Cole Cummings

Cole Cummings Aug 2016

My Hands,

Stretch skyward from my arms

So i can reach the next rung on that old rope ladder

And my feet, dangle in the air,

Just above all of this Earth-matter

I try desperately to reach the top of the treehouse

And onto its dusty plywood planks, rotted throughout

And as my hand reaches further, grasping for the next rung..

Nothing.

Wait, what do I mean nothing? Surely i was creating an intriguing story, luring in to, grab your attention, so why stop now?

Does it matter? The Matter we are made of? Are we made? Are we...real?

Can I really know what that threaded rope feels like as i clutch in my hands

Or can i explain to you in vivid detail how the old oak tree smelled rustic and earthen

Was that all real? Did i make it up? Are we just a figmentation of a collective imagination?

Woah, Too deep.

See, I don’t agree with it.

I define my reality as moments where i question if it is.

For example, The first time I rode my shiny new bike down our old country street, in which i immediately hit a tree.

Or my very first kiss with a girl that wasn’t my mom, its awkwardness and romanticism somehow shown through a dimly lit row of crowded movie theater seats.

Maybe my last hug with my dad, before he passed away, and how i couldn't feel his life when i said goodbye to him the next day.

Moments like these… make me question everything. Whether or not Fate exists and if I remembered to check my breath before leaning in

I think, therefore i am. But it's more than that.

I feel, and i taste and i touch and i am aware.

Aware of the pain of grief, the joy of kindness, the thankfulness of understanding.

I am aware that no one person is the same and that everyone's story is worth telling, that every letter i type is a new permutation or combination that may have never been said before, in a way that has never been told.

I am aware that i can feel infinite while simultaneously feeling infinitesimal, and that my boredom is one of the most fascinating things on this planet.

So even if this isn't real, that my words aren't my own, that all of this, is just… nothing.

I feel unique, and different, and no amount of science will take away the mystery of my spirit.

#life #science #personal

Cole Cummings Aug 2016

Her.

When I see her

All the street lights fade a little

And Her clarity is the only thing i notice

She has this way about her

Like

When she wakes up with bedhead

Grumpy and Confined

I think she is an angel

No a goddess, but not aphrodite

Rather, She is the Athena

Strong willed with temperament

When we are out together

Nothing else matters

Okay well maybe getting there on time and paying attention to the road

But i digress

Her words sing to me as if a siren on a lost beach

And I want to be enveloped in her waves

We go together

Like two awkward and odd looking puzzle pieces,

seemingly different yet when they find each other,

they interlock with the strength of armies

If she was a song

Id play her on repeat for the rest of my life

No matter how annoying it would end up getting

If she was an outfit

She would be my favorite pair of shorts I wear 3 days in a row and wash once a week

Never leaving the Laundry room as i have no pants on

If She was anything

She could be barbed wire and i'd stail want to hold her

A fire and i'd let her burn me out into the ashes, kindling me like our love for eachother

If only

If only she was mine

#romance

Cole Cummings Jul 2016

Skin

I am... White
See I've never had to deal with a single unjust right.
Or be worried about where I was gonna sleep at..night.
I never had to deal with moral issues concerning me
Or be passionate about getting equality.

But that doesn't mean I'm, white?
To stereotype in me in a group paints the darkest light
to say I'm different because of the color of my skin?
I find that a deplorable sin.
I'm more than just, race
I'm more than a rich suburban basket case
I have morals and feelings just like you
And your assumptions are just a tool we all misuse
So please don't tell me I've had it easier because if who I was born as
Because if how far away from the equator I grew up from.
You don't know me.
My story hasn't been told.
Because underneath the skin,
You can find gold.
See all it is is a layer.
Its like the needle on a record player.
It doesn't have much significance
Its like paper, blank but magnificent.
So don't show them your blank pages, but give them your pen
Don't let them write on your skin.

#equality #personal

Cole Cummings Jul 2016

Balances

Light

The concept of good, morally sound and just
A thing we rely on, look to and trust

Dark

An evil shadow, lurking behind
The scary, destructive, inner recesses of one's mind

But one cannot function without the other. For in the brightest of lights we see the darkest shades cast on the ground below

And in the dark we see that faint lantern light, illuminated with its glow.

So can we say that pain cannot live without health? That love cannot exist without hate? Joy without sorrow?

To acknowledge that these ideas are a reality
Would make more sense than dismissing them as fallacies

Cause I believe in order to feel happy you need to have been sad
And in order to feel like you've gained you've had to have lost what you had.

People always ask how I can be so understanding
How I can be so patient, kind and undemanding

And I think it's because I've felt pain myself
I've been in sickness and in health

And its not so hard to realize why
No one likes it when someone cries.

Cole Cummings Mar 2016

Sad Situation

She stood there in some sort of immutable beauty,
Veiled in her guise of despair.
She wept the tears of a fallen angel,
As I gave her a cold, blank stare.
"Over? How can you just say that to me?"
I looked for the right words, desperately clawing at air.
But I lied and just muttered I didn't care.

— The End —