I still find it amazing that with a wave of a finger,
a few strokes and a simple idea,
I can create something.
It's not new to me, I've been creating since I was three.

Drawing, writing, building, breathing, planning, hoping, creating. Repeat.

But there's always been this suppressing force,
telling me no, I can't, I'm not supposed to.
From the teachers who told me I shouldn't
paint my parents blue and my brothers green,
or that history is not important.
By others who have treaded just a step on the path
and turned back, and said that I could never get farther.
By even my friends and family telling me I had to go to school,
get a degree and be content working a 9-to-5.

But I'm here to tell you that all of this has fear written all over.

It's something the human condition has created to hide behind.
the fear to face failure, the fear to accept differences, the fear to put effort for a better version of self. We had developed fear to survive.

But who do we fear today? Who do we have to survive from today with fear?

Like Roosevelt's words "the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.
Nameless. Unreasoning. Unjustified terror." Non-existant.

I'd like to remind you that we are creators, not consumers.
They say we were created in his image, in all his intelligence and light.
Although I don't practice a certain common religion,  the following quote reminds me of the infinite possibilities viable in this life.
God formed man from the dust and gave him life by sharing His own breath.
Don't lose that breath, don't gather dust.
Shake the dust. Enjoy that first morning breath every day.
Because you are alive and a beautiful creator.
The architect is the constant gardener.

I sit and stall late at night
When I can't sleep,
Hoping I hear your voice,
Waiting up to see if you call.

But I know that's not gonna happen,
Your heart sings out for another.
Even though it does, I'm still all yours.
Every last bit.

My friends hate it, my mother hates it, my other friends laugh at it,
But you know what?

I don't care. Cause if I did, then I probably didn't really love you.
But I do.

But what does it matter? Loving you has helped and killed me.
You will never know that, because I will never tell you.

And we'll grow old together
And spend time fighting and fixing and fighting and fixing.
But you'll call me an angel, a friend, a brother. Nothing more. Angel.

And you will never ask why I do the things I do for you,
Because maybe you're afraid to know the honest truth.
Maybe the truth you've known from the beginning.
Cause not one person has done what I've done for you.
I will always want you, always.

I wish I was drunk, high, ****** when I wrote this,
This little piece of me, this little mess in me. Written sober.

And while the world is all quiet and sleeping their lives away,
I live mine awake thinking of you.
I sincerely *Love you. Good night.

Love doesn't have a face,
but it sure does have a mouth.
Love is every name and taste,
yes it can taste like mace sometimes.
Love is every shape and color,
including the birthmark on her foot.
Love doesn't have a favorite race or a caller,
it doesn't have a preference or a mother.
It's definitely worth more than any dollar.

Love can also kick your ***,
it can leave a lump in your throat.
Especially when its not your lover.
Love can make you scream,
it can also help you do stupid things.
Bold and stupid like coke and coffee.

Love can really fill you up,
Like a cop with a box of doughnuts.
Love can also leave you empty,
Like a fat kid struck a straw to your heart
and ****** the milkshake out of it.
It can push you to chase the impossible,
Like how the candle has been chasing the sun for so long.

Even if she is something you can't live without,
but you have to let go.

You're left with photographs to remind you of that
sloppy morning lion's mane she always wore.

You're left with the recorded covers she sung in front of you
all out of tune.

You're left with the words she spoke to you
stuck in your head.

You may even remember the time she forgot your birthday.
Or catch yourself walking for miles with her name in your head.

But.

You're left with a history of memories, emotions, a funny story and love,
that only you and her know of and no one, not even her, can take them.

Oh I could listen to you for hours,
Let you lead me through story after story.
I can hear your pain.
See the scenes you paint.
Even feel the love you claim.

A soothing calmness grows in me.
Like everything will be alright.
Just because you looked me straight in the eye
and said I love you.

You sell love in every syllable and phrase.
Like it did exist, like you would not have kissed.
Like you would love me but not like this.

Because you're not selling love,
I thought I loved life and the world.
But then I met you and realized that I didn't.

That if I did, it would be comparing a candle to the sun.
You are the sun and unconditional love.

You are the way melody and rhythm go together in songs.
You are the notes and chords these words ring for so long.
You make crowds sing love in their hymns,
and leave every single one of them shaking with goose skin.

You are the quiet cry that goes unheard in the night.
Of every hurting soul and body that hears your voice for the first time.
Because they forget all of their miserable nights
and feel for the first time what love sounds like.

So don't tell me your music and lyrics don't inspire love.
I fell apart when I heard your voice for the first time.
I fell apart when you said I could not have your love in a single line
and now I'm empty with just your voice replaying online.

You are my morning alarm that delicately awakens me
and my last thought at night that follows me into slumber.

You are the girl that sings to the broken masses in the dark.
While they chant your name in different harmonies apart.

I am the one in love that can't explain.
Why these words come out untamed.
The reason why her love flows through these veins.
Why she was the reason our world changed.

Its around this time,
That I stay up and just stare at the prickly ceiling,
just laying in bed with a cold empty feeling.
Even though I have three layer of sheets on top of me.

Its around this time,
That I start thinking about how things would be different.
If I could just stop thinking about her.

I've tried swallowing, stomping, and burying that love,
that idea, that thought, that desire.
But it just won't give up and it won't go down.
It's unhealthy loving something that hurts you,
something that won't happen,
something that won't return to bed at night.
But its also reckless to let go of everything you ever wanted.

If you find something special, hold on to it.
Hold on to it with everything you got and never let go.
Enjoy the ride because it'll be a long one with ups and downs.
and love the hell out of that special something.

Because life can take her away from me,
but life can't take the love out of me.
I'm just holding on to her forever.
She is my lifelong disease.

For an hour on my drive to school at night,
When the music and headlights come on,
For that hour I'm a rock star.
If you stop and stare even better,
and I'd congratulate you because you are my audience.
I'm the drummer, singer, bassist, piano player and guitarist,
Hell I'm even the guy playing with lights back stage.

But as soon as I park and get out of my car,
I'm not a singer, I'm not a musician and
I'm certainly tone deaf.
Yeah I'm a resenting has been and ex-husband,
I don't eat, sleep or **** but writing is what keeps me sober these days.
Singing is what keeps my mind off the time,
and music what keeps me off the lines.

I used to give out ratings.
Now I keep the words to myself
and if my opinion is asked of me,
I just give them the simple half.
Let them figure out what's missing,
the way I found out what I was needing.

I may not make a mill next year,
or be able to pay the bills this month.
But I will be recognized for the things that are
put on billboards and on your bedroom walls.
I will be known for the message you wear everyday,
and for giving a face to the girl that sings in the dark on stage
and plays in your car all day.

But for just this hour I'm just a simple rock star.

There are days I wake up empty and alone,
and I notice the half page written note,
left sitting on my bed.

It's not a thank you or a goodbye note,
Its not an I hate you or I love you note either.
"I'm sorry" scrawled across the page is what's written.
It suits you and your childlike heart.
It's how you've done your apologies,
for the past eight years.

I'm just waiting for the day,
you'd come back.

I'm sorry you have to go through this alone,

I only have words to try to bring you home.

I've never lost anyone that close to me.

I can't imagine how hard Christmas must be.



I'm sure he would have loved to see you grow,

To see you dressed up in your rain boots and coats,

He would have loved to hold you in his arms back stage,

or just before you go out for your show.



He would have been proud to see the two women he's raised,

Working hard to keep a family, a house and driving their mother insane.

He would have loved to hear you play,

All the songs you write with such detail and love.



He would have loved to be a grandfather,

He would have loved to see his grand sons and daughters.

Sometimes people leave us, to make us stronger.

At least that's what I tell my mother, when she misses my father.

I want something more than ordinary.
I want something more than good enough.
I am far more than unfamiliar, something so unusual.
Part of me filled in realism and the other with vicious hope.

I am not the empty space in your bed,
or the ***** sheets in your hand.
I am not your mistakes,
I am not your change.
I am not the missing ring on your hand,
I am not the slave you pretend.
I am not the words you hate,
or the sounds you fake.

I am a symphony of colors swirling streamers,
I am the wishful thinker, the day dreamer.
I am the waning sunset that makes your silhouette.
I am the daily voice that stays in your head.
I am your reminder of every clever one liner.
I am just myself for you, no less, no finer.

I am the early morning light,
that peeks in through your window.
I am the soft early autumn breeze,
that caresses you in late summer heat.
I am the midnight rain,
that quietly pitter-patters you to sleep.
I am the smile you receive from every face you meet,
that reminds you of your beauty.
I am the passing seasons of every year
that reminds you of me.
I am the one you still love,
buried six feet underneath.

There's one thing
I have to tell you.

I can't stop uttering,
anything about you.

Whether its about the midnight rain
and how it describes your voice so well,
or the way you won't stop singing,
till you're satisfied and sewn me to sleep.

If I look at the dark orange spotted afternoon,
or the satin red leaves of autumn.
I'll know its been a while since I've thought
of you.

If I hear the chalky barren concert of concrete,
or the uproar of the arid wind.
I'll have forgotten what your voice
sounds like.

If I feel the reticent tremble of winter,
or the cold bitter piercing destitute bed.
I'll remember why our adulation had
my heart in a headlock.

I cannot give you the world
or my name.
Because I do not own them.
All I can give you is my love and lungs,
that is all that I have and hold.

All I'll ever ask of you is for your voice and love.
You make my head lighter with just
some notes you sing.

It was like a voice
It told me to wake up,
Get up and get away from the ground.
This is not the place.
This is not the way.

It told me you are not insane,
You have so much to play.
We all get discouraged from time to time
We always have people saying it can't done.
Creating interjections like impossible! and undoable!

That voice woke me up,
It shook me out and tore me down.
That voice has sung me to sleep
and has screamed at me obscenities.

But that voice and that voice alone
has made me, me.
That's why I love her.
She is my symphony, my scene, my hands,
But most of all she is my voice.

It's the way she smiles,
that look she has when shes angry,
the way the wind plays with her hair,
the mannerisms of her hands,
the soft spoken way she sings.

It's the way she laughs,
those soft lips she wears,
how she tickles your neck with her nose,
the scent she leaves in your car,
the really dry jokes she tells.

It's because of me,
I made her that way,
helped her grow and let her go.
Its called hunger
because she'll never be satisfied,
with loving every person.

These are the hearts that we put to sleep,
These are the lines we're said to keep.
We play around like swing sets in the park,
keeping our distances like the sun.

I'd like to pick you apart,
Be the artist that stole your heart,
Out of that complex body part,
Like intricate puzzles we adore,
The mess we are sorry for.

You said it didn't exist, but here it resides,
In the hole it was first designed for,
I fell in love with a vacant place,
Used for your secrets your top drawer can't hold anymore,
Where you hid your favorite sins away.

You're the one I adored,
Along with the empty room you wore,
I was evicted with your dishonesty,
Which is why I'm here on display for you dear,
You’re the reason I can't forget this season every year.

Although its tough to admit sometimes,
We're all so heavy,
Filled with remnant memories and sentiment.
Weighed down with emotions and oceans,
Like a lighthouse anchored to its land.
Like a mother to her son.

We're all just scarred animals,
scarred and scared to go into the night alone.
I've been heavy for a for a year or two,
I've been trying to blaze a flare,
be that morning window light for you.

I guess I stopped trying to be anything,
I accepted myself in all my simple complexity.
We all want to be perfect,
but none of us know what the hell we're doing.
And what's wrong with that?
It's all we can do.
Try, experiment, guess and live.

They keep sending these transient friendships,
And it seems like I can’t get a single grip,
And the hollow words, they tell me,
Make me see how empty they are with me.

We’ve been paralyzed by concrete feelings,
by faces we barely recognize.
Its amazing what people will do,
Just so they can be contemplated by you.

Sirens filled the air,
The water still dripping from my hair,
All I heard were lies, deceit and tears,
The summary of all your fears.

It’s always the same every morning,
I guess you get used to playing musical beds,
I’ve become a monster I’ve never met,
Someone I seriously forgot to pet.
You can call yourself a monster, But the truth is,
That underneath this grin,
We're all beasts with thick skin.

I don't know what to chase anymore,
Where to point the sails ashore,
It seems like every time I care too much,
We fall apart.

It looks like I'm chasing my favorite phantoms in the dark,
For you I fell so hard,
Like a pulmonary artery in the heart,
Blindly beating for a counterpart.

I’m going to knock out,
I’m sorry just really was held up on alarms,
Sirens and torments fill this fragile state of mind.
Which keeps us awake, makes us aware, and keeps us adored,
Even if you lose it tonight,
The next morning it won't be filled by awkward half-hearted byes.

I don't know what to chase anymore,
Where to point the sails ashore,
It seems like every time I care too much,
Things fall apart.

I remember when we were just kids,
My mom used to say something wise,
It’s not the clothes that make you a man,
But what he says and shares with the world.

I remember when they used to surprise me,
By playing peek-a-boo and counting to three,
They can’t scare us anymore on Halloween,
We don’t say trick or treat, or dress up for candy.

I guess this is growing up, this is moving on,
These are the memories you’ll have when you’re twenty-one.

I remember elementary, when I had my first surgery,
They wrote me letters and get well cards,
But I never got to see or read a single word,
Because the teacher had spilled coffee all over their work.

Middle school, spelled the end of innocence,
And for the people that knew me then, my common sense,
It’s then that I learned that you shouldn’t play with hearts,
Or put together certain body parts.

I guess this is growing up, this is moving on,
These are the memories you’ll have when you’re thirty-one,
This has to be the most disturbing scene,
The worst display of life when you’re thirteen.

High school remembers me; I told one liners and tasted spirits,
This is where I pushed my limits and lives changed in minutes,
I’ve never forgotten the night I heard a silent heart,
Friends have a way of going out in style and parting.

This is me growing up; I guess this is life,
These are the memories you’ll have with a wife,
This has to be the most surprising scene,
To see your life through at nineteen.

It only takes one try,
That one time,
And once you’re hooked,
You can't stop, won't stop,
It's never enough.

You can try all you like,
But you can't stop yourself,
You think about it all the time,
At some point you lose yourself.

The fix for that ecstasy,
The collective unconscious fantasy,
Maybe it's an old primal disease,
This is the Collective Consensus Reality.

It takes one time,
Your first try,
You’re hooked from the first line,
You slip in with a second lie,
A new feature in your life.

I am the vessel of my ship,
I am to wrestle a little twit.
Will you help me find my virginity?
I think I've lost it somewhere,
Or someone borrowed it.

I am a farmer of black beans,
I am the Tarmac at the airport,
Will you join me for coffee?
I think I'm seeding the soil,
I found purchase in this toil.

I hate traffic and sputnik,
I love triptychs and music,
Is it you, me and everyone we know?
I guess we can play monopoly,
Just lay down your weapons, I'm fun you see.

Of course you can trust me,
I'm not a wet black bean,
Can I sing the national anthem?
I speak ****** and some other lingo,
I read French and women undress.

On second thought I'll be a stallion,
And yes I'm part French-Italian.
How far does it go?
I'll tell you what, do you know the muffin man?
The one that lives on Drury Lane?
If you do open up, let Thomas the train do his run.
A hippopotamus would laugh at this,
These lines said with such a clever lisp.
It'd have to be high as a koala bear,
Eating eucalyptus leafs at the fair.

I couldn't be more assured of this,
I wouldn't be reimbursed to read miss.
Doesn't it hurt? Aren't you choking yourself?
No me feel no pain,
Cookies are like nova cane.

Last but not least,
It feels better than summer heat,
The question everyone is a critic for,
Are you happy?
If Lois Lane was a *****,
Cookie Monster a compulsive eater.
Then of course I'm sure.

Some can find it without a map,
Others not even smoke signals can help,
Some have lost their way and never came back,
Others have stayed in that place,
Wishing to live in that wishful thinking.

It brings an old familiar smell,
Although it never gets old,
It's like white noise,
A different face everyday.
They get lost in the translation,
Between silence and sound.

Some won't notice the personal hall of fame's they enter,
Others are moved to do the same,
Some don't notice the crowds they create,
Others want to replicate that consensus.

It makes you feel jitters,
Things you've never felt before,
It fills you with euphoria,
A different one each time,
That's why I like it,
It's the consequence of sound.

Today I met a man who didn't like surprises,
I met a women who didn't like consistency.
I saw a friend that undervalued himself.
Another that sold herself.

I've done pills before,
shared bottles and beds too,
I think it's called damage control,
Or a colorful past on my wall,
You can hear it, feel it with every step I take,
A concert of every foot fall and shake.

You can even hear the child's heart beating,
At least I think it's still alive.
You can hear the surprising rhythm it carries,
Not a single beat of consistency.
Its kind of like you,
You are ineffable, not un-f'-able.

It must be buried under the skin,
what makes your body tremble.
What makes your taste consistent,
just here for me to use.

You came on bended broken knees,
spread on top of a rustled bed.
You left with empty breaths,
blushing sweat, and blends of regret.

Your smile speaks so well of you,
but your dignity hides it under covers.
With a twinkle in your eye,
and a flicker of your smile.
Gave me battered pleas,
just to have you pleased.

Crude interpretation of sounds and breaths,
Legs loose with a rug dress.
Working record rhythms of nervous lips,
heavy syllables swaying off those hips.

Your hands and wrists like chords,
pressed around my skull and neck,
mangling hair and skin with defect.
And that?
That is the steadfast scar I have,
from loving you.
Although love doesn't pass through here anymore.