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I stand at the convenience store counter
with a smile but conflicted inside
I know I don't need them
yet, there they are.

A rainbow of apathetic death
a mosaic of bad breath
and even worse excuses
waiting to be packed
put into my chest pocket
and held close to my heart.

It makes me sick, hard to breathe
and yet here I am all ready to leave
with twenty more sticks of disease,
the same ones that gave my father
C-O-P-D.

But still I buy.

I swipe that card with little regard
to the fact that I'm reliving history
a son just as dumb as his father before him
scoring the same dope
wearing the same rope
around his collar.

I've thrown whole packs out car windows
sworn them off cause the habit,
the money lost and especially the cough
was getting to be a problem.

I've renounced this addiction
with the conviction of a holy man
yet still I stand smokes in hand
puffing away; swearing this to be my last
every time I can't help but laugh a little
cause I know I'm full of ****.
(Don't we all)

But still I buy.
To everything I will be.
To everything I see in you.
To your friends.
To the people who did you wrong and oh so right.
To your lovers.
To the one who got away; I love her for pushing you away.
I love her anyway.
To everything I was afraid of.
To everywhere I am lacking.
To being enough of one thing,
that it makes up for all things.
To being.
To touching your feet. To melting in your breath. To munching on my skin.
To watching you love me.
To hurting my heart. To me "getting it".
To letting the past lay in peace.
To making way for something greater. To loving unconditionally.
To my childhood. To yours.
To us. Our talents. Our songs. Our mementos. Our way.
To the mindless goings on of day to day life. We WILL treasure our love notes.
Your friends will love the you I get to grow old with.
My friends will love the me you're turning me into.
Our friends will love us.
I play this beautiful scenario in my head often: It goes:
We dance          We meet the rest of the world
*We play             *They keep us
No particular order and the ellipses between each are expansive.
Night will cover us and in our bodies we'll blanket one another.
Despite the worst. It wasn't that bad. Despite all things.
I love you. I kiss you. I fall for you. I hold you. I treasure you.
Love me and I will sing all your favorites.
Compile my love into notes, novels, songs and the ever impressive smile
that you found me in the very very first time.
Tonight you will find me again. Confident. Beautiful. Billy Joel.
I'll always have a way about me.
Just like home is just another word for you.
I can’t trust my own body.
My mind craves food,
but my stomach throws it back at me.
Thirty seconds of uncontrolled rejection.
Fifty-two of unhealthy affection.
Staring in the mirror,
my mind hates what it sees.
And my eyes turn away because each one agrees.
Thinking one thing, then doing another.
Wanting a best friend, but needing a mother.
Pain isn’t the problem,
I can take quite a lot.
But my mind is against me,
injecting poison with every thought.
Depression is not poetic
it is not beautiful
when examined under
pale moonlight

it is not something one should strive for
in order to be understood
in order to connect
with their temporarily sad peers

Depression is a continous thought
flowing from your fingertips
and vibrating in your eardrums
when you are wide awake at 3 a.m.
devising a plan to sleep forever

why do people think that
admitting to a neverending onslaught of internal battles
is glamorous?
do they not know that happiness
sits comfortably on the tips of their noses,
an arm’s reach away?

I dream of a world
in which teenage girls
eat three times a day
without using their fingers
as a garbage disposal
just so they can match
society’s standards of
‘pretty’.

I dream of a world
in which teenage boys
do not overload themselves
on some mechanical
technological machine
just so they can match
society’s standards of
‘strong’.

I crave a world
in which I am not artificial
in which I do not need pills
to smile.

I crave a world
in which we can all laugh;
a world in which
we actually live and breathe
rather than
exist and ruin;
a world in which
‘Depressed’
‘Pretty’
‘Hot’
‘Manly’
are simply adjectives
and not definitons
of who we are.
I took your wrist and had a look, you told me about the unusual art you did,
The use of natural dark red paint flowing down, dripping onto your clothes,
In your eyes I saw your emotions, though they were locked up, tied with a chain and bolted away,
I saw them, and I asked you "Why can't you do a different art?"

You looked right into my eyes with a sad smile and said,
"My dear friend, it's not easy to live. Certain things just make you feel worthless,
and like a bunch of wastage, sometimes, it's better trying to feel something else instead of that,
for words hurt like nothing else does."

I added a texture of cotton on top of your art,
You looked at me silently, and in your eyes, I could see someone hurt and broken, screaming for help,
and at that very moment, I decided, I would never let you be alone,
I took you into my arms, and hugged you tight, making soothing gestures on your back as the silent hug turned into something deeper,
and the sobs racked through your body, but not once did I let go,
and at that very moment, I just knew,
You couldn't turn to anyone, that's the reason you did your unusual art.
maybe next time. . .
I will realize that life is more than who we are
and that will never change and I will be able
to live my dreams and choose how
to live and what to give.

what if. . .
we could choose whether or not to be born
or we could choose our parents and choose when to die
and there was never any reason to ever lie.

maybe next time. . .
I will realize that attitude is more important than facts
and attitude is more important than the past,
than education, than money, than circumstances,
than failures, than successes, than what people
may think or say or do.

what if. . .
we had a choice everyday regarding the attitude
that we will embrace for that day
and we were in charge of those attitudes
and we could realize the impact
of attitude on our lives.

maybe next time. . .
I can be goodness and mercy and compassion
and be understanding and peace and joy and light
and I can be forgiveness and patience,
strength and courage, a helper in time of need,
a comforter in time of sorrow, a healer in time of injury,
a teacher in times of confusion.

maybe next time. . .
I can be the deepest wisdom and the highest truth,
the greatest peace and the grandest love
and I chose to know myself as
all of these things always.

what if. . .
there is something special I want to do
and I finally learn that I do not receive wisdom
but that I must discover it for myself
and I know that my journey through the wilderness
is something which no one else
can make for me.

maybe next time. . .
I will examine my options closer
and I can be more selective and more patient
and can separate her lies from her truth. . .
maybe next time. . .            
                                                      Jon York        2013
A hello poem a day
Keeps intellectual
Boredom at bay.
Just appreciating the marvels of hello poetry
Fire in a world of ice
Smoldering the heart’s soul
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