Sometimes when my mind drifts
it goes back to endless hallways
and that all too familiar scent
overtakes my senses

My spine actually cringes
at the thought of the needles
piercing the central nervous system
they forgot to numb

my thoughts swim in the pools
that formed in my mother's eyes
as she quoted the neurologist
"your son is dying."

I can still taste the confusion
that drowned my confidence
and left me wondering
if it'll ever resurface

my dreams never stopped crying,
if they even have the chance to exist
they're nothing short of terrifying,
nightmares replaced the rest

it's odd that I can remember
the sickness that consumed me
but completely and utterly forget
the happiness that prequeled it

we place immeasurable weight
on worthless unnecessaries
mindsets carousel pointless
reverberation off desolate hearts

school, jobs, money, houses,
cars, clothes, shoes, religion, media,
materialistic vacancy

food is waste
shelter is empty
water is dead

I don't want to survive
if I'm not alive

I miss you.

Though I've never felt your touch,
or heard your laugh,
or seen you cry,
or had a deep talk late into the night.

My chest literally aches physically
as I'm longing to be the one
you call when you need someone
and the one you know as your own.

How can a heart miss someone
it's never even known?
you have reshaped my ideas
and become my definition of love.

I miss you so
though you would never know
how my soul yearns for you
because you are not my reality.

I miss you so much.

One of the saddest things to me
Is how my generation
Has been deceived to believe
That there are rules
To poetry

That thought is absurd and profane
I’d even take another step
And call it inhumane

Poetry is an expression of being
A way to be free

I finished writing this poem
When I realized something
This doesn’t just apply to poetry
But to all writing

Essays and poems and stories
If we all wrote the same way
We would be so boring

Write different
Write about what you want
Not what they say
Do the complete opposite
Of their way

But it’s not just about writing different
It’s how your pencil
Or other writing utensil
Moves across the paper
It’s about the breath you take
Right before you pour
Your heart on the white sheet
It’s about the way you see

So don’t just write things differently
Write in your own way
Create a new style
And then you’ll know
You’ve gone the extra mile

I finished this poem again
Thought now would be a great time to end
And then I realized something more
This isn’t just about writing
This is life
Break those rules
Don’t conform

It’s not just about breaking rules
Or being some kind of lawless hipster
It’s about being yourself

It’s not always about where you go
No, sometimes it’s about how you flow

There’s something special
Buried deep inside
It’s chained down
Release it
And it will give you life

Yes
I guess you can follow
The rules and regulations
If you enjoy being assimilated
Into a system
That was better
Before it existed

You have two options
Pretend you never saw this
And stay hopeless
Or stand up
And become righteous
I highly suggest the second
But of course
I’m biased
Because I hate the idea
Of being hopeless

You have the ability
To be something
Wonderfully crazy
Something that no one else can be
Because you are you
Different than me
So be your own
Not some societal clone
Be you and you alone

I urge you
Stand against conformity
Don’t be he or she or me
Be something completely unique

I run with all my might
Can’t put up a fight
Whether I run left or right
I can never find the light
Consistently sprinting into the night

Never gaining ground
Always fallin’ down
I feel like I’m gonna drown
In my own helplessness
Reverse exodus
Is this my personal pestilence?

How did I become so broken?
With all this burning emotion
Broken spirit
Broken heart
Broken person

I need somebody to save me
Pull me from the fire
Wash away my blood
Show me love

But where can I find this someone?

All I desire is healing
Nothing else is even appealing
Here I am kneeling
Begging to be free
Savior, unbreak me.

If I was to say
I wasn’t hurting
I’d be a liar

If I were to say
I’m not confused
I’d be lying

But that’s okay
Because you’ll love me anyway

In the strongest storm
You find me
During the hardest times
You stay beside me

Even if I don’t feel your touch
I know you’re there
Because you’ll never leave

You always love
Forever and ever and ever
You will love.

leaving town is leaving home
though I've only lived here
long enough to name a few streets
and memorize a handful of names

in three months time
a foreign city became
equally precious to me
as the place I was born

it's not the place
that cries out to me
not a feeling of belonging
that makes me sick to leave

it's the way you look
at me
i'm anxious to look away
from you

because you have become home to me.

*m.w.