened.
So pale, like alabaster,
but he’s too drunk to cease.
He feels like such a master,
and he is enjoying this disease,
or this pleasure.
As he forgets about the pressure.
blank faces pay attention,
with their beady little eyes,
he is not from this dimension.
as he recites these little lies.
These little anecdotes,
that follow him in pocket coats.
After midnight writing quotes,
jotting down these little notes.
he’s alone with all these phrases,
and of course this disappointing grammar,
sculpting away at marble faces,
with his vicious ballpoint hammer.
The audience looking in despair,
trying to make this king into a pair.
Poker face with his poetic bluff,
his voice now getting louder,
and he thinks it's not enough.
Until he convinces every doubter.
His verse is such a treat,
and his competitors retreat.
For he is now alone,
with the audience just gawking,
And he will not change his tone,
because then they will start talking.
About his utter devotion,
as he spills all his emotion,
and recites with blatant violence,
he won't stop if there is silence.
Aug 2013 · 935
The Fifth Semester
Another year into the fray.
Into this massive debt,
that looms over my career.
Came in just a boy,
and i'm still a boy now,
just so much more broke.
But not broken.
Learned from so many mistakes,
I should write a couple of books.
Maybe make a movie,
Titled: “Listen to yourself.”
Because that’s what I didn't do.
Now people are rescuing me,
from a hole that I dug,
So deep I was stuck.
But here i am, another year older.
Hope the winter is warm,
and not so much colder.
I hope this semester I grow,
Prosper and create.
I'm in this too deep,
to falter and deviate.
Aug 2013 · 3.9k
Though not many birds,
still perch up on my branches,
I miss them more,
as the years turn into dust.
I miss the flock,
resting on my limbs,
tweeting at each other.
Rabid in their lust,
quiet in their departure.
It has been too many years,
since these leaves,
have been of any use.
Since i have been,
of any importance.
In the summers,
I was shade.
And those little kids,
would play tag.
When they got older,
they would read.
In the spring,
i was a treasure.
As I laid fruits upon their feet.
When they got older,
they would make mysterious drinks.
In the winter I was warmth.
They would hack me off,
and build a fire to tell stories.
When they got older,
they installed a furnace.
In the fall I was beauty,
if only for a moment,
as my tips turned into gold,
or a gorgeous shade of red.
Then I was naked.
When they got older,
they never admired my beauty.
For many decades,
I endured it all.
I was there when they were born,
I was there when they all left.
Or died or went to jail.
I used to be strong,
and absorb these frigid winds.
Which now threaten my boughs.
When i was a sapling,
i would hear,
“This one will be big.”
And i believed it too.
To have so much potential,
but never really amount to much.
I had the makings of a prodigy,
the tallest, strongest tree around,
but I failed myself.
Let alone those who,
believed in me as well.
I had it all not long ago,
but even trees get sad,
if there is no one,
to use us as we were meant.
What am i,
if not the past.
There is a future,
but im not sure,
I will survive.
They will say I died of frost.
but its been too long,
since ive heard a pretty song.
Or had laughs around my bark,
celebrations under my shade.
A simple admiration,
of my natural magnificence.
I will be another stump
on this cold earth.
But before i fall,
I would like to ask.
If a tree fell,
and no one heard it,
Did it serve a purpose?
Or a reason.
I will not live another season.
Aug 2013 · 2.2k
A thousand lights thriving,
out there in the distance.
In the night somehow surviving,
Hiding, in a dissonant existence.
They blink and flicker,
make love and bicker.
Relentless and ostentatious,
Quavering for a bit of attention.
but their dance is vivacious,
how they shift in dimensions.
there fading voices, loquacious.
but they do move so gracious.
And so very efficient,
as they devour the obscure.
but the nights not sufficient,
only the gritty allure.
And as they fade,
they make sure to remember.
That no one forbade,
them to surrender.
Or to forget,
To come back at sunset.
Jul 2013 · 947
The Rising Sun
He woke up with the loneliest lines.

They were "I am the ocean without a moon,
Floating aimlessly as I search for a pull."

There he laid down and searched for,
Those warm winter embraces.

He woke up with the emptiest lines,
Because he knows that she is near but also far.

Tucked away in what seems like a mountain,
And there he shouts for her in the night; the morning.

The self-proclaimed poet shouting  his verses,
For his muse, confidant and lover.

The most morose lines ever written,
Coming from his lips to make a plea.

She once was in his grasp and he held her,
And she would welcome him and his passion.

He woke with those depressing lines,
Because it his pain, his regret.

She once would overlook the flaws,
The obvious imperfections that grew evident.

The subtle lack of integrity and ambition,
But she never backed away.

But he knows he is far, far away from the truth,
But too close to the precipice of emptiness.

This is why he woke with the loneliest lines:
To live with them.

But tomorrow he will wake...
What am I if not the rain?
Or quite opposite the flame;
just a man that is insane.
Can't you see that I'm demented,
for all the sins I've not repented.
All the crimes that I've committed,
like profane words so frequently omitted.
Term papers not submitted.
All the frustrations in my head,
are worse than what I've said.
I'm afraid you can relate,
yes you; you also cant escape,
this horrid mental state.
What a terrible prescription,
now I swallow my decisions.
Fighting hard for my existence,
coming back with much persistence,
not needing anymore assistance.
No longer sitting on the fence,
I just want to see it all make sense.
but I do still believe,
that life is long enough to live,
too full of hope to hate,
so go live and do not wait.
You should go ahead and try,
life is just too short to die.
Jun 2013 · 573
I am no one
I am a burden,
no one wants me.
I am lazy,
everyone knows.
I am irresponsible,
that's became a fact.
I am cold sometimes,
its often true.
I can be loved,
but I hurt them.
I can love,
but they hurt me.
I am stone,
chipping away.
I am water,
drying in the sun.
I am here,
but only now.
I will be gone,
but don't know when.
No one will miss me,
I never existed.
So a professor decides,
that he should do a study.

And so he did,
he took months researching.

The study he conducted,
was on the accuracy of all other studies.

He found out something,
most unfortunate and appalling.

You see the probability.
of a study being correct was 50%.

Only half were correct,
while the others were not.

Then again was his,
or was it not?
May 2013 · 821
The Cycle We Go Through.
I asked a man once,
What is life about?
He looked at me strangely,
Frowned then smiled.
He looked me in the eyes,
and said:
I guess you'll have to find out.

Now im finding out,
that life is hard,
it ***** sometimes,
but also makes you smile,
makes you happy,
the smell of home-cooked food,
or the pleasure of a woman.
The passion of a career,
and being healthy.
Being with the family,
and sharing secrets.
Better yet; making memories,
that will last past,
the moment i'm buried.
All that and much more,
will knock at my door.

So a little boy asked me once,
What is life about?
I looked at him strangely,
Frowned and then smiled.
I looked him in the eyes,
and said:
I guess you'll have to find out.
May 2013 · 3.0k
The boy who smoked cancer.
I am smoker, thats what I am.
And it makes me feel good.

When I sit at a bench,
and watch people pass,
With smiles on their faces or scowls as well,
And I love to share a square with someone unknown,
As mine and their story pours out while we both take a drag,
To me that is living and having a good time.

I am a smoker, thats my addiction,
Others hate it, but to me that is love.

Infatuated with nature and its conflictions,
I'll rise really early to watch the sunrise,
The pretty pink colors juxsaposed with purple,
Birds, planes and cars all rushing: rushing somewhere,
Or nowhere at all, I just sit there and wonder,
With tendrils of smoke soaking my clothes,
I do not care to rush, I am a smoker.
Watching in silence trying to witness,
Something worthwhile and great,
While others are worried about being late.

I am smoker, that is my passion,
It might be wrong but it feels so right.

When I go somewhere beautful,
new, old, familiar or strange,
I light up a stick, and blow smoke at the sky,
Blow smoke at those faces, sharing the sight with me.
I will buy a new album and share it with a cigarrette,
While the headphones blast and soothe,
My hand comes to my mouth,
And feeds it its poisons or nutrition.
Call it malicious, but my tenure on this earth,
Wont be so much longer than it is expected.

I am a smoker, that is my sin,
I try to kick it, but it comes back.

Once I did not smoke for six months,
And i felt okay, as I watched others enjoy,
that which I loved and cherished at one point,
But after I abandoned her, my habit that is,
I asked her out once more,
and has not left me since,
She takes care of me when im happy or sad,
When I have been a good boy or bad.
She loves me no matter what,
Even If i did leave her once.
But I will leave her again,
Maybe today or when it has been enough,
But right now I will finish this pack,
And see what comes after.
May 2013 · 345
This summer ***** bad,
the nights are too **** dark now,
too **** dark indeed.
May 2013 · 1.1k
The Overgrown Poet
Yeah, I cuss a' lot,
and if they hate,
then I fuzz a' lot,
and I don't drive,
So I ride the bus a'lot.
Not wanting grow,
Waking up, just for show.
I know, i'm unreliable,
I have no insurance,
That means i'm liable,
But i'm a rhythmical force,
that's undeniable.
May 2013 · 1.1k
Unoriginal Criminal
Everything has been said,
tried, failed and done.
I lay on my bed,
way too old to have fun.
An impossibility to be original,
to be subjective and subliminal.
Or a successful criminal.
Ceasing to create,
Freezing at the plate.
Choking on the real,
Joking about steel.

Everything has been written,
edited, published and read,
Almost all from Britain,
or America instead.
The words have been placed,
and famous figures defaced,
while the readers embraced.
Great writers have died,
Underrate writers have lied.
Not all books are sublime,
But it was before my time.
May 2013 · 2.2k
The Journalist
Writing with a purpose,
with a mad fever.
It takes me over,
a mad man with a pan,
with a soul,
and no remorse.
With a will,
to excavate reality,
and question the morality,
the uncountable insanity,
of our world,
which feeds,
but lets us starve.

The keyboard obeys,
as the words continue,
to display the unfairness,
or what they call justice,
and constitutionality.
I am of one nationality,
but they only see the color,
the tanned skin that,
covers those opinions I hide.
A young democrat,
with view not radical,
my outbursts sporadical,
analytic vandal.
Causing scandal,
making headlines,
before deadlines.

The industry is dying,
those who protect the innocent,
not the tabloids or fox news,
but those who report.
Really report on the wrongs,
and criticize the operations,
of borderline frail relations,
connected with GOVERNMENT.
With the system, the MAN.
The mother loving OPPRESSOR.
I am the professor,
Cronkite's successor.

We are the last line,
of defense and honesty.
We are those who watch,
defy the conventional,
and put down the animals.
Sadists, ******, murderers,
bankers, and lawmakers.
Hiding behind the first amendment,
with pride and purpose.
Sincere to a fault,
that's the job description,
the drug prescription.
Call it the right decision.
We write the truth,
but no one will thank us.
Apr 2013 · 1.8k
An ode to my better half
Its been exactly a year.
since you almost left,
this world and my arms.
And i’ll never forget,
the darkness i felt,
when you were dying,
and i couldn't be near you.
I hated your parents,
but mostly myself,
I could have,
done something,
but then i just failed.
Those were the days,
that hurt to remember,
and are hard to forget.
I would go to bed early,
but fall asleep crying,
into a pillow that smelled;
just like you did.
So i cried even harder,
much more than,
i had ever done.
but i promised myself,
that you and i,
were not yet done.
but then you called me,
and i felt the life,
rush into my veins,
you had survived,
and that was enough,
so now every minute,
i lay by your side,
i count the seconds,
because they could be gone,
I'm tearing up now,
you’re too ****,
good of a woman,
to be putting up,
with my daily antics.
I cherish your time,
and all your affection.
I do not deserve it,
that much is too obvious,
but here you are still,
and im hopeful,
that you’ll stay with me longer.
because i could,
look under every rock,
in all of this planet,
and not ever, at all,
find you again.
Mar 2013 · 733
Death in the Evening
Naive boy starving for knowledge,
Too lazy to learn,
He struggles in college.
But thats not your concern,
Unless you pay for his fees,
Those thousands of dollars,
That buy half-earned degrees,
But which feel like collars,
On the minds of the gifted,
Which love to create,
And love to get lifted,
According to fate,
Not a believer,
Its just rhymes he delivers.

Young kid looking for peace,
With his quiet ambitions,
That will never appease,
His artistic petitions.
His head in the skies,
But he's scared of heights,
That is the price,
When you stare at the lights.
He does not look for trouble,
But it finds him to well,
his feelings so subtle,
you would not know he fell.
Or that he is ill,
the silence so quiet,
the sickness to still,
he would not defy it.
Or even comprehend,
he wont understand.

Grown man, older than whiskey,
but younger than wine,
What he says is too risky,
but he is just fine,
to say what's sincere,
everyone else is too vague,
like watered-down beer,
Truths are a plague,
but it comes from the heart,
or from the hole in his chest,
Would you call it art,
If he did not try his best,
because he is a soul convoluted,
an enigma persecuted,
Like a book far from concluded,
but well executed.
Hoping for pleasure,
but finding it in odd locations,
He is a man under pressure,
Who needs some vacations.
He says life is frightening,
but won't set it asunder,
"If he rides like lightning,
he'll crash like thunder."
Because he is full of blunders,
and rampant with errors.
"The day is full of wonders but,
the night is dark and full of terrors"
He might be insane,
He might be a martyr,
If he flies like a plane,
You innocent creature,
how they treat your nature,
but it isnt  you is it?
But your inner being,
choosing to deny and rival,
those mannerisms which,
are a torture to us all liberals,
and forward thinkers.
I see you for what you are,
what you really are.
A bit confused,
yes, but also passionate
about love and life,
those things that escape most souls.
Your love hides in the taboo
and unspoken,
I wrote you a poem,
so you would know that,
I love you,
and I am on your side.
Let them hate and torture.
You are a person,
just like me,
and everyone else.
But they are wrong,
they read verses,
from that Bible
and hate you because
you are different
and you adore.
that which is like yourself,
A person of your ***.
Be strong,
but above all else,
Be yourself,
and love yourself,
for who you really are.
Feb 2013 · 825
The moon also sets (48bars)
Have you ever stayed up till sunrise?
When the sun high fives the sky.
It seems like a surprise,
Or maybe a lie?
Don't you wish you could fly?
And touch the clouds with the tips,
On your fingers.
Like when you kiss lips,
And the sweetness just lingers.
But still you're stuck,
And hungry to live.
Try your luck.
But I believe,
That this is meant.
When you trip on stones.
And land on cement.

Have you ever filled your lungs?
With joy instead of air?
You climb these rungs,
But don't know where?
**** its tough,
To be content.
Or to love,
And not repent.
The actions which you choose.
To live without hate.
And be close,
But not be late,
To those times,
That are worth pictures.
I chose rhymes,
And ignored scriptures.

I'm sure you haven't dealt,
With problems right away.
And I know you felt,
The price you had to pay.
You live and learn,
Or die and forget,
To always burn,
What you regret.
The game of life,
Is not so simple.
Like thrusting a knife,
Inside your pimple.
Are you that weak?
Just be strong.
Yes its bleak,
But life is Long.
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