I keep reminding myself, that mental illness goes along with greatness. Hemingway. Sylvia Plath. Billie Holiday. Dickens. Melville. These are just a few of the great minds that suffered from a fine madness. Should they have been medicated into mediocrity? Or lived in mediocrity because they were not properly medicated or in proper treatment?
All of these individuals: exceptional human beings.
Note: Do you want to be exceptional? Or exceptionally dead.

there's a place
for those feelings.
those moments

when they take
your
breath
away.

it hurts every
day
and the way
I draw lines
upon your face,

there's a time and place
for all of that too.

for all ive
been through

when they take
your breath
away

you'll be too
busy to
notice.

just focus.

let me absorb all
the pain
and play the game
of refrain.

refrain from all
thought
refrain from all
feeling.

I'll be stealing
every emotion
from your
chest

and I guess
I'll undress
let you see me
for what I am.

can you see me.
for I demand
honesty.

and honestly
can you see me?

flesh and bone
alone
with every sin
in my skin

for when they
take your
breath
away

I'll stay
listen to your
sorrows and worries

don't worry im
in no hurry
to leave.

I'll be soon lost
in your memories
tangled in the past

while im falling
and crawling
to grasp onto
reality

that this is real.

when I steal
an image
from your mind
and unwind
the proof

find truth
when there's
no use
no excuse.

for a mistake
that will
shake and
break this world
to splinters.

these people.
these ******* people.
the ones on the subway
the ones revin'  their engines in their "sweet rides"

they stare
you're so ****** aware
that their eyes
burn a hole in the back of your
neck

it all about self respect
and you spit in the dust
with disgust
theres no hope for a better future
because theres no ****** respect left

it all got lost
in the melting ***
and we've got the whole world at
our finger tips
we've got a voice to spill out like *****

but this voice is beautiful and it comes from the
lips

and im talkin musically
the jives and the riffs
where you let the vibes sound right
and when the beats feelin tight
you sway your hips and you throw your arms in the air

you don't give a ****. you don't care.

these people.
these ****** people.
they stare.

you say some silent prayer to yourself
some **** like
keep those eyes away

see theres a whole lota **** you keep
silent
but you really want to say

i don't know
somethin like: how you use pain to mask pain
and everyday is the same
when the drugs in your veins

so cut it wide open
and let all run red
run run
run red

but wait.

you cant let this **** go straight to your
head

instead silence the thoughts
since they'll label you
crazy

maybe
maybe you're crazy
maybe you're insane
to the point where meds don't do jack
**** to contain-

they just unleashed
the beast

and that little voice in your mind
the one that tell you simple matters
as in "turn left here"
or don't forget to shut the light

is now stabbing at your brain with a
mother ****** knife

they say its alright
they said luvox and prozac, and kolonipin and vyvanse
will fix you
fix you.
get you through

it could.
it would possibly give you a chance.

to be normal

but what the hell is normal?
is normal conforming to society?
is normal facing everyday with a life of
sobriety

it cant be
theres no such thing as normalcy

theres no such thing as peace
or self expression
or that release
when you know that you've got it all at your fingertips

and then it splits-
it tears and rips
this world is cut wide open man
because of the people.
the ****** people.

as they try to decide
who you are,

and you laugh
because the fronts, the facades,
to cover up lies

the makeup or drugs
or those clothes
are just a disguise

and when you're weakened and worn
and no one will realize
how badly you've been tattered and torn
they don't give a ****. they don't even care.

because these people,
these ******* people.
will stare

stare into space
stare right through you
stare into an abyss
stare straight into nothing
into nowhere.

you know its not right
you know its not fair
but what do you know?

you're just one of them too.
you cant deny it
or hide it

we haven't evolved
were still monkeys and apes
running wild...

see were still running wild...
just on a monotonous and mild
frontier

its the people.
the ******* people who stare.
trying to figure you out.

size you up

but they always happen to
catch you
when you're stuck in the rut

when you look like ****
when you're in a manic state
throwin a rant or a fit
and hey thats great..

but they always scope you out-
i didn't brush my teeth today
just stuck a piece of gum
in my ******* mouth

its those days
those people.

when you want to scream and shout
those ******* people who size you up in a
  minute.

but if they'd just lived it.
man if they'd just been in it.
and experienced the *******.

the people
those ******* people

who have used and abused
this world and this land

we stand and demand
peace and freedom
an some say
**** it

we don't need em'

but some recite it like the bible or the koran
raise their palms to some higher power
and some fight it

because these people need to
wake the **** up
stop starring
and get a grip.

these ****** people
need to understand this:

the whole worlds at their fingertips.

I am color blind-
to reds greens and blues
curious of what colors
appear in your dreams or visions too

I question the
spectrums of
your perceptions

in the midst of the
differentiations in
our walks of life,
thoughts and insights

there are many shades
of black and white

so how can you
possibly see with
those eyes
shut tight

as if lids were pressed,
superimposed
with eyes blurred
or closed

when you say my blue
is not your blue,
I ask why they
cannot be both.

No Inspiration

"Throw me a word. Any word. I need some inspiration."
"Bleeding strawberries."
I thanked them.
it was nothing earth shattering, mind blowing, or beautiful.
I wanted to ask for a another word.
I wanted a second toss at this word scrabble.
I didn't ask.
so I just used it.

I needed inspiration.

Bleeding made me think of crimson. and crimson made me think of colors.
colors made me think of pain.
strawberries made me think of The Beatles.
Strawberry Fields.
strawberry fields forever.

'let me take you down…'

I thought of endless fields back home. before I
moved to New York.
endless prairie's
fragments of sunlight
colored the masses of moving, breathing grass
my fingertips traced them
I climbed the tall tree
the tree in which I had laughed in.
cried in.
carved my name in.
the tree felt my presence
and remembered me by name.
I asked the tree if I was living was alright.
the tree responded.

The thought of home made me feel empty. so I purged the thought of it from my mind.

I focused in again on inspiration. I needed inspiration. though I had none.

A girl in the next room is playing the piano.
the piano is out of tune.
I wonder why she is playing.
maybe she needs to hear some sound
I need to hear words of inspiration
I begin a train of thought.
the piano is so out of tune.

I lose my inspiration.

I was alone in a room full of people. who threw me words of no inspiration.
colorless words.
that led to nothing inspiring.
bleeding strawberries
had made me think of color,
and The Beatles.
which had me think of music
or the place I had once called home
a piano player lost me
all to which led nowhere.

'Nowhere man, don't worry,
Take your time, don't hurry
Leave it all till somebody else
Lends you a hand'
  
Nothing inspired me.
no one inspired me.
I searched for inspiration.
yet found none.
I asked for inspiration.
I was thrown unusual words
which produced no inspiration

So I wrote completely uninspired.
with meaningless words
with deep feelings of homesickness
with the music of The Beatles
with an untuned piano.

All without an ounce of inspiration.

I've lost me.
lost that creativity
word savvy
bein able to write poetry

I've lost me.
my solitude is
so sweet more so
much more
than that cancer filling

my lungs from every cigarette
**** that just another habit
swallowed down the rabbit hole
entirely whole

I've lost me.
I got about a dollar in change
my wallets empty
I have no job or friends

no one to turn to
it burns through my heart
this beating drum
need some Xanax or a ******

not even running on
adrenaline just soaking up
the sun till it's
like a game:

who can burn the most
who can turn my stomach the most
who can learn from every lesson the most.

who can. who can, who can find me. for I've seemed to have

lost me.

I. birth
today is our birthday
today we are born again
taking our first breath, taking our first steps, appreciating life again

crawling towards walking
talking to the world be heard,
be spoken
with every word it serves a purpose.
you serve a purpose on the surface on the earth.

II. death
today is our parting day
today we are parting ways
time is precious
it's the last step, last chance to
repent for sin and regret till closed eyes, at last we accept

turning of the tides
crossing over to the other side
the current subsides
last breath
the sun sets till sunrise

will bring us fill circle
to rebirth
reincarnation
hope for afterlife and salvation

traces of what impression you will leave behind, sit back
relax enjoy the ride

awaken to the life side
sleep soundly to the death side.

you've left a footprint
in my mind.
/
you've left behind
the traces of the past
the memories
and a concave
wave
/
leaving curvatures
creating
those permanent
steps
across the
expanse of
my brain
/
upon the
landscaped
planes
valleyed
peaks
/
and the blood
vessel'd tributaries
/
I felt you flowing
in my veins-
within me
/
without me
inside upstream
outside downstream.
/
the currents quiet. the tides subside.
/
you've left a footprint,
in my mind.

/
I think you'd be
impressed
with the old
pieces
Ive kept
/
it’s a residual
effect. this left
consistent motion.
similar to erosion
/
changing, rearranging-
kind of like continental
drift.
but sometimes
there wasn’t any motion
just slow motion
/
but some emotions
picked up on all
four seasons
/
breathing an air of cold winter.
once sinister,
brought pure laughter.
the sun luminescent mirroring my skin
came spring and summer
/
I spread
em’ wings
-to be the bird
I’d always wanted to be
  /
peaceful.
unleashed.
free.
  /
riding the air.
it's the best
feeling-
being alive
to be redefined, unconfined.
/
you've left a footprint
in my mind
/
I was too blind and
  I’ll never
forget this
  /
I just
  felt the need
to disappear with
no dusted prints behind
though...
/
and so I crept out
the back
door slow.
/
because it didn't
feel like those
“traditional” goodbyes.
  /
wasn't chiseled in stone.
engraved in bone.
/
no handshake
no promise
we didn’t see-
eye to eye.
/
kind of equally analogous
to the sun rising
into the earth
/
  chaos turned
  to clarity.
-I left.
but I strived with
/
cold sweat,
with every stride
with every step
/
and the regret I carry
is something
I will never forget.
/
I was climbin’
to the top of
Mt. Everest.
/
except without you,
I fell off the grid.
it was all
plate tectonics
/
my world is
spinning off its axis.
and I haven't been
the same
since.
/
but it gives me a
hopeful glimpse-
when I'm lookin up
at those stars
  /
feels like bright day
in the middle of
night.
/
I’d like to
think you’re
lookin’ at the
  same stars
  /
wherever you
might be.
I hope you’re looking at
that same sky.
/
you've left
behind a
                       footprint
                              
   forever
in my mind.

mentally ILL

yo I'm ill
I am
sick
with
it

it's blooming in my
brain
I
hate
it

**** the system
its failed me
**** the medications
now I'm a zombie

lethargy
symptomatic of
too many labels
of mental illness

depressed and thick
lines drawn on my wrist
a testament to living in
and through the *******

but man I
fight it

yo I'm ill.
I am
sick
with
this.

from day
one
it was spoon feed
ME

and from then on
it was bite the hand
that feeds thee

feed me
fear
eat me
taste the blood
sweat and tears

a hearty meal
of violence

from the silent weeping
when no one
will fill the cup
of silence
for the thirsty

to the unsharpened
outspoken fork and knife
a voice calling
fill my stomach and
serve me

a three course meal
for the needy
pleasing but still
hungry and demanding

hand em
the entire platter
cause it don't matter
a second helping isn't
enough

the server
the waiter
or the waiting
on unsatisfied beings

feed me
something easy
to digest so
I can't rest easy

seizing the cook
the butcher
or the maid

mouths watering
for the after taste.

love poems?
they ****.
**** love songs,
and love notes

you pulled my heart
strings and it's all
that it took to make
me; that
"old soul"
somethin brand new

but did you know
I never wrote love
poems about you
I never wrote **** for
you because it pained
and the hurt was so raw and real

it made me feel like I wanted to
crawl out of my own flesh
I regret even kissing you
tracing my fingers upon
the surface of your skin

it sickens me
the hours the clock
spent ticking for you
**** it. I hate you
and I'm glad I never wrote for you.

but now I'm love sick
cause I'm sick of love
and the tears don't just run
they don't stop
I can't turn myself off like a faucet

**** this. I wish I'd forgotten all of it
because I'm a poet
and I wrote for me.
maybe out of selflessness no- just selfishly.
****. and if I could
I would.

the things I'd do
now.
just to
write for you.

if it was what it wasn't 
I would be making millions
try and build myself a kingdom
every dollar bill I'll spend to make it
so overly extravagant

but it is what it is
and up to my neck in bills
quickly dodging overdrafts and bad credit
want to invest in more than assets but
in common sense cause
I'm over exhausted and overspent

if it was what it wasn't
I'd never shed a tear in my life
let me make it clear I spent too much time
drying eyes
and the pain will subside makin me feel alive

but it is what it is
and I'm finding myself drowning
eyes blurred like vision impossible
no one to quiet the cries
and I'm prayin for peace
while salt water broken dreams and saline
roll down my cheeks

if it was what it wasn't
I would let things be
maybe accept what happened to me
how things can be unfair
except all we've got is reality

now that's a scary
statement...
not because of reality
but because of the word, "we"
the weight of this responsibility
is placed upon everyone

since it is what it is
immediately erasing poverty
political war fair, corruption, homes that are forclosin, destruction, deforestation, genocide, ****, famine, inequality, racism, the loss of the definition associated with that of being a human...

the inability to accept this is all
happening and that weight is too great
we wait and wait
we toil in turmoil and hate
that displaced our anger
released clenched fists

it is what it is
because if was what it wasn't
I would be a higher power
like I don't know; God, the dahli lama, Buddha or Allah

I wouldn't need to solve problems,
would already have all the answers

I was sitting on the ledge
that borders the outside of drumlin hall
and what if I just leaned back
what if I just leaned far enough
to
f a l l

would someone catch me
and I always think about this stuff

like today when I was driving to class
I thought why not just swerve the wheel left and gun it into the iced over lake
instead I kept 55
still alive in the right lane
still have a chest heavy full of pain

because I have a time frame
and stupid obligations like class and a degree
and the pursuit of making a life for me

head towards taconic hall
with grateful deads "ripple"
blasting through my headphones
droning out the noise and bustle
of all these people

in psych203
my ink pen runs out during the exam
so I shake it hoping it will write more
about the paradigm shift
and collaborative efforts.

I rack my brain for answers but
all I can think about is getting a different writing instrument

so my essay is half black and half white impression on the page
the product:
an interracial answer

head to Hudson hall for coffee
might save the life of me,
but instead I see that group of guys
who spew cat calls and looks of googly eyes sizing me up and down

veer left instead of right
to avoid shameful clowns

outside my breath makes
mist
outside my skin makes
for an unworthy protection against
the cold

so I hold ground
what would be up without coming down

say bottoms up
say stay ****** up
say upside down
say what comes around goes around

because as I tread on, some other girl
in knee high suede
is swamped by those kids.

it's a true testament in
pride for that New York everything
walk fast talk fast
pride in New York everything

fast pace
lights never dying
city never sleeps
the sun is dawning
city's still crawling

it's cause New York is everything
business thriving
heart of the music
heart is beating
it's jiving

and that old school
blunt riding
pride in New York everything
upstate

down the Hudson river
misunderstood
gun slinger
and vendettas

ghettos and the wealthy
fifth avenue and tall buildings
pride for that New York everything...

he's got himself
trapped inside a box
and locked away
with thoughts

can't concentrate
on trying to
escape that box

chained with shackles and
locks he don't really
walk the talk
with his mouth sewn up
and his mind inside that box

he's boxed away
and taped
it shut

but please just don't
box away
everything you got...

cause some boxes were placed
inside other boxes
to hide those
real internal conflicts

he wrapped it up and cut
ribbons
to make em
pretty

except the boxes
inside boxes
were concealed already

the box is packed
his hands are steady
his head is ready

but the box is so dark
he stares off blindly

the box was sealed
since sealing the box
it manifested itself
into its own paradox

he's enclosed
in a life that will
not pass
time that
won't turn clocks

like gears broken
years in fear left
unsaid and unspoken

so now he's lost with
an untamed
soul inside
that locked box.

she dreads conversation
because her tongue is tied
the judgement is so harsh
and she is caught up in cries

she dreads the truth yet begs for
honesty
but honestly...
what a mess
she's depressed

tangled up in her own
reality
so easily drifting
throughout life aimlessly

as if she brushes off every
apology
since they never meant it
anyways

she dreads coming home
to an empty house
she speaks out loud
the walls echo in response

a frayed representation
for the people
who come
and those who go

the people who she
once held onto

she dreads the strands
that she must pull apart
they tear and they shred
threads which had made up
her heart

she dreads the
future tendrils
regrets past curls
till her waves are tied

she dreads
because she's knotted up
inside

I wear your shoes
just to see what these soles
have tread upon

I put myself in your
worn leather just to see
from your perspective

Truth is- I'm not so
sure I like it...

The forward motions
going nowhere- is like stepping
in quicksand

I try and stand tall, but I'm
drowning and feeling small in
your shoes.

And I could have chosen
to have never laced up
these boots

But then again,
I would have never gained such
perspective of the neglected

So I unlace them.
place them on your shoe rack
and wear my own dusted boots
for the lack of love or light or
just coming home to us

to me at night.

I have my own shoes to fill now
and you can choose to wear mine
and see what I see

Or continue on in your shoes-
perspective distorted
to stumble on blindly.

he said he ain't one
for talkin back
that means no
back talk

words traveled up her throat
so as to choke
on any latter thoughts

"hush," he spoke
in a deep calm demeanor
he said, "don't tell nobody either."
in turn this gave her
verbal blunt force trauma

cozy sweater with the threads hangin loose
like she try n' talk about it
except sometimes the hangin noose
sounds much better

back to heaven, hell, or whatever
have no planned attacks
which means there will be no
talk back

she listens closely
repressing them memories
internally compressing the pain, all day
a damaged brain; a broken psyche

it's likely she will never be the same
it's sittin in the pit of her stomach
it drops since she lost her nothingness forever
all bets are off

which means there won't be no back talk

just pop
another Xanax

right behind
his back

he doesn't
like the
way

they make
me act,

he doesn't understand
the anxiety
attacks
flashbacks,

or
lack of
the feeling
of security

it seems to
me theres
no safety

doesn't matter
how you
hold it
turn it sideways
or mold it

there's no way
to control
it

I finally
saved up
enough trust

but told
me they
were completely
sold out of it

and every time
I try to build
repair
and believe

somehow the
foundation just
rots like wood
and crumbles like
stone

I'm so alone
I need relief

reflect on
myself
just help...

underneath my
sleeves
I hide
my scars

- I wear them
and some have
faded

some remain
like I'll never be
able to erase them

a daily
reminder
of the loathing
and perpetual self hatred

and they say
I'll make it.
but I see how
it's wearing them down
so I'm just going to fake it

till my smile breaks it
just wishing they would
understand all of this...

Believe me

I don't want to get deep.

I only want to

keep my head above water.

so they were blind
then given two eyes to see
they struggled no longer
their vision now free

uncovered from darkness
they fed off of light
consumed and devoured each thing in plain sight
what had once intrigued their naked minds
was disposed from their thoughts and tightly confined

vivid colors
of burnt orange, a sea of deep green
were now just lost in an empty dream
what they saw was not radiant
not the slightest bit fair
they looked past the beauty
their world was now bare

feeling exposed
and voracious for more
the ones given two eyes
opened a door
inside of this portal
was a world dimly lit
they fell suddenly into a darkened abyss

light started to fade
they collapsed in despair
the ones given two eyes
no longer saw what was there
a shroud of darkness covered their eyes
blankets of sorrow embedded with cries...

open your mind to what is plainly sight
absorb the world and take in the light
do not let the universe pass you by
allow it to enter
and open your third eye

wake the **** up
as if apathy is
more than half of me
casually this takes lives

and I'm another common casuality
"the poor me" type of tragedy

no you're sleeping
yeah you wish you were just dreamin
sittin on cloud 9
passin time with time

I'm trying to find the type of
"showin up for life"
kind of mentality
I want to exchange these flames for a halo

no you're not sleeping
wake the **** up
yeah you wish you were dreamin
I'm running out of patience
wake the **** up

next year I might be 23
not much to show for all of it
dually noted- I want to make a difference
so I'll have no regrets when I'm lying
on that bed losing consciousness and dyin

but I'm alive now right?
I must have meaning
but feels like
where ever I am
sunshine or snow

all the seasons go
I guess I was in it
- into some *******, for all the
wrong reasons

it's always the reasons
and reasons
are just masked excuses
I don't understand your language
HUH?

speak the **** up
and stop it
get the **** up
stop drowning is self doubt
just stop it
pick yourself the **** up
stop this

no you're not sleeping
wake the **** up
yeah you wish you were dreamin
I'm running out of patience
wake the **** up