You’re the kind of girl
That makes heaven regret
Ever letting you go
It was the biggest mistake
Since She took a bite of the fruit

You’re the kind of girl
To make honorable men better
And scoundrels too
You’re one of the angles God personally knows
He sent you to save the world
From hopelessness and
Lack-luster dreams

You’re the kind of girl
Makes an optimist a realist
Because you’re really here
It’s not just hope in his heart

You’re the kind of girl*
Movies are made of,
Flowers are bought for,
And lives are lived

Do you know what homesick feels like?
It feels like pain of heartbreak or guilt or depression. I want to cry everytime I think of my home back in Hawaii.

Do you know what it's like to have no one who understands you? No one that is like you in any common way? I miss home so bad. I miss my friends so bad. It gets even better knowing they don't give a crap that I left.

I hate my life.
I hate El Paso.
I hate my new friends.
I hate my school and my house.
I hate everything.

I wish someone would talk to me about it.
I can't stand keeping this locked up.
It's tearing me inside out.
I don't even think this counts as a poem....

I know,
I have been fading,
I'll be back soon,
when I'm better.

The pain,
of living is harder,
when you don't want,
to live anymore.

I can't keep heading down the path,
I'm heading down,
I'm fading fast.
I can only fall to my knees so many times,
before it's too late,
and I run out of time.

Please help me walk,
keep me standing.
Don't let me fall,
I need a savior.

The burden I carry,
is weighing down on me.
I can't keep traveling,
with this weight on my back.

I'll pull myself to my feet,
only to fall again,
in defeat.
And I will not hesitate,
to stand again,
to fight once more,
to make a stand.

So help me now,
before it's too late.
Before I fall and can't get up,
and seal my own fate.

Whisk me away
Leave behind
The twisted thoughts
Of fear
We'll escape
To the land
Of sweet redemption
Be freed from the chains
That viciously hold us down
Nightmares impossible
For we're anywhere
But in the depths of evil
Together
We will prevail
Hope is not yet lost.

Things are things and
Verbs are verbs
When you hear chirps
It’s probably birds

Feet go in shoes
And shoes on the floor
Music echoes in ears
Leaving you wanting some more

A heart is a heart
Until it’s beats aren’t for you
Love isn't love
Until you share it with two

Then comes the end
As all good things must
Settle on the shelf
And gather life’s dust

"Too late" is a lie
So get back on your way
Start life over
If you can, start it today

A lot of people ask me why I pray so much
They say, “I see you with your arms folded
Rather often.”
It takes me a minute to realize that
I’ve just been holding myself for so long
My own hugs are the only embraces
Keeping my emotions on the inside

When I do pray to God I’m not self-embraced
Reaching into the air, my arms look
Like I kicked the game winning field goal in the Super Bowl
I ask a lot of “why’s” and “how’s”
I beg a lot of “please Lord, please”
Courage to endure comes on my knees

Life is the greatest struggle of all
Struggles are journeys that aren’t always pleasant
My self-embraces keep me together
God’s strength moves me forward
So raise your arms and kick
Your game winner

Fifteen years ago I melted
mini Lego faces with sunlight and a magnifier, only
to test peering into their minds.

Ten years ago I traced the textures on my walls
with black pen, and found images of ***.
I slept beneath women taking
the deepest breaths through mouths like ghosts.

Five years ago I asserted that the eye
is a portal through which we
believe madness.

Yesterday I realized the human mind is
a sparsely written program that generates
feelings and functions less efficiently
than a melody hummed into a paper cup.
So I re-wrote it.

Yet, I still find faces
where there are no faces.

It's not everything; to sit and watch the world
shift between abstractions is like sleep.
Life's not love.
Life's not wisdom.
Life's not nature.
Life's not anything
but a blue-brown paper bag to carry your thoughts
because there is no where else to put them.

I wouldn't say ironic. We aren't really trying to discover
secrets. It's not about that.
You can sit in swamp musk and find it
after realizing the world is not so disgusting,
but that we are.

It's about coping with yourself
and all of your ****;
biting ankles;
sewing shoes together;
selling the ridiculously semi-sentimental trinkets
your parents gave you and making some cash;
buying hookers;
taking them to the park with your dog;
watching your dog find happiness
and knowing you'll always just be
almost there.