It's late enough that it's quiet
But not enough that is silent,
And I hate that.
The dogs are lying at my feet.
They feel like gargoyles,
But maybe more menacing.
I'm just waiting for midnight to roll around,
So that I can steal my silent hours.
Sleep is not the only way to recharge.
I guess the song in the title doesn't really fit the poem,
But maybe it's fitting my mood?

See you later alligator.

That awkward moment
When your ****** gets a girl pregnant
And gets engaged.

And your just sitting drunk,
And ****** up,
On the floor of your old bedroom
In your parent’s house.
Listening to Avril Lavigne and Iron and Wine.

Just ****** up.

I keep putting myself into a smaller box,
And then complain that I feel claustrophobic.
And I make the walls thicker,
And I make them sound proof,
And I make the doors increasingly harder to open.
And then I complain.
Because I put myself in a room with pictures,
But no windows.
I do it so that I can't see the present,
And I can't see the future coming.
All I can see is the past.
All I can see are pictures of my old boxes,
The bigger boxes.
Boxes that I could get out of.
I'm in one without a door right now.
I'm going to stay here for a very long time.

It's days like this where I listen to sad songs about fathers abandoning their children and kneel on the big chair by the window, and look outside like I'm seven years old.
I didn't like seven years old.
I hated the first day of it.
I cried all of April twenty-forth that year.
I knelt on the big chair by the front window and felt the wind that I could see the trees felt.
The swayed and shimmered as if they could hear the music too.
Why didn't I sway and shimmer when the wind hit me?
I only got cold and determined.
Seven was the last time I thought that thought until now.
It took me long over a decade to answer that question.
I wish it was something lyrical, majestic, and deep.
It's not.
It's just science.
Sometimes science is sadder than fathers abandoning their children.

I'm rotten I know.


Cleopatra.
Broken AC.
Hornets without a nest.
What a mess.
Mint chocolate chip ice cream.
Wet hair and blank stairs.


Simultaneously too bitter and too sweet.

Get away from me,
My evil twin is just around the corner.
You see,
She's very protective.
You need to leave,
She is not going to be merciful.
You see,
She wasn't born this defective.
A boy she thought was man
Told her she had a pretty face,
And she lost her footing on this cliff,
Trying to kiss the space bellow his eye and above his cheek.

Television static nightmares.
Drowning in serotonin.
Melodramatics and acrobatics.
Punctured lungs and monkey bars.

Literally the strongest person I know.
And in this moment I am using the word "literally"
With the correct definition.
You are a complete klutz,
But the way you live your life is much more graceful than you let on.
You're the masterpiece the gods have waited for.
Little miss independent.

Rain falling while
The sun is shining
Is strange.
And those optical illusion things,
Those are strange too.
And how if you drink lemonade
After eating pancakes,
It tastes very very sour,
That is extremely strange.

And I just can't
Figure any of it out.
But why
Oh why
Oh why
Oh why
Can't I not just try?

I hate the sun.
I like the rain.
I am the rain.

I am cold,
I am needed
And I'm often times annoying.

I love singing in the rain.
I love walking in the rain.
I love driving in the rain.
I am calm.
The rain is calm.

I follow the rain.
I hate climbing hills and paths.
I am always going down,
Sometimes trickling along,
Sometimes I am a force that takes the surrounding earth by storm.

Everything seems brighter after it rains.
Greener greens and grayer grays.

I hate the sun,
And I feel like  you would have loved it.
My beautiful boy.
And I'm sorry that you never got to see it.
I wish I could have carried you to it.
I'm sorry you only got to feel my rain.
I hope it was enough for you.

It's three in the morning,
And I am so tired.
But the thought of having to wake up
Is keeping me from falling asleep.

The first snow
When it just starts to stick to the ground
Around nine o clock,
And the snow dances in the streetlights.
And the first thing you think of when you wake up
Is getting to walk in it's beauty.
That's her smile.
But she doesn't think it's beautiful.

The first time a hug meant something.
You feel their arms,
Their shoulders,
Their warmth,
The tickle of their breath on the bottom of the left side of your neck,
And the last moment when they tighten around you
Into a solid, comforting fortress before they pull away.
That's the air she exhales.
But she doesn't think it's beautiful.

The most devastating thunder storm.
When the rain is sad,
And not peaceful or light hearted,
And the echo of the cracks of thunder sting your ears.
And the lightening stops getting interesting,
The lightening looks worried.
It looks like suicidal tendencies.
That's what it's like to see her cry.
But she doesn't think it's beautiful.

Battle fields.
Soiled with distraught courage,
Limp hopes,
And dying bravery.
Yet somehow holding the promise of a victory
That will effect hundreds of nations.
Those are her scars.
Yet she doesn't think it's beautiful.

The most perfect day on the beach.
Sandwiches without the sand,
Waves that kiss your toes,
Sun that blankets you with the feeling of security,
And a sunset so perfect
That you wonder if it's real,
Or just a calender's picture for the month of August.
That's her.
But she doesn't think she's beautiful.

I'm so scared
I just don't know it yet.
Spin me around
The vertigo is comforting.
Constant movement and changing
Is good sometimes.

This is a nonstop situation.
And you are not ready for a nonstop, yet.
We don't have time for you to stop
And catch your breath.

I pray to god that I'll have you for another day.
But you're losing.
Oh ******* it,
You're losing.
Could you please make it more subtle?
I'm starting to panic.

I don't know anymore,
Even the biggest waves crash.

It's unsettling.
The shape and form and texture.
The way that you have manifested yourself.
From a light lilac sky
To a deep purple abyss.
It's still purple,
But.....

I’m not quite sure what i should do.
I guess I’ll just lay here and wait for a storm
To pick me up and carry me away.
Maybe to the ocean?
We’ll sea.

If I’m drifting around, struggling to coast to a coast.
Will you send me a message in a bottle?
Not a map, just some encouraging words.

If you figure it out, please tell me before you tell everyone.
The weight of the world won’t wait.
An endless possibilty is a constraint.

There might be fire in my dragon eyes,
But it clouds my vision
With the smoke of an abandoned factory.
I’m seeing into the past
With restoration to when we thought this boom would last.
Success did not **** the life out of you,
You spit it out.
Ungrateful.

I said if you figured it out, please tell me before everyone.
That was supposed to be half the fun.
I’m not sure of the shore anymore.

I do not want to talk about "nothing".
I guarantee that you do not even know what significance nothing holds.
Nothing is so intimate.
Stories, and memories are just things that have happened to you,
they could have happened to anybody.
Nothing tells you exactly who I am,
And how I think,
How I react,
And my whole MO.
I could never be that vulnerable with something like you.
We can certainly NOT "talk about nothing"

Endless self indulgence,
And selflessness with an end.
I can't bring myself to be productive,
What a production.
Too old to be old enough for this.
I'm sorry I'm not strong enough to be the villain.

I can dish it out,
But I can't take it.
You can tell me how vile,
I already know that I am.

I'm trying not to break,
And just fill in
The little pieces of me
That have chipped off.
But it's more like covering up
Than filling in.
Have you hear about that walnut trick?
You can rub it on scratched wood,
And it looks new again.
But I feel like it would be weird
Just to rub myself with a walnut.