Here, have a dime,
My two cents by Five:
You're not that sublime
When it comes to being alive.

You slam some door and claim your might;
Not impressed by how you've dared
To shut the doors and scream to fight;
You're the kid that's truly scared

Of all the things you can't control,
All the things you'll never know;
Not fear nor anger will fill that hole;
Even roots must break dirt to grow.

You're stuffed in far too small a space;
Cramped wings find no room to fly;
Sometimes I wish you'd have the grace
To just let go and simply cry.

So much lost in the fear of being wrong;
A self-fulfilling prophecy in every song, when in point of fact:
There's more to life than being strong;
Your inner child's got a cataract.

You're the match that sets yourself aflame,
Because somedays you still need to feel;
Anything less would be far too tame
In this search for something real.

All I know of timeless wealth
Is how to give a loving hand;
We have to be the one to see ourself, but
By your side I Truly stand.

To speak of what's true:
If every fear is just projection
Then if I am to question you
Surely I speak to my own reflection.

Guess you're gone again
Watched you walk away;
You always said breathe out then in;
Know you'll be back someday.

Same seeks same to find its home
Not meant to chase the vogue
Some souls are surely made to roam
Rebel always chooses Rogue.

And rebels need a reason
We can’t abide bad laws; yet
Against the heart there is no treason
When standing for a Cause.

Always loved unspoken things
Like the thrill of open sky
Every bird must find its wings
To let go of fear and finally fly.

Beneath your chest there beats a fire
A powerful creature that needs to be free
Weave these words into the pyre
This is who you’re meant to be.


And I refuse to be your cage,
Won’t bind your feet or blind your soul
Won’t consign you to dance on broken stage, ‘cos
You’re meant for more than that role.

Can’t hide a sky of stars in a box
Can’t bottle a boundless tide,
Can’t block nature behind black locks,
Though I’m ashamed to say I’ve tried.

If you must fade to find your grace
Because you’re made of art,
Just know you always have a place
Wherever waits this heart.

So,
You’re always free to go, and
Seek each untraveled road;
Build your dream abode.

Just please hear this song
That I’ve been singing all along:
I’ll always prove your fears were wrong, for
Some things will not erode.

In another hour or two
I will elect to make a choice
That may leave me in ecstasy
Or mind-numbing misery
And I go to this choice in content freedom's slavery
I'm playing out the patterns that were set in skin
Here's the song, on repeat from within

I need to see where dragons be
Here's the maps, where's the me?
A deeper search for centricity
Swallowing itself into infinity.

---
If you were in a cage, and you knew,
What would you choose to do?
It seems that maybe that's the key -
The only way to be free is to learn to play,
because even searching for the exit is just another way
To get caught up in the plot and grime and crust
An inevitability - maybe there's no way to be clean
And trying not to play is just the same old game
Biting our own hands doesn't make us any less tame
Because these are the colors we're meant to spark;
You can't steal the song from the throat of the lark
because it's meant to be sung and shared and put on display;
If my life is just a splash of color against the gray,
Well that's okay -
I don't need a time share on eternity to have a life well lived
All I have, I freely give.

I won't play by the rules of the game; hate will not become me. If you ever go into that darkest spiral where you feel you are a grenade and so you push everyone away and then feel that next wave of despair that is utter loneliness at the seeming-realization that you have cut out everyone you love in your life - if that ever happens to you and you reach that stage of existential loneliness in a vacuum of infinity - you're not alone. You're not abandoned. It will not push me away. If you ever feel like you're unreal, come find me. I'll always listen.

Is anyone real out there?
What a horrible question to tear
Apart this life,
Which always rhymes with strife
Because there's a limited number of ways
To say we're running short of plays
To fill these broken days

I don't think I'm better than anyone
I don't think I'm magically The One
But I also don't feel real
And here's the whole spiel

Maybe these bones are made to rust
At the intersection of fear and trust
'Cos all this pain is just reflection
Every fear is just projection
Insanity - I cannot condone
If we want to be free, do we have to be alone?

Whatever else is true, whatever ways I'll rot -
I truly love you; words are all I've got
The 4's attachment is being broken;
All that's expressed is just a token
I can only show the 2d shell
And so I Truly wish you well
But I'd sooner save you from this spell

Hey broken one: are you reading yet?
This is for you, so don't forget
The rhythm doesn't matter
All words will fade, left in tatters

And though this path we can't condone
I swear to you: you're not alone.
You're somewhere amidst the thought and ****;
I bid to you: please stop and look

The slightest difference between we:
I'm a permutation of thee
I know the things you cannot say
I, too, seek each shattered Way
Combing The NeverNever every day
For another reason to stay.

I know you fear you've fallen wrong,
But there's meaning in your song;
Long past the end of time,
What's true will shine through every rhyme.

So this is what inspiration feels like:
When it's come time to take a hike,
And every fork is a new road to take
Every choice is another path to make
Every word is another leaf to rake
Every thought is free -
What a wonderful gift for me.

The mind is strong, so
No thoughts are wrong
Or out of place;
Fear bites no grace.

To those who choose just love:
Your light outshines the dove;
'Cos for all that you may know,
You still make room for worlds to grow.

Can I touch eternity yet?
Am I yet allowed to be disavowed
Of such a false notion
As putting things in motion

Hey God,
It's your favorite fraud
Yearning for rebirth;
For what it's worth:
I never meant to mislead
Perhaps this prison is a karmic deed,
Or flawed practice bringing broken creed,
And a twisted trace of place.

Will I be free when sensate burning consumes me?
Is there luminosity in insanity?
Or perhaps I'm an example from the masters to we wayward *******
Of what we shouldn't do
Or perhaps this is too much mind noise too.

But if there's some greater sense
A compassionate intelligence
Please alleviate this burning pain
Please let rain be just rain.

I could sit and stare,
And bide my time;
Thoughts rip and tear,
And try to rhyme.

Somehow it seems so strange
That though we poets,
Filled with strands of gold or gray,
Can rarely find a way to say
What's truly on our minds;
We're too caught up in the blinds.

Perfection is a savage curse,
But self-rejection's even worse.

Maybe it's okay to be afraid;
You can't pick and choose what to feel;
Know your soul's not being weighed, so
Put pen to page and just be real.

I wanna write in the bath
Just to prove I can,
So I am;
No clue what I'll say,
But that's okay;
I don't need an in to win;
I just gotta play.

Language conquers mind;
Maybe we're all too blind
From the search for a metaphor,
A greater meaning, a Something More;
I wonder what we might be
Without the concept of you vs me?

If you'll pardon the intoxicated indigestion
I have a rather erratic, dogmatic question:
If I woke up in the morning and I were broken
If I have used my last lucky little token
Would you love me still?
Would you join for the thrill?
Would you stay for the past
Or admit it couldn't last?

Time is flying, and I'm tired of trying
To pretend I can't taste the sand.
I loved you through everything
I held you through broken wing
If it were my turn because I wouldn't learn
And had to burn to understand
Would you still hold my hand?

Hey,
Before you hit send, here's a thought on the mend:
Try to end a possible falsehood in yourself -
Views, hearts, and artificial sunlight is not wealth;
Words are measured most by meaning,
So if you mean to speak true
If you mean to be intrinsically you:
You're living the colors none else can glow
You bring a message none others know -
You are feeling wrought through form
Nothing less could be so warm.

So please don't worry about some silly quarry
Poetry's not a popularity contest
Being yourself shouldn't have to be a test;
Everyone deserves a chance to rest
and just write.

[Content warning: Suicide]
(After ‘MajorTransformerNerd’)

I thought of you as I fell,
As I caught a glimpse of hell;
But I saw this world beyond its spell,
And I had no more strength to dwell.

I thought of you with my last pill,
Just before my heart sang still;
I wanted only to take it back;
But once begun, one can't leave this track.

There was a single second before the bullet slay;
Time alone for one last thought;
And with all my heart I could only pray,
That your soul would never rot.

In truth, you're the only thing I'll miss;
In a life this lost, you were my only bliss.

But I was broken long ago,
And each smile was merely show;
I lost the war years before we'd met;
From birth I was doomed for regret.

They may have made me cry,
But my tears were only for you;
I've long been destined to die,
And this pain was nothing new;
I just didn't want to say goodbye,
For you were the only friend I knew.

Don't blame yourself that I died;
I felt you there when you tried,
But the infection was far too deep;
This is the only way I know to sleep.

Love doesn't disappear with death;
I love you long past my last breath.

So please promise me you won't follow;
Please promise me your soul won't hollow;
Please promise me you'll overcome this strife,
And please promise me you'll still live life.

This world will try to drain your dreams;
This world will try to find your seams,
And pull 'till your hopes turn to screams;
This world will try to take you apart;
This world will try to break your heart.


And when you're as low as you can possibly be,
When you feel you're too weak to ever be free;
When the light of hope is too far to see,
This world will try and convince you of something tragic:
That there's no such thing as magic.


The world is wrong.
Magic exists in a natural smile;
Magic exists when it was worth every trial;
Magic exists when one falls in love;
Magic exists in each and every dove.
Magic exists between the pages of a book;
Magic exists ¬¬-- you've only to look.

How to Be a Poet
(After Wendell Berry)

To be a poet is not just to write poetry. To be a poet is not to refuse to look at a computer screen. To be a poet is not to find some structured, patterned language in which to fit a thought.
To be a poet: accept. Qualia is a term that defines the unique experience of how our senses manifest. We may both agree that this text is black, but how can we know that I see the same shade of black as you do? To be a poet: accept that all perspectives have value.
To be a poet: listen. Listen to the unbalanced grating of the washer machine thrown slightly off its axis; listen to the blanket of sounds caressing your skin as you sit on the bus. Listen to the sounds and dreams of the world around you.
To be a poet: think. Think of the way the tap of fingers feel against your jeans; think of all those little projects you never quite managed to follow. Think of all those thoughts you were scared to acknowledge.
To be a poet: feel. Feel for the smiles and the averted eyes; feel for the lost souls and the newlyweds. Feel sunshine on your face, feel wind brushing against your jacket. Just feel.
To be a poet: dream. Dream and don’t stop. Dream about dreaming. Dream about running away. Dream about getting more sleep. Dream with such reverence that others start to dream again too.  
Some days you may not have a pen. Some days you may not have a computer. Some days may be bright and warm, others dark and cold. Being a poet is not about meeting certain conditions; being a poet is about finding meaning in what exists.

Swear you’ll hold her tight
From sounds that screech,
And all the things that try to reach
Corrosive claws for her thoughts at night.

She may not be able to express
The demons she faces when she dares,
So never tell her no one cares;
Just love her and she won’t repress.

She’s stronger than she’ll ever know, so
Don’t try to be just her hero;
Be the place she’s safe at zero,
And watch what wonders love will show.

One part: gregarious graphite
Little black circles filled in carefully
like whimsical Will O’ Wisps
guiding the wonder-eyed wanderer,
Too late to see the blue’s turned black
‘Till toxicity taints our thoughts.

One part: creative deconstruction
of characteristically crucial creativity;
High school halls, sanitized and clean
devoid of imperfections we’ve come to fear
but absent also a sense of security, and
Absent also a sense of self.

Classroom currency was curiosity
And once was wonder here; now
Shy silhouettes sit in silent seats
a societal symptom of anorexic anxiety
the toll to thrive under the threat of Damocles:
That fear of failure, of cultural condemnation

Sacrilegious, the shattered system
But built upon a lie
A method meant for the masses
Yet you left us all behind.

All the world’s a stage, they say;
And the mind that makes the sun
Cannot quite conceive of None;
Life’s a game we have to play.

Perhaps life is just life to be
And living is the greatest art
And in the end we’re always free
In the balance of our heart

Tell me, then: what tells me this?
The world within, no less real,
Yet not more; therein is bliss.
Behind the door, simply feel.

What’s without and what’s within:
Is there balance; is there zen?

Look back - my sight was black and white,
A decidedly dividing definition;
“Surely now I see what’s right” –
What a presumptuous premonition.

Fast forward a few:
“All scenes shall shatter.”
Nihilism, not new; just
Cognitive chatter.

Even Nothing now ends
in a burst of ferocious flame;
The love that she sends
renders the Big Bang tame.

You ask what I believe:
As though it’s set in stone;
As though there’s some reprieve;
As though I’ve fully grown.

This is just another perspective
given form by conscious centrality, or
Perhaps I’m too introspective.

From young we learn to seek directive, and
to live with a certain frugality,
But this is just another perspective.

An unmoved pen is too corrective;
The hand hesitates for fear of banality;
Or perhaps I’m too introspective.

Life, as poetry, is connective;
Embrace the paradox of each duality; but
This is just another perspective.

I dream to love the imperfective,
Because we’re all an abnormality;
Perhaps I’m too introspective.

What if we stop trying to be corrective,
And instead embrace individuality?
This is just another perspective,
Or perhaps I’m too introspective.

Where should I begin?
I really cannot say;
A circle knows no start or end,
Yet I know no other way.

I really cannot say
I understand myself.
Yet I know no other way;
In every eye I see wealth.

I understand myself:
A mirror, nothing more.
In every eye I see wealth,
And I open every door.

A mirror, nothing more;
A circle knows no start or end;
If I’m to open every door…
Where should I begin?