you're the one who wanted the sale
yet you anguish over axles and hands
today or tomorrow or never bother and borrow
exhale frustration and stale anger for patience
may compassion expand despite demand

ashes on a dresser's top
a candle lit for one
a deck of suns and split are some
stopped in small hands lost

a single boy fell to the floor
the messenger brings news
for few is it a story through
for most worn cards are torn

mindfulness on nature's needles
see the sky's brightness turned to max over hand prints
planned trips of impromptu gladness exceeds all
of every expectations, I breathe tall
I feel small, but content
the world's beauty just will never relent

it is my perception that ebbs and flows
my imperfections that make me glow
and my intentions that seem to go
in all directions connected expressions
I feel the calm of love and acception
within is lifted, the self-oppression
I'm blissed out this yoga session

the hands have turned in several circles
and here I am at last
my head between the leveled curtains
behind me, left for past

the future veiled by pleats drawn
undone a twisted cord from imagination
I see a lonely boy growing old
in cubicles and grocery stores
condemnation of pc screens
drifted words become
the only voice stony cold
I see a lonely girl growing old
in tiny houses with empty rooms
and a stuffed closet with nothing used
whipped stirred and done
the bony choice joking folds
a lonely person growing old

tears will well, in weeping fell
but clear eyes see fear lies
because of course beyond the curtains
nothing's forced and nothing's certain
thus all could be reality
it's mostly knowing keeping bold
just wait and see what's next for me
I won't be lonely growing old

we established rules what you think you doin
thought we had a deal man
why you go and ***** it
once upon a time
we had a good thing
but bro you makin sad decisions
it's completely maddening
I was havin lots of fun
and it seemed like you were too
but then ya just had to
go and break the rules
that really made me mad and now youre gonna feel my wrath
cause that's just how it goes when you biff it bad in minecraft

seventy percent is needles in my head, bed sheets clean but not made yet
seventy percent is baby park pride, neighborhood rummage sales and mountain bike rides
seventy percent is school computer games, new DS names, broken back maimed
seventy percent is everything I did today except for homework
why'd you have to make it seventy percent
if it were less then maybe I would put forth
but it just feels impossible and efforts will be worthless
seventy percent is something bound to fail
seventy percent of my grade 'bout to derail

three hours later at the nine and followed forty
(where did you go from the four)
slandered rocks he left on bricks before a bus of bad memories came to knock me down
straight into the ground I thought it might just drive me to the mantle
molten rock to cool my temper after living below finger pads and being trampled
how could I have run when simply stunned I nearly tripped
over my own tongue
I need to close my mouth
but here I am too kind too cruel to ever say a word but to never stop a sentence what kind of speech is my own
I've never heard it real so to speak you see at least thats how it feels

ask me again tomorrow and I'll say I've felt it true and that I know myself exactly who
and yet
across the bench is you

I'm tired I'm drained I'll completely explain
why I do not like you--
if only you'd sign this form of consent to never sue me over words I may have maybe said
except those are never read just signed in blinded ink instead
so really what's the use just take the helmet off my head
(don't be silly, as if I ever had it really)

he's got his heart on his shoulder but I'm not sure
if there's another in his throat
another one to dread
I hope to find proof yet hope's all I can do
for better or for worse or left for simply dead
I cannot seem to tell good liars what's the truth

Very distracting kind of abstract
Cardboard laundry hamper box filled with soiled time
Wash your clocks and clean its hands
Lord knows how often seconds wipe smiles from faces
How unsanitary, which I can't stand
But yet, the crumples of crinkled sheets cast aside
Though should reside in washer's spinning bowl
In actuality slumps glumly on my floor truly self extolled
How will I ever do on my own, after leaving from home
I'll be alone and hungry and ******, nothing but skin and bone
Anyway
It's time I just get those sheets washed

I don't mean to harbor such hate
it's not like me to do so
I so strongly believe in giving repreive
for all I do and don't know

I'm sorry to be so jaded
it's just tough to live under this roof
my space is always invaded
I feel always under scrutiny
on the edge of mutiny
or at least just moving out
(quietly, of course)
or so intended though contended
by your natural ways
to make a show of something soft
my reasoning has made
the need to know of why I'm off
you'll never get the answer that you wish for
as I whisper
something not the truth

my head's a hollow jar
made of fragile glass
careful not to break
into a hundred shards

my eyes are made of cork
but very poorly so
as everything leaks out
puddles on the floor

it's four in the morning
go back to bed
dreams soaring but
don't spend so much time inside your head
it's time for work instead
Easter Sunday

homework on the dining table
laptop and a pen
don't tell me I don't fit my label
wasn't kidding when I said
this is not pretend
Easter Sunday

six years without wheels can lead
to isolation caged frustration stuck inside a cell
inside the bottom of a well
understand me
I wish I had a bike
but really I just wanna love my family
wish that they were people that I liked
they love me and deserve it back
but I just can't requite like that
in tears upon linoleum
I'm loveless in the bathroom
Easter Sunday

potted paints in tins
glass water bottled dipped with brush's tip
crouched at a baby table back hurting knees hurting hand hurting head hurting
this is art
watercolored spit is this enough for you
of course not

another cake but without cream
my tooth lethal leveled sweet
didn't even read
fine print in the footer
of birth certificate
"may contain mentally sick"
I'll die of too much sugar
if not first by bullet to the head or any particular sharp edge
this house takes anger and consumes it straight
presumes hate
don't touch me
I don't feel safe with my roommates

to the store in the wind under clouds over wheels times two
I liked her hair; it was like mine
but no, I hadn't seen a chocolate lab
whipping cream sixty percent done stirred in sugar needs more sugar
needs more sweet
vanilla extract
extract joy then with snapped yells coursing in the veins of home
home... not really, just some walls, my heart isn't here
black pearls on fingers and necks and minds and upon my life
VPN poetry under cold sheets on a twin mattress
prayer beads of black pearls on the shelf
if it didn't take two hands to type
those pearls would be somewhere else