I keep my inner poet
Put away.
She is dangerous.
Doesn't understand her own power.
She thinks she can fly
And she'll make you believe
That you can, too.
But her wings are paper thin.
Too fragile for flight.

Her eyes shine too much
When the poetry is flowing.
I've seen the devastation
That can follow in her wake.

Grown men don't believe
In poetry.
Get lured in by siren songs.
Feel cheated
when the music ends.

I keep her put away
And hold my gaze on my hands
In the dirt.

We are safer that way.

I get perplexed stares like there's something on my face
But there's only brown on my face
Have they never seen a ***** before?
I look around the ice capped mountains.
**** maybe they haven't.
This ***** is steep.
Cold, but not as cold as my old life
The north freezes my fears
As I create new ones
True ones
No time to fight them so they'll be permanent
I caint go back to what I once was
A shut in, who hurt whoever I let in
So now I'm really shut in
Nothing but strangers and a bottle of whiskey
The sun is my only friend here
And he rarely comes around
I think he's heard about me too

last night
i came home late
to my mother yelling

i tried to reason
to no avail
she didn't believe any of my words

her hand on my arm
her voice high and loud
she tried to push me inside
she wouldn't listen

tired and angry
i walked away
she followed

then i ran
and ran
and ran
and ran

till i could no longer hear the flopping
of her shoes
behind me.

i had to return later
but the feeling of that run
of disobeying
of my heart beating fast
of my small lasted freedom
is still in my mind
causing me
to want to run once more
and never stop
till i'm so far away
even her in her sliver car
can't find me

i want to run
and run
and run
and run
and i don't wanna ever stop

pop the xanax
before dawn, they will turn their backs
pop the xanax
both hands behind your head, standing on the edge of the decks
pop the xanax
maybe if you try you'll figure out all the hacks
pop the xanax
what else tonight, dewars or shots of jacks
pop the xanax
don't keep telling me what my brain lacks
pop the xanax
what does it feels like to have dosages on max
pop the xanax
do you still try to forget, inhaling cigarette smoke by the packs
pop the xanax
you don't understand mother, my thoughts come from a buy one free one off the racks
pop the xanax
does it take your mind off everything, all that ***?
pop the xanax
my sadness shows up on time, always reminding that there's tax
pop the xanax
i tried to light up a candle to cast away the darkness but then it started to burn, all that wax

just pop the ******* xanax

At my best.
With a novel in hand,
and one just finished
placed diagonally over
a journal, I can breathe easy.

At my best.
I started drinking again.
It used to be whiskey.
But I've only started with beer
this time around.
The whiskey can wait
till December arrives.

At my best.
Two pills in the morning.
I gave you fair warning.
But you just smiled and
saw trial, not error.

At my best.
You ask me what I'm reading.
Best to be coy, "You've probably
never heard."
But you don't ask, "What's the
meaning of this word?"

At your best.
With me.
During a
transitional
period.
Each of us,
something
in comma.

Inward apathy is not
to be confused with
sociopathic credence.
It's a blade held to the throat
of the man that wields it.
Never would the cold steel touch
the person who thinks of suicide
as cowardice, but believes bravery
to be disillusionment in the form
of medication, or speaking up and out
offering solutions to problems
that they do not know the variables
that come along with it.

How many teeth make up a smile?
How many lines form a frown?
If lines are infinite,
what does that tell you about
an expression that is countered by
obligatory inquisitive ambivalence.

Shoulders are for tears.
Spines are for intrepidness.
Skin is layered; tough and thick
no matter benevolent or malevolent,
a person's love is misconstrued
as skin deep, albeit it is formed
between synapses.

It's a spark, a fire, the intuition
to never say goodbye
and ignore accountability.

Self,
centered,
watching the world burn.
This calm is maintained by
expelling air in between each blink.
Glass is far in sight,
glasses cracked
and not foreseen,
because I'm not a seer.
Blanketed in ignorance,
wrapped: up tight.
Shelf this selfishness, I'm told.
So I consider this advice.
Rearranging the paperbacks.
Misplacing the first editions.
All the math in the world; variables
do not ease understanding
of long division.
So I'm left not right,
have never been alright,
and that is why being centered
is crucial for survival.
That is why becoming adaptable
isn't laughable
while watching the world burn.
It's having a cold disposition
to withstand the heat.