I speak of heavy weather often.
Pouring rain here, thunder storms there.
But today I fell in love with fog.
A form of precipitation that softens.

It makes bright orange street lamps turn into light warm fires.
Takes the busyness of a road and shrinks its view,
to only whats in front of you.
And it is this, that focusing effect, that fills me with a desire.

Now, I ask the gods for soft weather.

How long until all my laundry smells different?
Do the walls even look the same with me not there?
Send me a postcard of your new stage of life
I want to reminisce on all of our plights

Pulled from a shelf and myself on a lounge,
I sit with the brittle paged book.
Try as I might, my immersion is dashed
From the sounds of dinner cooked.

My will delivers a writ to read,
My mind runs to and fro,
The television demands my attention.
Progress, none will flow.

Instead, I sit with prose,
And write a poem on the fixation.
Five minutes have passed; The T.V. now dull.
Finally, I receive my satiation.

What makes a house a home?


In spring I rember the trees flower blossoms coming in
They were white and smelled of iron
I thought they smelled funny
But now I miss their scent

In summer I remember the sound of our skateboards
Every bump on the ground and our uphill battles
The runners we passed gave us ***** looks
But we laughed because we knew we meant no harm

In fall the house smelled of warm, sweet pumpkins and swirling cinnamon
we would decorate for the spirits and it would lift ours
There were many early mornings and late nights
Video games were in full swing

Winter gave me insight
The snow fell and brought a wise silence
I would trek just to go to the store even though I didn't need anything
I'd meet my friends in fields to play

So, what makes a house a home?
It's our memories
Our smiles
Our love

So, there I was
Caught in your moments
The way your hair swooped to the side by itself
A natural perfection

At work we'd find time for cigarettes
And I would find more reasons to write poetry
In every contortion of your eyes
I day dream about our moments in third person

So, there I was
Struck through the chest with a hot iron arrow
Torn, once again, at a crossroads
Holding my composure so you couldn't catch on

So, there I was
Tucked between the spot where your shoulder and neck meets
Stowed away in your heart when you spoke of art
There I was, all along

How long before the next group leaves?
Are my interests now just a fling?
Do I truly know who I am when no ones around?
Or do I lie to myself to stay on this weak ground?

When was the last time I grabbed my guitar?
The wood that held me together when I fell apart.
Now it feels like  distance away
As if I drove out of town just to give me a break
But forgot my way home and started a new life
In this lonely town that holds all my lonely strifes

On my birthday in 2016 I blacked out. Usually, bad things happen when I blackout. This time was different though, I was a very pure version of myself. How pure could it have been really? I mean, there was viscous alcohol running through my veins. I was always told alcohol wasn't pure; I still believe that.

  On such a night, I can remember the blur of pixie lights hanging outside the rooftop bar. Mixed with tequila, the lights created almost a room of light around me. I remember the girl that put a plastic sword (used for stirring drinks) in my hat. I loved the sword, it must've meant something to me. She must have meant something to me that night, but no longer.

  Thats the strange thing about such small moments. People can mean so much one night, and then be gone in the next. She was on her way to Colorado, Montana, or something the next day. I never saw her again. I'm not sad about it, but it does leave me confused. I'm not one to believe in purpose, but I do have some inkling that its a possibility we cross paths in a biological rainstorm. Maybe our biology determines our chance meetings with the fates.

I didn’t understand the lilac girl you spoke of until I met her
Love wasn’t real, but a fun idea
Like playing house when you’re young

I didn’t understand how a moment could be complete bliss and yet so morose
Until I noticed her understanding of me

But we both had our own worlds.
And so I guess love is still just that,
A fun idea

Things aren't always perfect,
But I wait for a spring day.
With open skies and honey bees
And nothing in the way.

Winter has brought pain,
From many cold, cold nights.
My steering column veers,
From slipping on the ice.

I wait for rain.
I wait for ants.
All things have a balance;
All things have a cadence.

Pick up your guitar boy
Keep that chin up
Your life's not over yet
Its only just begun

I want the lights to be softer
And the noise to be gentle
So many are so strong
And I feel so brittle

Breath into me again
Resuscitate my lungs
I want to feel like I did
Once when I was young

Familiarity comes to me
Lying on its back
It never wants to stay
It said theres something I lack

I can't fall asleep again
Im not sure I want to

Everyone speaks of falling in love
As if its something to strive for
My screen tells me that this is what I want
And the dopamine injection is just to die for

I wanted to try it
And try it I did
I've spent 10 long years living by your skin

I wanted to try it
On myself, in fact
The self-loathing is too strong for me to love I back

Tingle on the tongue
Knives in my lungs
Sorrow
for what I've done

Haze of mind
"All in due time"
Flicker in the wind
Body coaxed by sin

Things get better in the same way a cut heals;
Obvioulsy, with time,
But also with pain.

In pain, we have a gift that keeps everything real;
Grounded in rhyme,
But also with shame.

The blood shows everyone how we feel;
Some say you're fine,
But some step closer to share all the same.