so I noticed that we both drink coffee.
just like anyone, we both like ours a certain way.
i like mine sweeter, with just the aftertaste of coffee there.
caramel, sugar, creamer.
i think about when i’ll have my next cup, and the idea of it alone makes me happy.
i don’t care what time of day i have it, i almost always have a cup.
i make time for my coffee.
it might be safe to say i think you like your coffee black.
you might add just the smallest touch to soften its bitter taste, but never too much.
sometimes i think you just pour it and carry on, as though it’s nothing important at all.
as though all it is, is just some quick fix.
like you just want to get it over with.
we drink it in two different ways.
i drink it slowly.
i note every flavor in every sip, i enjoy it.
i note the warmth it brings me.
i like it all hours of the day.
you drink it quickly.
quicker than me, at least.
you don’t care if it burns your tongue, or perhaps you’re used to the pain.
you accept it.
you never let it last, you move on to something else soon after.
i lay in your bed, watching your eyes as they skim the screen in front of you.
your mind is somewhere else.
i savor the moments you look my way, if even for a second, and smile at me.
i wonder if you even notice them.
i feel your laugh vibrate my bones, making the hair on my arms stand on end.
do i make you feel at all?
i reflect on it every time i drink my coffee.
i think about it with each and every sip, taking my time.
something tells me that you don’t do the same.
after all, it's just coffee.
but i put my all into this coffee.
i think you like your coffee black.

pure white feathers
dropped by a precious angel's wings
i liked to collect them
and put them with my other things
but one day when i rose
there seemed to be another king
for the feathers had turned red
and the angels were held up by strings
thus the world had fallen
the devil himself sings
for purity exists no more
blood tinted feathers satan brings.

i'm not sure
who planted this seed
inside all of our heads
whispering quietly

”stop feeling so much"

who made the assumption
that feelings = weakness?
because those two terms
have never been seamless

to dip into your depths
with no feelings oppressed
takes the kind of courage
most fear cant be fed

weakness evolves
from putting all of
your energy into
building up
the walls
that block
the flow of life
that was meant
to move you
further into the
depths of the you
you didn’t know
you never knew

to feel
and i mean,
to really feeeel
every ounce of this
human experience
comes with a bravery
that most resist

it breaks you apart
shakes you down
uprooting all
that’s been

to guide you
from within

to let this life
overcome you
with whatever
emotions
it may,
while being
proud of it too?

now, that
is strength

that is the
weakness
pouring
out of
you

I tread on faith
and face my maker,unmasked and ruthless
with the sad hat of the mad hatter on
Where is my little apple?
I did not ask to grapple
with griffins and Sphinxes
to win eternal wisdom
I am the poor wretched hag
hard to grasp or fathom
from the nearby village
who had but a slice of bread to devour
Where is my apple?
Somewhere in the depth of a valley
or at the heart of a volcano?
Are my broken wings supposed
to cease fire or fly higher than the sun?
Give me my apple, pampered idol!
And go boast of your majesty.

Spiders.

Snakes.

Late nights, due to the fact that once I saw a possum in our garage when it was dark out.

Good looking people not thinking I'm good looking.

Holding children. I might drop them.

My brothers growing up to be just like me.

Shark attacks.

Jumping off high places.

Headphones that go too deep into my ears.

Going the opposite direction of so many cars. I'm the only one going my way.  They're probably headed the right way. They're probably having more fun.

Realizing that, after being on the road for a while, my high beams have been on the whole time. Sorry.

Cockroaches.

Family reunions where I'm not sure if that really attractive girl is my family or someone's friend.

Climbing up the stairs of the Bombay ride at Wet N' Wild because there just slabs of stone I can see under. I could slip and fall right through.

Enjoying bad bands.

Letting my girlfriend look into my eyes.

Talking on the phone.

Growing up.

Refusing to grow up.

Reading this over if I ever finish it and realizing that I am something less than a regular human being.  Probably an animal of some kind.

Frogs.

Big animals.

Waking up one day as the same person I always have been.

Standing still.

My parents.

Not spending the rest of my life with the girl I swore I would.

Texting people too often.

My parents dying.

Whales.

My teeth being this awful the rest of my life.

Braces.

Making people think they offended me.  People never offend me.

Writing anything that's ever as good as Ernest Hemingway.  How dare I think that I ever could.

Running too hard.  My heart might burst.

Being unreasonable. Am I unreasonable?

Sticking my finger inside an air conditioning vent in a car.  I don't know if there's a fan in there.  I don't know if it'll take my finger off.

Getting people's hopes up.

Letting people down.

Fish.

Bees.

Being a teacher.

My laugh.

Wearing bad clothes.

Holding her hand too hard.  I might cut off circulation.  She might get mad.

My brother disapproving of what I do.

Heaven because it sounds awful doing the same thing for the rest of forever.

Finding out I've been gay this whole time.

Cracking my fingers.

Being a parent.

Whales.

Final exams.

Paranormal Activity 4.

Singing on cue.

Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.

Eating insects.

Whales.

Silence.

The open ocean.

Whales.

Whales.