Jordan gave me rose quartz prayer beads. Freddy picked me up and spun me around.

I kissed the beads and kissed my hand and blew it to the stars, over and over again.
Thank you universe, for the kind hearted people you have dropped into my existence.
Thank you universe, for the good music, the good ****, good wine, and good company.
Thank you, for the smiles, the laughs, the cigarettes, the numbers given out on backs of receipts.
Thank you for the swing sets, the campfires, the coffee and tea, the cars we drive around in.
Thank you for emotions.
Thank you for the feeling I get when someone kisses my forehead,
the feeling when someone compliments my smile,
the feeling when I notice the moon for the first time that evening.
Thank you, for the moon, the stars, the clouds, and the autumn breeze.
Thank you for the sounds, the crickets, the leaves rustling, the clinking glasses,
and the sound of small kisses.
Thank you for the snort I get when I laugh to hard.
Thank you for the bass, the guitar, the drums.
Thank you for the shouts, the soft spoken, the loud, and the whispers.
Thank you for the doors, the staircases, and the windows.
Thank you for everything that ever was, is, and will be.
Thank you for the indefiniteness of the now.
Thank you for everything.

I once read in a book, that the likelihood of our proteins folding just so to make us what we are is comparable to that of a twister rolling through a junkyard and assembling a jumbo jet.
This is something I like to remind myself daily.
It is so miraculous that we are here today to experience everything and everyone around us, and be able to document and share it.
I hope one day someone can look at my photographs and writings and feel these immense and overwhelming emotions that I feel in these moments.

I hope it left a scar.
Like the metal gate on the farm to my left hand as I carelessly swung it open.
Like the hard dirt and rocks at my cabin to my knee as I came bellowing off a dirt bike when I was 9 years old.
Like the surgeon's knife to my upper lip in attempt to repair my birth-given defect,
no,
not that one,
that was to clean of a cut.
I hope it cut you deep,
and the wound was not properly cared for and got infected.
I hope you picked at it for weeks before you finally gave in and let it heal, and even then
I hope the scar of me will haunt you for the rest of your life.

Clarity,
it seems, almost, a rarity.
These days, I find it difficult to see things for how they truly are.
Being up on this island is soothing,
the ocean, every tree, is oozing
relaxation in the purest of forms.
Island time is slower.
At an elevation lower
than 4,000 feet, I find it so easy to breath.
I'd so much love to show you
a life that can consume you,
enthrall, relax, and doom you
to never want to leave.
Run away with me, to the Pacific Northwest
I swear I'm at my best,
and I swear we'll never look back.

My room’s a disaster, and I am positive it is a reflection of the current state of my life.
But, I mean, what do I know?
My life is nothing short of scawompus.
And by golly, let the wild rumpus begin, I shout- to the heavens- instead of taking the time to clean a few things up. Instead I linger, just oh, so fed up.
What do I know?
I know for certain I am not the only one who would rather relinquish their life story to a stranger at coffee house than to their best pal on occasion. Truthfully, that’s probably a factor in humanity’s perpetually loneliness, makes me question the reality of godliness,
But that’s another talk for another day.
I know, oh boy, I know we’re all just lonely ******,
and darlin’ ain’t nobody's life more glamorous than yours,
just step out of your head for a moment.
Because it truly is gorgeous out here, there is every reason to fear, but also every reason to simply say **** it, and lie back and enjoy the view.
But what do I know?
I know it seems askew, but the beauty lies in the few who learn to appreciate the new.
Oh, what do I know?
Oh yes, I know I am **** crazy, and **** weird. I know this because I am reminded daily by my family, friends, and coworkers, but I am also **** happy for how depressed I am.
But then again, what do I know?
Let’s be honest,
I wear my whole life on my sleeve and still, nobody ******* knows me.
And I think I’m badass. Skanking at ska shows, waking with "oh no"s, what am I doing here?
In a strangers house after a night of fun and honest to god I am still bummed.
For whatever reason, whatever I may conjure up, and I am left here feeling like i’m still floating up,
Up, up I am drifting
I am a drifter
And I still don’t know what it feels like to feel
I am a ****** to life in so many senses
My senses are unfulfilled,
But I am scared senseless of what my future holds.
And what THE HELL do I know?
I am undeniably bewildered,
Nevertheless, aren’t we all?
In that, who really KNOWS anything these days…

I want my chance.
I wanted to bask in the sunlight with nothing but your company; I do not seek any more than your being.
I want you to see me shine, to thrive in my comfort zone, and soar outside of it; I want to quit the chit chat, I despise small talk.
I love long walks, and you would have never even known.
I don’t want to be looked right through, like my glasses reflect you and your choices and our voices fade into our own minds and neither one of us can conjure up a way to unwind and speak of our passions, our inspirations, our fears, and not just simple the weather.
Could it really hurt to test the waters? I am sick of questioning myself; am I trying to hard? Just give me a way to measure the depth of your interest, have we sparked a match, or do see me as this cesspool of unwarranted emotions and insecurities? Because I look at you and see so many purities, but I see the uncertainty as well. Yet, I still can’t get a read on what it is behind your shell.
Show me bits and pieces of yourself, and I swear I am willing to try and piece it together, but you’re giving me nothing but pieces of alternating puzzles - yeah, I have put together an entire cloud, but this, over here, looks like the ocean and this, this is definitely part of Mount Rushmore, and I’ve no ******* clue as to where any of those pieces connect.
I don’t know why I set myself up for such failure. I want to know you, but the mystery is your primary allure. I want to know what is beneath your trademarks, the dark parts of your eyes, your evident demise, but at the same time, I am terrified. I don’t think it could shock me, I can work with outrageous. But, I don’t think I could handle finding out you were mundane; a bourgeois creature.
Alas, I am stuck in this loop, of wanting all of you, but at the same time, none of you. Tell me, how does one keep a mysterious persona?

It is simply not right
The way the mind can go from a state of complete
apathy
From being so far away
From not giving two ***** if the world around you
happened to disintegrate
To being so enamored with all that surrounds you
be it loved ones
or simply the feeling of fresh September rain
to the point of fear
that all that is good is fleeting
and could happen to disintegrate
in a flash
before your very eyes

Insomniacs
Ain't no rest for the wicked,
But my mother says nothing righteous happens after midnight.
I don't know,
Maybe that's it,
I like being a hooligan.
I must like to feel young again.
But wait,
I am still quite youthful.
I've got a great deal time,
Too much time,
And too much on my mind.
I disregard my adolescence in the depths of my brain,
Because hours feel like days
When it's so ******* late and you're still awake.
There's so much emotion erupting from my soul, my pith.
Not enough hours in the day to contain it,
But I feel as though I can hardly maintain it.
I'm losing my ****,
I must get grip,
It's 2 am, and I should probably quit.

Swinging aimlessly at the ghost that haunts me
dissipating between fingers of tightly clenched fists

I am now stepping out of the ring to attempt to gain some ground
I've fought countless rounds in a seemingly endless match,
the score's tied
dead even
and somehow it feels almost worse than a loss

Eyes fixated on that trophy
embossed so elegantly
"Happiness"

Shake off glimmering beads of sweat,
wrap up ****** knuckles
once again I'm fixed to fight

Next round's, once again, a bust,
still steady,
we're neck and neck

Hop out the ring,
Discouraged, remain hopeful,
look closer,
the trophy reads
*"Death"

This city is ******* the life out of me,
in such a fast and glamorous manner.

I want to run away.
Wanderlust does not even begin to describe the extent of what I am feeling.
Cabin fever, no,
I have cabin flu.
I am coughing,
and sneezing,
and wheezing bits and pieces of my soul amidst mucus in my lungs.
I am losing myself,
stuck within the confines of every habit
and being
that has overtaken me and I have grown so accustomed to over the years.
It is time to cut ties.
Be alone, and free.
Isolation is the key to discovering the authentic me.

It's when you wake up.
It's the first inhalation of breath that brought you back to consciousness.
It's the first physical sensation that occurs,
The first thought that sparks.

It's how you wake up,
be it tangled in another's limbs,
when you kiss despite morning breath and dry lips.
Or be it promising yourself you'll get back to bed as soon as you're able,
Trying to convince yourself you're still stable, and that you'll make it through another day.

These mornings blur recklessly,
I hardly remember who I am.
I am ready to wake up feeling home again.

I want to feel as though my heart has been dipped in hot wax.
Layer, upon layer,
A sharp heat at first, until cooling begins and I begin to
relax.
I want to feel captured in an intricate, never-ending puzzle,
around every corner there's wonder,
and I am taken aback.
I want nothing short of hopeless passion,
to sell my soul in a mysterious fashion.
I am so sick of my heels over my head,
my feet placed so firmly on the ground.
No longer can I lay alone here in bed and be
content.
This drifting must come to an
end.
This wax heart must feel
again.