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Jake McKowen May 2010
Contentment is such a fleeting state
Take a drag

Feeling like all is right until

Wondering sets in and you question each choice
Ash it

Reading through coulda, shoulda, woulda,
Inhale, exhale, ash

Pointless exercises are just circles, really
But the thoughts travel the well worn road to
Niccotine stains.
© Jake McKowen 2010
Jake McKowen May 2010
The empty seatbelt flashes the Sun
An s-o-s
Into my eyes as if
I needed a reminder that

You aren't there.
© Jake McKowen 2010
Jake McKowen May 2010
Sometimes I realize I don't
Do happy very well
And when I'm really trying I
See that you can tell.

You give me the look you
Used the other day
When you **** your head to ask
Babe, are you okay?

I want so bad to break down
But inside I know
You need me to be strong so
Both of us can grow.

So I summon my inner actor
And give my smile a shine
I lie in your eyes and say
Yes, lover, I'm doing fine.
© Jake McKowen, 2010
Jake McKowen May 2010
When my own words fail its
A leaf falls or
Maybe my hour of lead.

When I don't know what next it's
Follow the frosty poet down
The path less traveled by

Those mice that have grown wilder
Reflect my thoughts when
My own words fail.
Dunno how to go about saying this is mine when there are lines stolen straight from my favorites. Robert Frost, Nick Flynn, ee cummings, and Emily Dickinson know how to get me through the rough days.
Jake McKowen May 2010
I've been called a tease, sometime heart-breaker.
I never wanted to break yours 'cause
I know hearts are like fine ceramics.

Repaired, you can still see the cracks.

Baby, your cracks are chasms. So what are mine?
I'm afraid to do this because
I know you'll lose a piece or two.

And I know you'll lose your peace, too.

Pots missing pieces don't hold things well.
I promise, you held me just fine.
I need you to know this isn't what

I want to do to you.

There are few things I want more
Than to see you happy.
There's no rhyme or rhythm.

And I'm sorry.
© Jake McKowen, 2010
Jake McKowen May 2010
You're a puppy
That's been kicked into a wolf.
I want to house-train you.
But wolves don't play fetch very well.
© Jake McKowen, 2010
Jake McKowen May 2010
Stay up late, pushing past exhaustion into perfection of perception.
Understanding of self is essential for this existential extollment.
Extollment? I meant extinguishment. Can't convey if I'm projecting.
Stream of conciousness leads to extreme unconciousness.
Writing without pushing, thinking, or stopping. Only feeling.
Or am I knowing more than I'm feeling? Do I even know what I feel?
No knowing noes the feeling of thoughts fought back, you know.
I don't know if noing frees the feelings pushed back from focused thought.
Was that even a sentence? Know!
Do freed thoughts flee? Where to? How so? What then?
© Jake McKowen, 2010
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