I put my trembling

hand in hers

when I was four

and twenty years

now twenty more

are come and gone

and yet my trembling

carries on

for different reasons

though I don't

remember when

those reasons changed

and all I have

is foolish hope

that one day they may

change again ....

don't know where I'm running but I know how to run
'cause running's the thing I've always done
don't know what I'm doing but I know what I've done
I'm a hungry heart, I'm a loaded gun.

Just the
Thought of
Her turneth
Me on;
Now that
Is strong.


©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane dedication
©lonesome poet's poetry

My reality is ephemeral-
I have trouble comprehending
what's actually real anymore.
My thoughts play too into what is in front of me
and I misconstrue almost every instance.
I am capricious and conflicted at all times-
never knowing my wrongs from my rights
never really feeling entitled to what I feel.
So I feel like my feelings are never valid
does that mean my invalidation is invalid?
Conflicted.
Constantly.
So I count the only things I know for sure.

1)  My mother gets headaches, migraines actually. Everyday-
doctors visits followed by phone calls which say "You're fine" but from what I see she is not fine. She drinks her soda and smokes her cigs. Finds her only peace of mind in this piece of mine. Mary is her friend.

2) My Dad gets pains in his hands to where he can't write some days. He loses feelings in them on occasion. He coughs for a half an hour every morning spitting up the mucus that lines his lungs. He drinks coffee and then goes for a cigarette. He drinks his beer and finds solitude in an alcohol content higher than my gpa. I start to wonder what's more important to him.

3) My brother works hard, he's lazy on some days but puts in effort where it really matters. He drinks his makers and tries to drown out whatever he feels the need to. He grows things to remind himself he can. He is a lot like my father.

4) I have a 3.4 gpa currently, I am bipolar type II. Most days I have at least two anxiety attacks, one if I get really lucky. I wake up everyday feeling sick. I have endometriosis. I was molested, twice. I am currently still trying to repair the love that was ripped from me like my heart was being taken to the black market for some pocket change. I drink my coffee, and drown my sorrows in blank pages and bury them into my therapists couch on wednesdays. I never satisfied with the affirmation I receive. I find solitude in dark corners. I am at war with myself..

I would like to turn this around-
flip the script and make something happy out of this.
But reality is not happy-
reality is nothing but perception.
Your reality can be happy
if you turn a blind eye to the destruction
or just appreciation that it breeds creation.
Always question.
Never settle.
Remember the things to which are true.

1) The grass is green, but not everyone sees the same shade.

2) Rain is necessary for growth, but it can also ****.

3) Technology is rapidly advancing faster than we can learn about it.

4) Poetry is the greatest magic trick we can hope to know, seeming one way but appearing another to every single individual who comes across it. Poetry is the biggest con artist and the best therapist. It is lined with metaphors and double entendres, it sits in stanzas and hopes to be read.

This is the end of the poem
and I have trouble feeling okay
with how things have been mapped out for me
aligned by the universe in one shape or form
we are all just shapes and forms
and we're constantly waiting in line-
filling out forms
in hopes of filling our voids
by doing a line of some sort
until our check voids
and the cycle continues.
Maybe that's why I see myself
whenever I look into the washer.
Longing to be washed away-
ring me out, hang me up
I want to feel like I am able to be worn.

God made me loving
So I would love everyone

God made me broken
So I could make sure I never break someone else

God made me hurt
So I could heal others

God made me anxious
So I could learn to trust

God made me motherly
For those who don't have one

God made me uncoordinated
So I would know that balance
Is not always physical

God made me compassionate
So I would know his love for us

God made me faithful
So I would know what it's like to be betrayed

God made me insecure
So I could tell others that no one is perfect

God made me human
Flawed
Broken
Anxious
And uncoordinated that I am

So He could prove to me
That He is stronger than my ups
And
Downs.

Lying with you, in our meadow,
Surrounded by wild flowers,
You playfully trace a finger
Down a skin-splash of sun.
Reaching in, your lips stroke my collarbone,
Making me shiver, even in this heat.
Our laughter trails the breeze,
And we ride this July high,
Lost in each other,
Kissing away all care.
I am bedded here, in flowers,
Opening up for you, like a tender bud,
Dipping, dancing,
Aching to be sipped.