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4.5k · Mar 2014
Hometown
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.
I can truly say im no saint.
Nor can i sing or paint.
I know how to observe.
And accept what I deserve.
Jotting down these little words.
Cutting deeper than swords.
Words are fear so much as truth.
They can hurt or they can soothe.
They can heal what brings disease.
Words do as they freking please.
They are here and they are gone.
They come back when it is dawn.
Put some paper under ink.
Sit down and think.
What is a smoke without a lighter?
Like a pen without a writer.
Im a slave to every letter.
Hoping to get better.
Hoping that this piece is read.
Before i wake up dead.
Will I be great when I wake?
These words are not fake.
These words are my creation.
This is my dissertation.
Cant you see?
I write without a degree.
3.9k · Aug 2013
Photosynthesis
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.
There once was a boy both young with smarts.
In the forest is where our journey starts.

While angry at life he walked into a clearing.
Although he didn’t know that death was nearing.

The boy saw a mangy dog that was dying of thirst.
And he brought it water without thinking it first.

The dog suddenly grew larger, no longer weak.
But what happened was a natural freak.

The hair went darker and now with sharp claws.
A beautiful panther, the boy’s words were at loss.

The Black Panther with a shiny coat approached.
The boy screamed and the panther reproached.

            “Your fear is a flaw that you must keep repressed.”
The boy said “Mr. Panther what shall I do if I am depressed.

He roared showing his fangs both deadly and bare.
The panther said” Grow up, nothing in this life is fair.”

The Panther transformed into an eagle.
Brave, bold, and of course very regal.

The boy sat down both shocked and amazed.
The eagle picked off some birds, the boy dizzy and dazed.

            The eagle said, “See those birds I just ate with songs like fiddles.”
            “Well you will never know why because life is full of riddles.”

The Eagle was so wise it left the boy in awe.
He soared upwards, perched on a tree and began to caw.

The night went cold with a feeling of despair.
            The boy asked, ”Are you saying that my life needs repair?”

The eagle responded, “If you want to be happy, then to your heart be true.”
            Confused he asked back, “Im young and naïve and I don’t have a clue.”

The eagle transformed into an elephant, elegant and massive.
            With a booming voice he said” if you want something take it, don’t be a wimp, never be passive.”

Covered in Golden armor with black accents gleaming.
The elephant’s words left the boy bothered and steaming.

            The boy angrily shockingly said” You don’t know me, I am the greatest.”
            The elephant chuckled, “those are not the news that I heard latest.”

            The boy asked, “Are you some sort of trick or illusion.”
            The elephant responded” I am Thanatos, excuse the confusion.”

            The boy teased, “Sounds like a name before the time my grandfather was raised.”
            Somberly Thanatos spoke, “I took his life, his liquor was laced.”

            The boy curiously asked, “Wait are you some blood thirsty killer.”
            Thanatos replied, “No! I am not a psychotic blood spiller.”

From an elephant Thanatos turned into a black floating cloak.
The boy wanted to speak but on his words he began to choke.

            “I am thanatos, reaper of souls,  luitenant of hell.”
Then the clouds darkened with a pungent sulfuric smell.

The boy was quiet as a professional mime.
            The boy bravely spoke, “ Well thanatos take me if it is my time.”

Thanatos laughed and the ground started to shake.
The ground split with a powerful quake.

The boy did not fear the souls rising from the earth.
Thanatos said "did you know I almost took you at birth?"

Right then the souls cried of horrible torture and pain.
And thanatos washed them away with a rain.

Thanatos explained, "Those are the souls that try to escape."
"they are the **** that ****** and ****."

The boy said, "so why was I given a rare second chance or try"
"oh dear boy on those matters you cannot pry."

The boy asked, “Will I die of old age or disease?”
Thanatos with a change of tone said, “don’t ask me that please.”


"Well lad now I must now make my leave"
"There are some things you are yet to ACHIEVE"

The boy asked, "Well what If I never succeed?"
"you will but there are obstacles you must first EXCEED."

Thanatos swung his Scythe and the boy saw his future in a vision.
And the boy knew of his decision.

"If you fall then again you must RISE."
" We'll meet again when you are older and wise."

Thanatos told him,” your life will be long and bright.”
And then he said, “Always win, if you want it then fight.”

"go out and find yourself a nice lady."
And then he told me" I'll see you in eighty"
3.0k · May 2013
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.
2.9k · Aug 2012
A fall from decadence.
Worrying to my hearts content.
A sinister sinner that wont repent.
And wont believe, what people say.
Some will suffer, while others pay.
And some will call you brother or friend.
Slander your name and extend their hand.
I believe that all men are evil and greedy.
Because we feed the rich and kick the needy.
Mow their lawns and cut their taxes.
Lets chop down this system with rhetorical axes.
Why blame the world when it is the corporations.
Is the world stupid or high off lsd hallucinations.
The very thread of this system is in tatters.
Left to die, but it never matters.
That the justice in this country is non existent.
****** is a crime, but getting away with it is persistent.
A real joke to the countries we disassemble.
And what do they resemble?
A power hungry democracy with no authenticity.
That favorites people of only one ethnicity.
While the rest are looked at as thiefs.
Broken bracnches, and sun dried leafs.
Thats all we are. The **** on the floor.
And people close their blinds and lock the door.
I am just so tired of being less.
Why does my life have to be a mess.
While John Doe lives so elegantly.
Im just fuming my anger vehemently.
Why wasnt i born with a trust.
Money is a terrible object that has become a must.
And its the base of all that is twisted.
We could have changed but then we missed it.
And i will tell you what is wrong with this generation:
Everything. we have been spoiled like surprise birthday celebrations.
And pouring thousands of dollars in my education.
I went and became an adult without any preparation.
And they never told me how hard it would become.
So im holding it all in trying not to come.
i dont have money for even the protection.
Taking a cold shower to lower my *******.
I am a product of this culture.
Scavenging the internet like a vulture.
And learning nothing at all, what is up with brain.
I promise i will not die in vain.
Not before i leave my mark on this earth.
Its Velli on my tomb but alejandro from my birth.
So leave me alone, delete me on your phone.
I am not the greatest but nothing is set in stone.
The word tired can mean so many things.
Im tired of hot summers, also springs.
Because i get a year older, no one cares.
Like a world so ******, nobody shares.
And no one gives, just rob and take.
Consume this land, watch it break.
Witnessing this epic collapse.
Makes a ****** want to relapse.
But relax, dont worry, your grandkids will.
Asking whats an ocean, a jungle a hill.
How does a bird look when it flies.
How will the planet look when it dies.
Blame me too, im no different, no exceptions.
Cold calculations, making these rough estimations.
But im tired, tired of seeing us destroy.
The world is a product we use like a toy.
And we play with things that should'nt be moved.
Trying to explain what ought not be proved.

**** im so tired of big trucks with small tanks.
And the ***** money locked up in banks.
The blood diamonds that rise from the earth.
This is what i have known since my birth.
And glaciers melting faster then they should.
I would stop it all, if only i could.
And make everyone rich and nobody poor.
Open my heart and open my door.
I try to explain that we're just plain wrong.
But nobody listens unless its a song.
Nobody cares unless it involves the war.
We're fighting the climate, but what for?
You see, people dont worry, they like hearing lies.
They like fast cars, big screens and mcdonalds fries.
But what do they know, they're killing my mother.
Dont try to appease me, dont even bother.
Because i tried to tell you something sincere.
And you will think im just some hippy queer.
And another thing **** chick fil a.
Dont you listen to what they have to say.
If a guy likes another, are we to judge?
The world is closed window that wont even budge.

Im tired of this, and also that, famine and drought.
is this what the bible is about.
I have so many questions that no one can answer.
Death is the cure to what we know as cancer.
I would want to cure that as well, why the pain.
I think we would all be happy, if it would just rain.
And all was back to normal, just like before.
Before war, and chaos, before the the holy word.
Lets all help each other and put down the sword.
Like that will ever happen, excuse my expectations.
I am the mirror through which this world is reflected, put that in quotations.
Im tired of you, and him and her, take it as you will.
Well if mother earth is a person, she is terminally ill.
2.4k · Jan 2013
A Mexican Idol
Have you heard that joke?
The one where you laugh.
About that kid who's broke.
I speak on his behalf.
To whom this may concern,
dont follow the leaders.
Listen and learn,
get rid of the heaters.
Sell and you die,
****, and you're dead.
Get shot if you lie.
Heard what i said?
I could be a child,
giving advice.
Or maybe some wild,
sinner full of vice.

What is an artist?
Does that mean you paint?
To me thats the hardest.
like blunt puffing saints.
They call me insane.
I call it creativity.
Left or right brain?
I'll destroy a literary activity.
To me thats artistic.
When i grab the pen,
and go as ballistic,
as a head-missing hen.

I'd write for the masses,
as if they could keep up.
I'll stop attending classes,
If my pockets erupt.
Im only one brick.
Ready to crumble.
Who is sick,
and ready to stumble.
Ready to trip,
and fall.
To slip and,
then crawl.
Then maybe i'll rise,
maybe i'll soar.
And i could surprise,
myself at the store.
And i'll drop 3 bills on jeans.
Just to look rich.
But I still eat rice and beans;
life is a...
You defy my existence,
And plagate my well-being,
I hate my persistence,
But you are not seeing.
That I am a man, so I hunger,
For treasures down under.
No matter how brief,
Or justly loquacious,
You are a leaf,
And I, an omnivore; voracious.
You dream to be eaten;
You sin-fruit of eden.

What hides within skirts?
Asks a boy when he grows.
Tempting with skin or with flirts,
A man always knows,
When to love or to lust,
And never to trust,
When they use us like toys,
Or those women who tease.
Men are just boys.
Smile and say please,
I'll show you the truth;
When you scream while I soothe.
life is like a frail flower and grass blades.
I hope our love never fades
or maybe like a hard rock or rusted metal.
Life is a plant, thorny ***** or a pretty petal.
A nice relieve from this twisted tale.
Grab her hand and set the sail.

Or grab her hand and make it true.
Not when and where but just ask who.
That one smile will be worth your while.
She could be gone or in the other aisle.
If love is a store then ask for more.
Take the cute girl over the that little *****.

---------------------------------

No disrespect, call me rude but not collect.
Happy man or ruined boy; go, select.
Single guy that gets around.
Loyal dog or lousy hound.
But she could make your dream complete.
Press restart and not delete.

Press all the buttons? Yes you may.
And alaways speak dont just say.
Boost your ego, but never scream.
Things are always how they seem.
Dont be upset, Thats how it goes.
Choose the pretty ladies in lieu of hoes.
2.3k · Aug 2012
Failure and Honesty.
Again into the land of education,
where i know not of success.
Into this void, into this debt.
Into a world that is falling,
a country that is stalling.
Into the first semester,
of another year,
another story, no other glory.
Here i go, ready for nothing.
Waiting on something.
But with my wits,
i will prevail.
And try my best,
not to fail.
2.3k · Oct 2012
The Dreamer and the Realist
I am the dreamer,
a true believer.
You are a realist,
a twisted cynist
But we coexist.
We share the weight.
And as of late,
i think we have,
grown to hate,
the things we used to love.

I am the one who is optimistic,
in love with a mind
thats pessimistic.
but there is hope,
if you look a little more.
Forget what was before,
remember this forever.
I love your,
hugs and kisses.

But i am the one.
who often forgets,
how real life can be,
im just a boy,
that never grew up,
and denied the reality
that life is an abnormality.
And im the one,
who doesnt have the mentality.
to know that,
life  is a cruel fatality.
2.2k · Aug 2013
Fluorescence
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.
2.2k · May 2013
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.
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?
2.1k · May 2015
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.
2.1k · Jul 2012
Kids in the garage.
Just three teens without a place.
Ipod touch without a case.
Ipod touch without an owner.
Two stoners and a loner.
Music is the drive.
Keeping us fed an alive.
Shoes is the motivation.
Giving ya'll this information.
I guess money is the ambition.
For this little coalition.
For this little band of kids.
Fly shoes, clothes and lids.
Or a band of brothers separated.
That have always been underestimated,
and hated for the wrong reasons.
Moving houses like changing seasons.
Being judged for parenal decisions.
Mean mugs and unexplained suspicions.
Making our beds to lie in.
Thats something i dont believe in.
I see that no one believes in the crew.
So **** him, her, and you.
Excuse the profanity.
Contain my insanity.
Bottled up like soda pop.
Writer, engineer, and a cop.
Or three bums with no hopes.
Snipers without scopes.
The future of this generation.
Elation, procastination, inflation.
When does this road end and then start.
Begins, falters, then grows apart.
Just three teens in the garage.
Without money fame or an entourage.
Without nothing but ourselves.
Telling them to go **** themselves.
We're just young, broke, and faded.
Waiting to tell mom "I made it."
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,
But SPEAK THE TRUTH
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.
1.9k · Nov 2012
The Widows Scorn
Beware, for she hides in plain sight,
the lady Victoria of the still night.
When the wooden floors,
scrape against the sodden doors,
the widow whispers,
drowned out by creaking beams.
THUNDER... followed by the widows screams.

Stay abed in the nocturnal rains,
the widow shouts her husbands names.
She sits in the wicker chair,
pallid as the winter snow.
Crying in despair.
Tormented and demented,
The widow has repented.

Lock the door to your chambers.
The widow talks of many dangers.
Have you heard the widows tale?
Exquisite in its drama.
She caught her husband with another male..
The husband said "Victoria relax,"
she came back with a rusted axe.

Be careful when the sun retreats.
The widow often repeats.
She murmurs and moans.
She calls your name,
and chills your bones.
Take heed to this note,
or you'll find yourself without a throat.

She claims a man once a decade.
But before she sings a serenade,
or a lullaby. Goodbye.
Its already been ten years,
since she last shed tears.
She stands behind the person reading.
You're in for a widow's bleeding.
1.9k · Nov 2012
Wall Flowers and Outcasts
Im just jotting down this evidence,
and its evident,
that im not prevalent,
like a room without an elephant.
Not classy or elegant.
cynicial and benevolent.
Optimistic and malevolent.
Lazy and intelligent.
Academically literate.
Inheritly degenerate.
Drunk and belligerent.
Life's petty instrument.
2nd generation immigrant.
Broken and dissonant.
Young wild and arrogant.
Gifted and different.
Im so ****** irrelavant.
1.8k · Apr 2013
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.
I believe in karma not jesus,
If you want,
Tear me to pieces,
Or pay attention,
You might want to hear,
The things which i'll mention.

I' am not a bad guy,
Although i have a temper,
I tend not to lie.
I just dont ponder,
That after you die,
It will be a wonder.
Or even a pleasure,
Yes, life is a jewel,
But death is no treasure.

I dont believe in the bible,
They say its a guide,
But i call it libel.
Believe if you must,
And you can argue,
But the holy word, I dont trust.
Because if you ****,
You're forgiven,
I say that is ill.
Pardon my phrases,
Im just suspicious,
In supernatural cases.

Excuse me, im curious,
Always have been,
And you might be furious.
But that is expected,
For thousands of years,
Atheist have been neglected.
My morals are better than most,
But go on believing.
Shoutouts to the holy ghost.
1.7k · Jul 2012
Excavating Talents
Times like this i have to check for my pulse.
Pinch my thighs to feel something
,something other than this frigidness.
Have you ever felt like that?
As if the world goes and doesnt give,
a **** about you.
And you dont give a **** about it.
The room is darker than your soul,
your soul is darker than the
time you threw the trash out at night.


Times like this i just want to sleep.
Because whatever this is, this life,
Or, this illusion is too much.
But actually nothing at all,
rather i sleep than think about things.
Things i did or didnt do or should have done.
You've felt like that right?
Like the day isnt worth anything,
when really it is a blessing,
or maybe a curse because you know,
That life could be amazing,  
but only if you had
that one little piece thats so hard to find.

Times like this i just want to breathe.
Let  all the good come in
and let the bad out.
But i cant and i know,
because i have tried,
i have tried to be normal and failed.
Have you ever felt good or complete,
because i havent?
Im missing something,
something beautiful and small.
like when you lose a lover,
and that ***** in your chest,
begs you to be close to that person,
like the color white on sticky rice.
And you want to please that *****.
But you cant and you fall.
Fall from the happiness you once had.
Until you hit the bottom,
and start climbing up.


Times like this i write because thats what i am.
Not a good son, boyfriend, student,
but just a writer.
And i say that im good but really,
i have no clue what im doing.
Just write with my heart,
and speak my mind.
I know you have felt that.
Like there is no escape,
from this hole you are stuck in.
So you do what you love
in order to find a release.
To empty the emotions that
mess you up so well
and so sweet, so hungry.
Lusting after your pain,
not stopping.
So you draw, sing, write
because thats all you are.
And thats all you want to be.
1.7k · Jun 2012
The shattered prince.
Welcome to the journey, take a seat.
Full of hope and sad defeat.
From my mommas womb,
to my inevitable tomb.
Sit down and enjoy the ride.
Listen before you choose a side.
Im like a sidewalk with too many cracks.
Like war vets with twisted backs.
A cloud full of acid rain.
i write morphine for kids in pain.
I saw the ground move and shake.
I am the liquid in the flowing lake.
Because ive been through it all.
Before happiness i witnessed the fall.
Of me and everyone around.
Drink up and pour a round.
I keep it real like mcdonalds beef.
Bowls of greens and sprinkled keef.
I get bored and i scribble.
A ball that only know to dribble.
A tattered shoe with no soul.
Life is highway and takes its toll.
Know what im saying?
You need to quit praying.
Illegal like a check not signed.
I tell you whats on my mind.
Im the student that can teach.
Not a priest but allowed to preach.
The family hero and peoples champ.
A renegade envelope with no stamp.
I have come back a thousand times.
And dropped sick verses and rhymes.
From my grandma's home.
To the top of my dome.
A beautiful dark twisted brain.
A clean shirt with a ***** stain.
I never make any sense.
Just dollars, checks, and cents.
Whats a car without a wheel?
Or a zoo without seal?
A drink without the cap.
Like a tree without the sap.
A missing boy with no one looking.
A full kitchen with no one cooking.
A piece of pie without the crust.
Like a rich kid without a trust.
Writing his story before the glory.
Its been long and im sorry.
And im sorry to my lungs and liver.
So hot my soul got a fever.
A sticker that missed the glue.
A lie that used to be true.
So plese stand up the ride is over.
If you were drunk then i made you sober.
The Texas poet with a mind of Hemingway.
I do **** my way.
So deuces.
No one wins and no one loses.
You understand? im the prince that shattered.
Im that lonely drop of blood that splattered.
1.6k · May 2012
Rage Volume 2 EP. 1
Let me get this out my chest.
I may not be the best but you’re a huge test.
You need to chill, are you ******* serious?
I made a comment so now you’re delirious.
Give me a break before my mind breaks.
Full of ******* fears and false fakes.
More problems than the economy in Oh eight.
Thought I was wining but got scored on late.
Holy ******* *****, I want to tear out my hair.
And I’ll jump off my sanity at first dare.
I’m so close to exploding I’m actually a threat.
Don’t fret, but *******, the timer is set.
Run away or go down with my vice.
Drown me in ice, Im always not nice.
Im always a ****, my faith I didn’t pick.
****** over by the Gov and that makes me sick.
Like a toddler with measles or pox.
**** this rage *****, I just kicked some rocks.
I fell into an abyss, but how did I miss?
I took a **** and heard a snake hiss.
Got bit in the heart, now I’m evil and cold.
My words are bold and my soul is sold.
But what said the merchant to the demon?
“******* and go eat my *****”
To which the demon replied “rot in hell”
The merchant died and had nothing to sell.
Found a bottle of spirits in my dresser.
They asked me “is this yours?” and I said “yessir”
Because I’m done following orders.
I owe it to my people that crossed borders.
I need a house, my rage I cant contain.
I got my lighter and set fire to my pain.
Buried my dreams under a tree with a shovel.
I wrote a word, got bored and wrote a novel.
I can’t stop, I have all this hate.
You can’t relate what goes on this state.
All these things coming together, I feel ******.
This is getting worse and I thought it already ******.
Don’t you say you know where I’m from.
I lied and cheated back home just to get some.
All men are evil, there is no other choice.
I got stabbed in the throat for having a voice.
Smoke loads or die sober are the only options.
Life is a movie without any captions.
I live life always confused.
I say one thing and people feel abused.
I’m done with the drama, and the tears.
I try to talk and it always lands on deaf ears.
If I’m an actor then I never play my part.
I want to love but I might not have a heart.
I want the truth but I always utter lies.
I see with my **** and not with my eyes.
Things were way easier when I lived in the south.
I want to scream “*******” but it won’t come out my mouth.
1.5k · May 2015
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.
1.5k · Aug 2012
Poor thoughts
Can't help but hate,
Kids with fat wallets,
Private schools and trust funds.
You didn't deserve it,
You didnt work hard,
And the rest of us slave,
Under this merciless sun.
Toil and toil,
Cancerous lungs,
Cancerous skin.
Can't ever fix it.
The funds don't exist.
The funds that you waste,
On cars, ****** and liquor.
While the sick  just get sicker.
The poor fall lower,
Still pay more taxes,
Then you put us in chains,
Where is the sympathy.
Where is the justice?
Every person,
Should get a chance.
You call it welfare.
We call it a miracle.
You call it change,
But we call it dinner.
Or rent, clothes, bills.
You spend what you don't earn.
We can't spend enough to learn.
I have not lived long,
But I already know.
That some will birth lucky,
And others just won't.
1.5k · May 2012
Feelings
Everyone has something to say, it’s kinda cute.
I wanna say “shut the **** up” but I stay mute.
I live up on 6 stories but ***** you don’t know mine.
What you know about a young dude from the block.
Cause I grew up on borrowed money, had to wait in line.
All these closed doors but I can’t even knock.

And I hear you though, just slandering the name.
Its all the same really, but I don’t play that game.
Over, because I tried to restart but I never begun.
I tried to win but I only know how to lose.
I picked up the pen instead of the rock and the gun.
I picked up that green instead of that *****.

But I listen to all the whispers, and all that hate.
I was born on time but I was a century late.
I don’t belong, im something misunderstood.
Is he a prince, if his dad had no crown.
I was supposed to live in a castle instead of the hood.
I slipped from the clouds and fell all the way down.

Is not all about making money, you heard?
Don’t **** yourself over green, that’s kind of absurd.
But don’t tell me “I know how you feel.”
Cause you never did, never had my back.
This love is treasure that you have to steal.
Im deadly, you can call me a heart attack.

And what is a real man? My dad wasn’t one.
Does that mean I’m not a real son.
So I’m just a *******, because I never knew him.
If I did I don’t remember, its all a mess.
I’m flesh with no soul, a phone with no SIM.
Just a sinner that won’t ever confess.
1.5k · Jul 2012
Frail Tendencies
A workingman with regrets.
A lost coin that no one collects.
Or a lazy boy that one gets.
Im the thing everyone forgets.

Or the thing that people neglect.
My name conjures no respect.
A man no one would elect.

The object of sadness.
What is this madness?

Regrets, neglect, madness.
Sadness forgets.
Respect.
1.4k · Nov 2012
The rains of November
Pretty please pardon,
The world is a garden,
Or maybe a rose.
One for myself, one for my foes.
Beware of the ******.
Those illusions and tricks,
That make a man superstitious.
Greens are delicious,
But greed is just ******.
Left my kin at the border,
And im on the fence.
I haven't prayed since,
The day of my birth.
I love mother earth.
Her welcome embraces,
I look at most faces,
And find no sort of joy.
Im just a boy,
That can't tell what's right,
It seems i just write.
Although no one reads,
i've planted my seeds.
Gave myself a hand,
And where do I stand?
With a chip on my shoulder.
Self-proclaimed soldier.
or literary rebel.
Gryffindor sword held by neville.
The world has been frozen.
Am I the one that's been chosen?
The one that should rise.
Wait, for my demise.
The wits in my brains,
runs through my veins.
Writing stole,
my heart and my soul.
1.4k · Oct 2012
From the Book of Revelations
A gifted kid with a mind that's evil.
So weak, frightened and feeble.
Terrible truths escaping my senses.
Like little lies and false pre-tenses
Or thiefs jumping over fences.
Whats the difference am i coherent?
All i know is that my lyricism is inherent.

I wonder if im a force to be reckoned?
The bull who sees red and is beckoned.
A freaking wreck, what the heck?
I failed a test and broke my neck.
They declined my card and wrote a check.
Im so wrong it hurts to write.
I choose to scribble and never fight.

Whats a writer that isnt great?
Is it luck or is it faith?
What makes a writer worth reading.
Because i have a hunger that needs feeding.
A wallet that's empty and needing.
So please tell me, why im not ready.
Because im not lousy or petty.

Im not handsome, tall or nice.
And i like to drink good whiskey with ice.
I like video games and books.
I write novels because I lack the looks.
A poetic man that loves to cook.
A great catch if you seem to fish.
But im taken now, and I love this dish.

What is school if not just memorizing.
Writing notes without categorizing.
And believing the lies in the media,
like a research paper written from wikipedia.
Kids you're better off with an encyclopedia.
Universities take your money and your smarts.
For a piece of paper not worth two farts.

Oh yes i have my flaws and vices.
Ive had my troubles and crises.
Ive been through things, i wont repeat.
Ive tasted both victory and defeat.
but i have a life I would not delete.
The boy who sees the dark and fears.
A man who wont regret these nineteen years.
1.4k · Feb 2013
A tale of two genders
On the brink of extinction,
the precipice of exaltation.
There is no distinction,
just wicked sensations.
Mere fatal attractions,
that enquire, certain reactions.
Your body a feast,
in a platter so pure.
You could at least,
offer a cure.
Excuse the assumptions,
but don't look so scrumptious.

Toying with emotions,
like dolls made of plastic,
with those ungodly proportions.
Make a believer from an agnostic.
Legs so hard to refuse,
you could be a muse.
For some great addict-painter,
or animated suicidal-writer.
Those lips are a danger,
and those hips a lighter.
Ignite men's hearts on fire,
You pretty little liar.
1.3k · Jun 2012
Not coming home.
Do not go on my wall and ask.
I left because i tired of my mask.
Do not go on my page and berate.
Im just a boy that knew his fate.
Do not write a text to talk.
Im that kid that just went for a walk.
Or that kid that figured it out.
What the **** is life about?
I am the the tree that burned.
The storm that died and turned.
Like falling leaves and broken twigs.
Drinking 40's and smoking cigs.
Sleeping late and working double shifts.
Drinking tea rolling fatty spliffs.
Changing ways like switching shoes.
Dating dimes instead of twos.
Because this town aint the same.
I hail from the old and lame.
The dumb and uneducated.
Alejandro equals underestimated.
know what i mean? im not mean.
Just dealking with **** ive seen.
Im the machine that broke.
Everything went up in smoke.
Like something needing a repair.
Im that lonely kid part of a pair.
I AM the boy that learned and grew.
That got old before he knew.
Or got tired of being young.
Wrote a song before he sung.
Like a bird sitting upon his perch.
Got tired of being judeged by the church.
So dont go on my wall and ask of me.
Im not coming back, cant you see?
1.3k · Dec 2012
The poem of all of us
Human are dreamers.
Sad little believers.
Liars and cheaters.
Hypocrital sinners;
9 am dinners.
Some are born leaders;
Others are readers.
Who prefer well written stories,
And like to bask in their glories.
Failures and goals.
Lovers and foes.
They say life is real.
It's a hard fruit to peel.
Even tougher to swallow.
Humans are callow.
Trusting and tasteless.
Hiding in screens to seem faceless.
Flawed to the bones.
Harder than stones.
But inside we're brittle.
We achieve so little,
And fail so great.
However that's fine,
We forget with white wine.
Or old scottish whiskey.
Life is too short, to not be risky.
Fall if we must, but rise again stronger.
Days won't get longer,
Our years won't be  many.
So spend every penny.
And live every minute.
Don't squander and **** it.
Why leave with regret?
Live in a story no one will forget.
1.3k · May 2015
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.
1.3k · Jan 2013
Broken Branches
I went back and found that tree,
Where we used to,
Waste our time.
The cans and butts,
Stuck in the earth,
As a sort of tribute,
To those who used to chill.
The branches naked,
And the tree was starving.
For our company once more.
For our friends and us.
It's been quite here,
The grass has not changed,
The wind still blows,
But the laughs,
No longer echo,
The conversations,
No longer exist.

I sat there alone,
Remembering things i'd forgot.
And I torched one in you honor.
And I leaned back on the bark,
When I awoke I was alone.
In this open field.
I'm sorry I left you.
The sun rushed,
Into the fray of limbs.
I saw your shadow,
Standing where you once did.
And then you left,
Without goodbyes.
I did the same,
The summer after,
We all stopped caring.

I had to leave,
And find my role.
Friendless and penniless,
I became happy still.
But the tree became a legend.
You became what was,
Actually me trapped in a
Small town.
I've grown a bit.
But never forgot,
The minutes I spent
Under the shade,
Of that tree,
Beyond the river,
Beyond our worries.
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.
#openyoureyes
1.2k · Jul 2012
Long Distance
She said"i hope you love me,
when you leave."
I said "i wont die,
so dont you grieve."
And she stared,
as i walked away.
We  both hoped,
that the other would stay
Just one more second,
one more touch of lips.
A touch of hands,
A handful of hips.
Sooner than later,
we both had frowns
LIFE HAS UPS
but also downs.
Life has tales,
Of joy... despair.
That end lonely
or in pairs.
All this distance,
these frosty nights.
I regret alot,
the midnight fights.
Or a phrase said wrong,
i never thought.
That i could hurt,
that i had fought.
Or that i had,
brought her tears.
Will she remember,
this in years.
Will she always,
love my ways.
Forget my name,
forget my ways.
even though i,
havent been good.
I hope that she,
Wont look back and brood.
Love me not,
for what i seem.
Love me just,
because i dream.
1.2k · Mar 2014
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.
1.2k · Jul 2012
Shooting Down Stars.
I find myself stargazing.
Far from my dreams.
but still i keep chasing.
So far from my goals.
It hurts to know this.
Throw sand at the coals.
There's things i wont reach.
The shore on the coast.
Ocean breeze at the beach.
One time i saw hope.
Dangling above.
Like a corpse on a rope.

I find me self lost.
I never knew why.
life had a cost.
I dont know a thing.
A boy with a thought.
A crown with no king.
Missing his queen.
Always and now.
Ive done what i seen.

I find myself broke.
Not from the wallet.
Let my shirt soak.
From the rain.
That spouts from my ducts.
Making me insane.
I try to figure out earth.
Same after death,
as it was on my birth.
1.2k · Dec 2012
Childish Ambitions
VIdeo games and mountain dew.
What else can he do?
Still a boy who thinks,
And sees his life before he blinks.
He thinks the world to be a sphere,
But what does he fear?
Nothing but life itself.
An unfinished book on a dusty shelf.

Cancer sticks; and coffee sips.
Smoke rising from his frozen lips.
Study hard; if he gets any done.
Hardly ever sees the sun.
Spends his days and his nights,
Aiming at petty sights.
Though it tragically seems,
He might not ever reach his dreams.

HIdes from failure; lusts for words.
Lies sting but truth hurts.
Smoke kills, and life it steals.
And nothing heals,
The wounds of broken wings,
And crippled things.
And he wanders through,
Without a clue.
1.2k · Dec 2014
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.
1.2k · Mar 2016
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.
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,
quit,
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,
because,
just maybe,
by some miracle,
by some sheer force of destiny,
luck,
and preparedness
you might come out victorious,
and then everything will be okay.
1.1k · Aug 2012
Boyish Scribbles
I am not a writer,
no i am not.
A writer is someone
unlike me.
A writer writes because he must.
I write because thats all i know.
1.1k · May 2013
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.
1.1k · Oct 2012
My ode to Prose with Verse.
Who can appreciate the subltle art of prose?
The gentle writings of a humble man unknown?
I remember words could mean a thing or two.
However they have fallen to moving pictures.
Like Romans did when Jesus preached his scriptures.
So much power it tumbled a nation.
They sentenced him,
and they sentence me...

Who can appreciate the subtle art of prose?
No one I suppose.
I used to think alot of things.
Like why i am so scared?
So scared to do what i feel.
Say what im thinking.
But ive always thought too much.
To a point where the time has passed.
The moment has collapsed.

I used to have alot of dreams.
Tossing and turning, the nightmarish creation.
So scared to do what i said.
Do what i promised.
But ive always been a dreamer.
To a point where i did nothing at all.
Just kind of laugh at my fall.

I remember i used to know information.
And tell people things, that mattered.
So scared to speak these truths.
Voice my opinion, as i should all the time.
But ive always been a geek.
To a point where people overlooked my strenghts.
Ive traveled so far, to stop at these lenghts.

I used to have so many emotions.
Now i feel is stress, and this wretched mess.
So scared to express myself completly.
Scream, cry, feel anger and happiness.
But ive always held it in, as a volcanoe does.
To a point where i let it out of my mind.
I kept my eyes open, only to go blind.
1.1k · Jun 2014
Sonder
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,
everyday.
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,
Sonder.
1.1k · Jan 2013
It could have been me
I belonged in the twenties,
In the lost generation,
Taking the *******,
To put up for decoration,
In my flat down in Paris.
Where I could write under the shade,
And hope not to perish.
I could gamble and lose,
Or get drunk just for kicks
And then tie a noose,
To lie under bricks.
Yes it is sad to be a writer,
Even sadder without buyers.
It is never brighter,
If surrounded by liars.
I belonged in 1920.
Where being lost was okay.
But its been many,
Times since those days.
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