I wish I was stronger
That my mind would leave me alone
I keep trying
Pushing through all of these walls I've built
I keep trying
To focus on the little things to get me through each day
To focus on the positives in every single day
Why can't I just stop
Stop worrying about how I'm meant to do this because the pain and sadness doesn't stop
I wish I didn't feel so strongly
The emotions I carry weigh me down so intensely
I don't want this to be who I am or how I am
But it's the only way I've ever known how to be
Countless years of trying to brake this cycle just to function
To not feel so alone
To be happy
To be able to feel free of what I escaped from
To stand proud of who I am and that I'm here today

I feel this is going nowhere

And I’m just here for your ego

To know I’m still a fish on the hook

For when you’re ready to eat

You make no efforts of security

Or curiosity, and preached about depth when

You’re standing in the shallow end

I should know your plagiarized speeches

And your fake woke phrases

The grand risings happening are the realizations in my head

That you use your mouth for talking but not giving head

The energy faded as soon as you had your cake

That post-sugar high come down

Spoiling your appetite for something sustainable, savory, and fresh

The only thing you’re craving

Is the sweet taste of flesh

He lived down the street from us,
And came to be known as,
The man whose wife left him.
We speculated and surmised.
None but two knew the reason why
He became
The man whose wife left him.

He stopped cutting the grass
And weeding the beds.
He won’t play his uke
On the porch like he did.
From all accounts,
He was a good Dad,
None ever heard him
Explete a foul word.
He worked till retired,
Never was fired.
I'm told he lived a gentle life;
Never started a fight,
Or ran from strife.
That's what I heard
About the man whose wife left him.
Left to his own devices,
The man whose wife left him,
Left.

Where do society's extremists abide?
Rallies and Racists go side by side.
BBQs offer up well-done bigots;
On Jordan's lap dance the zealots.
Dogmatists rant in wild front rows,
True believers don't put on such shows?
Sexists cower in coastal Compounds,
Sects marry often in Salt Lake towns.
Troglodytes tan beneath southern suns.
Sepratists hold their final stand
On this side of The Rio Grande;
Fanatics occupy far Left and Right,
Partisans Op Eds are meant to enlight.
Mysoginists grab till they have blisters,
Huns and louts date brothers and sisters.
Philistines take our private spaces,
And whistle-blowers can't show their faces.

Of all the ists I know and abhor,
The musicist is a bigoted boor;
A connoisseur I abjure,
Who chooses tunes he insists
Are superior than my interests,
And disses tunes I like best.

So now I'll lay my needle down,
I've turned the table that goes round,
And plead musicists won't hesitate
To enjoy the tunes... don't discriminate.

The Coronation is
A
Royal
Pain
In
The
Cosmopolitan
****;
The crowning achievement
of
Royal Navel Gazing.
Chuck it (them) all.

Sometimes, I think I feel too much, like I crossed into a world of shadows; like there's been some kind of mistake.
Life seems to sharp, to vivid,
too right there in my face.
I feel like a stranger.  It's as if I were on a bus, and out of the tinted windows, things looked vaguely familiar. I pull the string and get off.
It's the wrong stop, it's the wrong world. The bus has disappeared;
there's no way home.  I used to stand on a bridge that a river flowed under. And off in the distance, high atop the ash trees, the eagles were nesting. They were so beautiful and serene.
I can't watch them anymore. It breaks my **** heart to see all the concrete and construction inch closer and closer to the little slice of heaven they found in a piece of nature
that seemed vaguely
familiar.

Every pattern is a cudgel to pain
Every equation rings out your reign

Its on the whispers and tirades of the wind
Its in the ripple of water and crashing waves of the sea

Each sinew tugged at and tortured
Frayed nerves screeching and screaming at me

Begging for the holy oil,
the balm of relief
The anointing of peace

Yet even that hope lies shattered
in the broken pieces of usefulness  

Dis-ease
distorted harmonics resonating agony
where once was perfect and sound cohesion

Each moment now a taught tension
a pugnacious trap for excrutiation

Every device is a loaded trigger for wretched pangs all I want to to do is merely write
Of beauty and hope to soothe

What sabotage for a poet
Whose pain enscription was a grateful muse

I find nothing of comfort
Because, every idea breathes nothing but signals heralding yet more and more pain

Just like the photo of us dancing in the rain
I feel like it might never happen again

Memory is a Pain upon a pain
Mnemonics are the seat of my suffering again

And your mighty reign of anguish
An insanity that devours me

But I will not succumb
I will remain

I will come through this somewhat sane
And you'll be that forgotten memory
I refuse to let inside my brain

The rent will be sky high
And I WILL BE ME AGAIN!

Sometimes we think
that the party
never ends;
that tomorrow
won't come;
but sunrise always
cracks our illusion,
until one day
dawn's sweet light
shines
no more.

She sits in
the truck, quietly
waiting for her
husband.
Spring's broken
promise.
25 degrees.
She thinks about the
robins, and their sweet
song.
She can almost see
the daffodils,
butter yellow.
She thinks of pancakes,
breakfast with the
family,
and all those caged
animals at the zoo,
with their poor,
tired, glazed eyes.

Just like Orpheus,
I descended.
Though,
my digression was
for different
reasons.
Yeah, I tried to
rescue you from
your hell.
Bring you out of
the degradation,
the debauchery.

It smelled like
***** and ****.
The swine squealed.
The harpies shrieked.
And,
I looked
too long.
I became you.

Thank God I escaped.
Fate dragged me
out by the scruff
of my neck.
I will never
visit your
underworld
again.
You've made it
your home.

Electric eyes that try and see,
yet you think you know me,
the truth makes you squirm,
yet in credance you will never learn,

It's the essence of your belief,
hollow pots that are full of grief,
tantric words massage your soul,
shouting words from a fathemless hole.

you think you can take it all,
but a trip always precedes a fall,
there's alway something left to sell,
but no more words left to tell.