I'm sick of feeling
seeing or hearing.
why  would I turn?
to hear that real burn?..
I don't look the best,
I'm sure not a ten,
give me a rest,
I'm stuck in this nest,.
how can I fly if you just make me cry,
why such  a deal  if you know how  I feal...


-  glayz  *welch

This time it's not the voices in my head,
This time it's myself instead,
How do I bare?
What do I do?
Why am I so ****** up beyond repair?

i never really knew nonchalance
until approximately twenty minutes into ever
having had the pleasure
of your existence
alongside mine.

"i'll have to teach you how to surf"
you mentioned casually, sounding perfectly genuine-
which alone was enough to startle me
knowing you were leaving the country
before the water would ever be warm enough

the far rockaways?
my mind's eye gave a grimace and half a laugh at the thought-
but my affections were melting through your fingers.

you stopped us abruptly on the sidewalk,
halted all conversation
and crept up
(as if you had a hundred times)
on to some random brooklyn woman's stoop
and ripped a few leaves off of one of her plants.

i stood idle, feeling warmer suddenly,
trying to disguise any semi-shocked expression i may  or may not have emoted..
and watched as you returned
with the most unmistakable grin
and two sleepy little leaves in your palm.

without hesitation you began chewing on one,
while handing me mine
and i listened as you detailed the experience with an ecstatic moan of pleasure.

"mint?"

i knew it was a mint leaf,
obviously, somehow
but still asked anyway

i don't remember if you confirmed,
feeling so bewildered by the strange glowing glory of you
but i ate it obediently,
as if it were naturally in my personality
to never question eating an unfamiliar plant
from the unfamiliar hand of a man
whom i was most unfamiliarly falling in love with.

Someday they’ll look back here
and tell each other,
that the end started with us.
We are the plateau kids, the ones who lost it;
We who watched the new millennium
sink into place as our monument to apathy.
The derivative of a derivative is our only construct left standing now.
The de-evolution of a soul, spiraling out,
becoming thinner and thinner the farther it reaches,
leaving us hollow scarecrows
still guarding the dead field.

We are a generation of potentiality,
lost in twisting teeth.  Clockwork gears
churns us out, hollow men pushing hollow men
through and out doors, into a world of excessive emptiness.
Fertile though the mind may be, it’s lost on us.
We are the spectators of progress, the ones who watch and
laugh and drink and **** and snort and smoke
and post and pop and dance and steal and die.

Beauty stopped with us,
and all was lost.

I sit here,
still,
waiting for a wind.
A breeze, a gust,
anything.

I see my friends,
worn out,
war torn.
But I, I sit here,
still, bored.

I sway,
sometimes,
when students pass.
But the breeze soon fades,
it never lasts.

But of everything,
what keeps me going,
is when they pledge their allegiance to me.
It makes me proud to wear these colors,
and represent my great country.

I may be sad,
to be a flag,
that sits inside all day.
But I will always be proud,
to represent the U.S.A.