Everywhere I let my eyes wander
All the faces I dare to glance upon
They're all the same

It's all water
Placid as glass
Every detail coagulates
Into one blank page
A diary of lost souls

I feel pulled under
By the cascading heights
Of my insecurities
Constantly wondering;
Does anyone else see this?

If the world is invisible to us all
Where do we aim our eyes:
*To the clouds?

You're too real.
You're too blunt.
What they need to say?
You keep it real.

You direct about things upon  your mind.
Sure it ruffle some folks feathers.
When they want puff conversation.
Which we see in many dating relation.

Least, you keep it real.

You're not into games.
You didn't sign up for that.
And won't waste their time or yours.
With simple chit chat.

When they come to you.
They know the things you want to do.
You just being you.

When you keep it real.

No pretense here.

each string is a dimension
and he's traversing them
fourth, fifth, ninth;
symphonies of light and color
with mathematical precision
that astronauts would envy
but he didn't sign up for space travel
and to touch the earth again would be like
being born a prodigy of mud and sky
you can see it on his face, flashing,
like the shooting stars his fingers so desperately pattern out
across the red wood, the color of home
so from dust he must try to create
a galaxy, when no man is a god

and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ******* with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it

There once was a town in the world.
In this little town, lived a girl.
She barely could write,
But sat up all night.
Carefully carving each word.

The poem she wrote was a dream.
A thought that had grown, it'd seem.
The frailest of strands;
Words woven by hands.
Like droplets of diamond
Downstream.

The morning sun shone on the stairs.
He sat there, his face holding tears.
Her father, and all
That little girl called
Her family, burdened with fears.

She sat down beside the poor man.
Put paper inside his strong hand.
She left him to read,
As if sowing a seed.
And so, the whole healing began.

Her words had a life of their own.
Of wisdom beyond any known.
They spoke of a place
That was floating in space,
Yet it's beings were far from alone.

Why cry when there's laughter?  
Why fight when there's dance?
Why hate when there's family,
Fun and romance?

Her words were so simple, so clean.
Yet painted in colours unseen  
Through verses and lines,
And symbols and signs...
To adults, elders, infants and teens.

It took not religion, it seems.
No army, no guns or machines.
To shape this old world
To the words of a girl
With paper, a pen... and a dream.

Memories crumble to dust
Bricks of remembrance
Thrown angrily from the windows of my eyes
Shattering the glass seven floors up

At the bottom
The feet of those on the first floor
Had to walk on shards of regret
A treacherous, ****** movement
And in the end got no where
But back to the stained carpets
Screaming inside the walls
Of a house
Not a home

The second floor
Tenants fell to their knees
Begging for the first floor
To relax
The commotion was just
Too much too handle
Rattling the weakened, buckled walls

The third floor
They were frightened from the up rise of chaos
Got sick to the stomach
And doubled over in pained retrospect
Because they left their windows open
And swallowed air
Instead of pride

The fourth floor
Was broken beyond repair
Cracked right down the middle
Blood seeped from it's fissured walls
Like an arrow wound to the heart
Those inside sprawled in puddles of conflict

The fifth floor
Was out of bandages
For the fourth floor
They used them for mouth covers
So the sixth floor above couldn't smell
The lies on their breath

The sixth floor
Always did hold a nose in the air
But that couldn't hide them from trouble
They were stuffy, and often full
As though the tears that often ran down the bridges
Were more than the emotional pressures
They could carry at once

The seventh floor
Was tired of everything
Constantly red and with teary eyes
They stared down upon the whole scene
Disgusted with the image presented
So they threw the newest memories out
And watched them crumble to dust
Seven floors down