I have lived my whole life
just supposing that I was nothing more
than wasted youth wasting time,
Standing here on planet earth
beckoning to the stars.

“What do you want from me?”
“Nothing,” the Universe always answered.

Nothing.

And so it appeared to me
that I just was sitting here alone in the cosmos,
tracing constellations to pass the time.

Somehow I failed to realize
How lucky I am to be anything at all.

Our very existence, in itself, is glorious.

And here we are,
a small part in this mess of madness.
Do not waste a precious second – sing out.

You, too, are a prophet.

Let your wisdom reach out
to the corners of the galaxies,
So that the echoes may bounce back
to the very spot you stand right now.

Make something of yourself

so that one day
you may join the stars
just to shine a little brighter
when a lost soul is right here
beckoning for you.

I held you up against the sky,
Believing that you could surpass the stars,
Never once fathoming that my heavenly contender
could burn out just the same.

Even all of the stars and sun and moon
Cannot be seen both day and night
And I’ve been trying to figure out
which you are: my sun or my moon.

I tried to make you both,
But you are neither.

You are human.

I’ve been feeling rather lonely again
And I’ve returned to my old ways,
Trying to find company in my own words
But it seems I have nothing to say anymore.

If only I could figure out why
Every single beautiful thing I see
Makes me so unbearably sad.

And I just keep remembering
All those times I felt so dead
I truly wondered if I was a ghost.

The little things don’t resurrect me like they used to.

How low does six feet down really feel?

Summer days go like cigarettes.
One after another
and another
and another.

Gone.

I wish I could sink into the moss
And stay seventeen forever.

I can’t buy myself any more time
So I suppose I’ll buy myself another pack.

A collage of sheets and skin;
I breathe my poetry into your bones,
And you paint my shoulders with kisses.

Neurotic girls make terrible wives,
But fantastic lovers.

I read something somewhere once and it went something like this:
“Love is the opposite of power. That’s why it makes us so uncomfortable.”

Well, I’m not much good at love
But I’m good at surrendering
And lucky for me,
Most people can’t tell the difference.