Thou calleth me a poet,
                           Yet I am a prophetic Stoic,
Who tells thou what thou doth not want to hear!!!!

i've reverted back to the days when
i held a permanent position
in between the arms of an
ugly, paisley patterned easy chair.

i played a game of hide and seek--
hiding from feelings, sought only by others
to prove that i had some semblance of humanity
lurking behind my blank eyes.

those days were dark, angry
as they ate me up, gathering every drop
of my existence like a sponge

fast forward: i'm far away and
mom says the chair is gone.
what should have felt like anguish
feels like nothing.

all the feelings are in the chair
like coins hidden in the couch cushions,
gone before we recognized their existence.

i've reverted back to the days when
i held a permanent position
in between the arms of an
ugly, paisley patterned easy chair,

but now the chair is gone
and i am left to soak up the feelings.

I'm not sure what time it is.
Especially not right now.
There is no "right now".

By the time we can calculate
The exact millisecond of right now,
It's already over.

I'm not leaving you outside my heart
well I am,
but I'm not
not-telling you anything I know

there's walls inside my own mind I'm not allowed to cross
they don't have doors, I'd have to climb
and then jump
so I'd be falling
for a long time

and nobody knows how broken I'd be if I'd survive the fall

so unless
you know how to buy a parachute
and help me climb the walls
you just have to
accept
there're things about me you'll
never know

The soul he needs,
It should be wise.
It should be sweet.
It should care.
Their feelings should be strong, but not too overwhelming.
It must like the closeness of his body.
The soul he needs,
Must be strong.
It must be tender.
The soul he needs,
Should be a soul like his.