The Future;
   The Past...

They're
The
  Only
things
      We
Cannot
**Control

i'm too human
for anyone to love.

You asked me to write
a poem that killed
all the parts of you
that make you love yourself less.
But darling, I don't
know if anyone's told you:
The things that make you
afraid to show yourself
make me love you
all the more.
And you may talk
about how much you hate
the bumps and ridges
splashed across your skin,
but you also talk
about how much you love
the mountains in Colorado.
Do you think that the earth
has ever cared
that it has drier parts
or areas with a little more texture?
Do you think that Nature
ever wanted to cover up
the parts of her that weren't perfectly smooth?
If the water stayed still,
and never rose or fell
the oceans wouldnt be quite so breathtaking
because waves would never crash.
And you might think you're covered in tsunamis,
disaster zones left in the debris of your disease,
but don't ever tell me
that a home in that aftermath
isn't still a home.
Because with or without the water damage,
the part that makes it important
is the things on the inside—
and no, I'm not referring
to things in a home anymore.
Now I mean your heart,
now I mean your passions and your past
and ever single word
written in the story of you.
So darling, you might tell me
that you hate the bumps on your skin,
but there is something amazing
spelled out in Braille
written on just the outside cover
of one of the greatest stories I will ever know.
The thing about Braille like yours is that
it can open the eyes of a blind man
without even needing any magic.
And the thing about book covers is
that you'll never really know
how much you love a book
based on the words on the outsides of it.
But darling.
I need you know know
I've read you cover to cover
and I absolutely think
your story is one of the most beautiful ones I know.
With or without the tsunamis or Braille.

alright kid, listen up. They’ve been calling you ****** for too long. Ignoring your humanity for too long. The first thing you need to do is study up on your state’s gun laws. Waiting period? Hand guns? Age restrictions? You might be from the south - in which case you are in luck. A neighbor will have a rifle or shotgun, probably not locked away too well either. If you still can’t get your hands on a piece there is always the gun show loophole. Everything is legal if you buy it at a gun show. Now you’ve got your hands on a weapon you’re going to need some ammo. How mad are you? Remember to account for human error. Now you need to work on concealment. They’ll see the weird little *** with a cop killer from a mile away. Trench coats don’t work. Who the hell wears trench coats nowadays, you’ve gotta think. The night before you should sketch out a birds eye floor plan of the school. Mark the exits and choke points. You’ve seen 300 right? Make sure to leave a copy of your manifesto for a perfect utopia on your bedside and eat a good dinner. Get your eight hours. Tomorrow is the big day. Getting shot only hurts for the seconds it takes you to hit the ground.

The school yard was quiet. First period slowly meandering along. Outside the sky is grey and the birds perch atop telephone lines in judgement. It goes Bang, Bang, and Bang then silence. Then screaming. Ears ringing and sweat dripping.

This just in. A shooting at could’ve been you high school has left thirteen dead and six injured. Let’s shove the camera in their face and ask them to relive how awful it all was. That’ll get ratings for sure. The shooter was sixteen year old could be the weird kid in your neighborhood. He got a gun from insert political belief here and brought it to school that morning. He opened fire in the middle of shut up and listen class. Now we are going to show you every page of his crazed manifesto on repeat for the rest of day. You can also find it online on our website or on Amazon.

Death came quicker than he thought it would. Suicide by a police officer is honestly very efficient. with each bullet unloaded on him it was like slipping into a dream. No more eating lunch alone with his crippling social anxiety. No more name calling. No more absentee parents. No more PE classes getting hammered in touch football. No more loneliness or anonymity. At least now they would all remember his name. The feeling of getting punched in the chest and the taste of iron on his lips were his best memory to date. Darkness now.

We make monsters
and don’t go to their funerals
everybody living with survivors guilt
I was never mean to him
who saw that coming?
everybody wants love
but nobody wants to give it
so instead we capitalize on tragedy
and lament our own foolish ways
too little way too ******* late

people operate under the wild belief that
survivors are strong by nature
strong is a weak word
adaptable is better
The meek shall inherit the earth
the strong will die trying to save it
Me? I’m a survivor
an actor master of disguise
playing the part of a self-righteous anti-hero
but when the bombs start falling
you aren’t coming in my bomb shelter
hell no
and when the mobs are chasing us
I’m tripping you for a few more precious seconds
too stubborn to die quite yet
but don’t worry
when the dust has settled
and the cults have left their caves
to repopulate this rock
I’ll tell the story of your heroic sacrifice