havent been in my mind as much
work has consumed my time
trying to make time for life
someday i want to leave my life
go on a wild journey
do things greater than myself
read on my down time
write to clear my mind
hoping to find what i seek
think of asking the crush out
be friends introduce ourselves to one another
sometimes i love my jobs
other times i want to go home and sleep
seeking thrills new music and sounds
the world doesnt push me back
now that im standing tall fighting
sober living never giving it up
others wont let me live it up
the lone rebel journeys for more
cant settle for less want much more
never had enough barely getting by
learning to survive need to feel alive
its easy to give up and die
try to live a fly away be more than great
give your life to faith and believe
all the darkness drowned by the light
life gets easier to sleep at night
return to what you miss
get back all thats missing make a list
return to once was do it right
return to what you love feeling right
no more feeling like a burden
no more diappointment
only you can make it happen
escape to be you
escape to find yourself

20 words

perfection is found in the wake of your smile,
the full sound in your voice as it breaks.
an instant effect it pours onto me,
the tone of my voice as it shakes.

perfection is painted on butterflies,
spinning wildly down in your core,
caused solely by words I have spoken.
I know that you keep wanting more.

perfection is spoken as earth sleeps,
your love as we still lay alone.
you may seem so painfully far from me,
but I still try to call you my own.

You kiss the same way that I expect a father to kiss his child.
Tenderly, and with such hesitation that always made me wonder
exactly what it was about me, that made you recoil in horror
as I proclaimed my love to you, season after season,
as summer fell into fall,
and fall beckoned winter to kiss at the trees leaves,
and spring lapped at the frost bitten grass and provided
life to the ground in which we spent every Sunday morning
walking upon.

I often asked myself precisely what it was about me that you did not like.
Maybe it was the way I tucked my hair behind my ear,
or didn't even brush or care for my hair at all,
or the way I can never finish a book,
or finish any exams or tests,
or even a piece of writing I proclaim to be 'my best piece yet'.
Or maybe, it was the same thing about me which my father
protested to hate before he left.