I'm not going to write about you in my journal
Because unfortunately I feel that that form of confession tends to backfire dramatically and leave me jinxed.
It's like those ink-stained secrets wrapped up in leather counteract the decadent visions I drift to sleep with at night
And so,
No
I'm not going to write about you in my journal
You see, I care about the concept of you far too deeply to chance our lingering moments on teenage whimsical compulsions to gush in secrecy
About the way your words shifted my anchored soul,
About the flooding in my heart when you bared yours,
About the mass amounts of internal riots
(The butterflies doth protest)
Of your pragmatic, flirtatious adequacy
Nay, mastery.
No
I'm not going to write about you in my journal
For fear of risking those moments of substance:
Secret-swapping
Joke-exchanging
Soul-bearing times where I wanted nothing more than to jump eight hours ahead so that I could see the undigitized blue of your eyes and feel the ends of my nerves explode off my skin like the Fourth of July.
How is it
That physical proximity has nothing to do with the closeness we seem to share?
I feel
Compelled
by some unexplainable piece of mind to insist and hope and wish that
Like you once told me under volumes of conversation,
We are connected.
I don't want to waste any of this enigmatic familiarity and sudden interdependency
On matters of my own private indulgence
And for this,
I'm not going to write about you in my journal
For you say that you are Atheist
But I know that you meant it when you told me
Your soul knows mine.

My inner peace draws a breath from the flowers
Stained in tears
There they lay cold wet and lonely marking a time
A wish that hurt all love
No one deserve
No time again
Only sorrowed brow
As I bowed my head

The weeks passed and the winds came
Time did not heal the open
Life for someone else remained in my thoughts
Memories of my home came into view
Remembering the blurred colours of my past
From the passing of my loved ones
Still the flowers marked
The place

A year passed through the seasons
Time stood still in someones house
A room now dusty
A car not moved
Clothing still scented of the past
And there I stood
Lonely
The flowers fresh
The colours of beauty amongst the
Sadness of the day
A mark now etched
As I bowed my head

They asked me,
"What do       you see?"
& in each on                                                                          e I saw you,
in a different sh                                    ade, a different  
distance away (calling                                                 to me? Reaching out?),  
     so I said I saw a                                          few ducks & an old  
   woman smok                                                                ing a cigarette  
& someth                            ing like a
scho                 ol bus,
but you are not those things.

I do not see
the diamonds in you.

Trouble on my mind, as my pen cries.
The Sun has gone home, so I sit trapped in the night alone
Listening to sad songs, wishing I can go home, but my home is long gone.
It’s not to my convenience actually its rather inconvenient, and in it I can’t find meaning.
A betrayal of emotions you may deem it treason.
My pen cries blood on the paper and love is the reason, love is the issue.
Well among my issues, the negative in my life is not only mental but physical.
Not only financial but spiritual, so these words I’m giving to you,
Is all I have to give to you, the weight of the world is fine.
Its breaks my back so I cry, but I’m a Man so these invisible tears I hide.
Hope that my shoulders become stronger so I can walk a little bolder.
If only they knew the world weighs me down like a boulder.
Attempting to anchor my life for a little longer.
Though I pray for strength so by the morning I’m little stronger.
In the night she only wants me to hold her.
To soothe her pain, so I take her load on all the same.
The pressure of this stress is getting insane.
Like a potato is in my exhaust, and it’s getting ready to blow my brain.
So I grit my teeth; until I chipped my tooth.
A portrayal of me in truth is a bird that flew the coupe
But the others can’t fly and there’s no rug or magic carpet ride.
So they fly aboard the wings of me, until I fly low, Hold On.
It’s been this way for so long, and I need an outlet.
So I imagine flying on the imaginary rug alone.
My mind plugs into my heart, and finds love, but I’m still alone.
Late night visions of my home it ***** that it’s gone.
Though these memories, hold on,
Like a leech or a parasite gnawing at my dreams in the night.
So I don’t sleep I just think and I write
Continue to fight even though my will was broken long ago.
My hope was taken long ago, but
My faith remains strong so I still pursue on.
Hold on, can you hear it?
My spirit trying to escape and getting no where
Life’s not fair but this enchantment called love keeps me there.
It keeps me here, but my mind wonders.
Thinking what’s up yonder or will I be a father,
When will I be home again?
However I sit here alone again. Wishing for the impossible
Though I was taught everything is possible
So I’m going to hold the world on my shoulders until I’m in the hospital.
Or six feet beneath the Earth in a casket
This isn’t a fear of mine so I find no reason to mask it.
Life is short, but this can’t be too much that I’m asking
My dreams are usually of me getting blasted
Head on the ground face down bleeding out letting life out as it ends.
But what if the world’s on my shoulders and my life ends?
A sad soul to the end even though I’ve grown into a man.
Life is what you make it no matter your beginning or end.
Most wish to do it again, I only wish I knew when it ends.