A door I slammed and sent accross the sea,
I told it,
"Lock yourself I never want to open you again"
Now I fumble around in the dark corner where it used to be for the doorknob.
A flower I found and picked, not thinking far enough ahead to realize that if I truly appreciated its beauty I wouldnt pick it but let it blossom. Even wilted and withered ive never found another like it.
A bump in the road on someones ride home from work that they didnt even notice as they sang their favorite radio songs.

The total futility of life and its end  is unfightable,
The only perfect form is fluid,
Proper posture to avoid catastrophe is complete relaxation,
Be the corpse before rigormortis.

I'm doing well,  I'm still moving forward.

Only slower now,
More cautious of who's caught in the wake of my journey.
The thoughts of victims passed surface here and there, but they dont float for long before they gurgle back below the surface.
Where they belong.
Our odyssey has seen us lose many moons time caught in storms and whirlpools,
There is none left to dawdle with,
Only enough to finish the journey.

I rest easy,
With no time for troubled dreams.
I keep my eyes forward,  
Set on finding the truths obscured by the mystery of life, and the beauty therein.

I'm never alone on my journey,
I'm thankful for that always,
It makes the days breeze bye
When they feel the nastiest.

I'm mapping the coast as I go along,
Making note of the fauna and flora I can see,
I'll keep it close,
And stay the course as long as fate allows.

Looking bsck its like a dream,
So many sunsets,
So many blunt wraps,
So many moments taken for granted I could write 5 books with the memories that slipped through the cracks.
All I think I want is to read that book

Each day new cracks appear,
My image though distorted,
Reminds me were both still here.

Enlist a draft,

Reinforce the gates,

On your mark,

Get set,

Kick rocks,

Best yet,

Worst ever,

Self absorbed,

Self destruction,

Twinkle twinkle,

Row your boat,

**** is not a dream,

Fire up the presses,

Alert the media,

Step back step back,

Gather round gather round,

Pull the pin,

Blow out the candles,

Drop the mic,

Pick up the pieces,

Ride the wave,

Crash and burn,

Pop the top,

Live and learn,

On and on,

Rest In ****.

OK,
my shine bright, but my mood chill,
got my mind right, its time to build,

I used to feel the words flow from my fingertips like water waiting eagerly to drool from the open mouth of a faucet,
now I feel them shoot directly from my fingertips with an ultimate intention of their destination, or at least the summation of the amalgamation of each sensation they could evoke ,
i wrote, to find some clarity in my thoughts or emotions, finding it easier to pick apart and choose rights and wrongs in a literary format.
Now I write because at times I simply must or my soul my burst from the hot air my ego pumps into it, writing is like turning a pressure valve, like applying a healing salve, like blowing your nose and clearing the debris,
writing is like waffles with butter and maple syrup
writing is fuckkkkkk
writing is something I love but have been neglecting my passion for as of late,
I think I shall once more seek its embrace.

The way our world is constructed full of false belief systems and things we make more substantial than they really are can kind of cast a shadow over the unlimited human potential. All of the societal and personal phallacies and traditions we have created are blinders to the fact that each of us is merely a shard of the same stone, a jolt of the same shock, all the same essence inserted into many different vessels.
We carry a light brighter than the sun we grew from but the smog we produce can start to choke it out. I understand fully the point behind religions creation,
We had questions we couldnt answer,
Where does rain come from?
What is an earthquake?
Who put us here?
But these questions have been answered and the only reason still running with religion is that people need faith in something; people need to know that after this ends its not over and all of the fake ******* they work towards to in their day to day to overload their dopamine receptors wont not ******* matter,
People need a scary red man who lives in a pit of fire to scare them into doing what someone else told them was morally correct.
But the part that makes me the saddest is that they cant just look in the mirror and recognize that the infinite grace and capability within each of us mirrors their god,
God is we

an ant,

Lured into a pitcher plant by the sweetest scent,

Drowning in the unexpected excess,

Bathed and enveloped by bliss.

A lump forms in my throat at the thought of placing words in their places like shoveling dirt on a casket.

Like every living day I swim further from the shore while my mind remains landlocked,


Picnicking with my emotions,
Enjoying it as much as two rivals could.

In the end the mashup seems harmonious,
Like the dance of two blades,
Each with a wielder who finds drive and desperation in each blocked blow,

Hope and solace in each hollow swing,

A thousand whind chimes choking each others sound into oblivion,

Or otherwise sounding shrill and panicked on their own,

Theres a duality to it all,
Lose some and find some,

Let some live and let some die,

Keep some safe and ship others far and wide,

I've forgotten where my mind was,
I suppose I've pushed it off somewhere if that's how it works,

I suppose that's not how it works,
And it will  come floating back.

Walking through the Houston Airport, my mind couldn't rest, my heart ached for something that it couldn't quite place, and I felt like my insides couldn't sit still.
    The morning we did our last hike together, we got in the car and I realized how little we had really seen of each other on the trip. The morning was perfect, and the view of the island was incredible. I think we left a piece of us there at the top. Whether  The piece of us that was together, or the pieces of ourselves we had given to each other, im not certain.
      As we discussed forever feeling changed by the trip I never imagined you had changed away from me. I understand now, some of the things I didn't then, so I hope in due time I'll understand what I don't now.
     There's a still image of you and your friend smiling so wide, both out of fear and exhilaration, as waves threatened to sweep you away. I hope you fill your life with moments that make you smile that way.

It pains me to say so honest,

You've come to the same sudden and shocking conclusion as the rest,

No matter the amount of love you have for me,

I am ****.

I still remember days as sweet as sunset snowballs,

warm summer air on our skin,

A Vance Joy CD on the radio.

Those days feel like a dream now.

A story someone told me,

or a book I read in middle school,

I’ve started and restarted so many times,

It’s hard to place the words the way I used to,

Writing now feels like putting on a retainer I haven’t worn in years.

I can get it to work,

But I can tell things aren’t lining up the way they used to,

I used writing as a way to step back from the flow of my thoughts, to examine them for what they are.

I’m out of practice, because my thoughts don’t need stepping away from these days.

Because where one muscle has grown weak I’ve spent the last 2 years strengthening a different set, maybe.

Might just be rust, might just be a new era.