Maya Angelou once said,

"I've learned that people will forget what you said,
people will forget what you did,
but people will never forget how you made them feel"

although the thing is,
I wont forget
any of it.
the open ears,
the listening,
the understanding that was so easily given
I will always remember
the way he congratulated me
the day I pulled poetry from my teeth

I wont forget how he made us feel-
we.
we    wont forget how he made
us feel

the many conversations that lived in his office are
now stuck in between the cracks of the walls
I imagine the dark of the theatre in mourning,
the curtains heavier,
more blue than they are usually
the black of the paint floor chipping backwards to
share the memories saying,
"Look,
It is all here underneath
your feet."

if you have ever wondered what magic feels like
I can tell you with certainty that
it is a bear grasp from a tower of a man and
a laugh that can be defined more correctly as a chuckle
or most importantly, a smile that
knew comfort when
it was most needed

what is hardest about it all is
this reality, the growing up that comes with losing
I am trying to comprehend the fact
that there are going to be students,
new ones,
who
will never know the magic that
is a Conway hug

I know
we will all be reminiscing, telling stories and
his name will be a past tense we
didn't want to have to use
this is a poem I
never wanted to have to
write.
one about a man who carried so many hearts
inside his own
the same one who
reminded me of my worth on
more than one occasion
this is about the man who was like a father when
my own was sick
this is about the man
who directed my first kiss
on the same stage where I learned how to be vulnerable
and how to trust

it is so easy to say,
this isn't fair.
but then I picture him,
arms crossed, replying
"Life isn't fair"
and he would be correct in
saying it isn't, no,
life isn't fair.
but what a privilege it is
to have had him
in mine
what a privilege it is
to have known him
at all

Maya was wrong,
we wont forget what he said,
sitting in the center of the studio referencing someone's house
"Treat it like your grandmother's"

I wont forget what he did,
what he taught me,
us.
we wont forget any of it,
I promise.

you said I love you the way a patron would agree to a refill
And I nearly gagged on the dinner i hadn't eaten

I would've preferred you throwing me to the ground and punching stars into my eyes

that way at least your knuckles would feel something

At River End
Or at the chop block,
Any old place-
It's still better than what I've got

When I see you
Out with her
And the jewels you give her
I Can't help but see they look better

On her skin and oh
How I get jealous
And how I wish
I Were all she is to you

Then maybe I'd have you
And not the lock
You put over my heart
When you left but threw out the key

And I'm sure
It's at the bottom
Of the sea
Nowhere to be found

Oh lucky me
Cursed soul of mine
I still have a heart
But it's not worth any mans time

Here we are killing ourselves
  even though we're already dead
Perpetuating our lies
  as we fake away our lives
Living in a world where love is
  a more outdated concept than war
Spending money on things
  we can't afford and things
   we no longer need because
     we can't control our greed
We turn time into money as we
  strangle every cent out of love
   as we choke our hearts to death
Where the dead things are
Cash is king and we all sing along
  "King Cash won't you save us
    Help us **** ourselves
    Teach us to sacrifice
    To increase your wealth
    The king is dead
    Long live the dead"

He went to a swamp.
She stayed somewhere. In some lost place where she could secretly lock the chain of an anchor in her legs.
He went further to the swampy place.
On the Pacific, off she went. Her anchor landed on the sands of silent sentiments from her tired loved ones. All seemed sick by her self-inflicted desires.
He stayed on that swamp.
She waited until Death claimed her. Time was waiting around and that ****** her off.
He left.
She tried to untie the anchor, chained around her legs, but Death was untying it himself for he was about to take her away.
He went and swam in the vast Pacific.
Her heart turned ice. She wasn't dead, yet. She just couldn't feel anything.
He went further into the Pacific. He got lost and it was too late.

Wear the style make the money Grab your coffee
Turn the lights on tame the dogs and comb your hair
But when the kids about the wall and up the ante
Consider this you weren't first to first declare.
Among the dreams of love they gave us all the nightmares
But you awoke and said this isn't fair.

Do you recall a time where everybody,
All alike were free to breath into the air,
When grass was green and life was just a party?
Do you recall you weren't first to be their heir?

But you do the workout, ride your pony, cut your copy,
Take your pills and play it safe cuz you don't care,
But when this **** aligns like one Backlit Okapi,
Remember all you needed now was everywhere.

Thought I saw the rolling storms
In the dustbin clouds. Thought I
Heard ghouls moaning through
Their wandering shrouds.
Felt something stirring
Deep deep
Beneath the Sea.
(Maybe It was the titans calling out to me)
My world seemed to shake and shriek
With a pressing voice that rang out
"For evermore,
For evermore".
Whether It was a whimper, or the
Passing of a lush...
Whether It was through a thicket, a
Mountain, or a
Touch
Or whether it wasn't
Any sound audible enough
To hear-
Haunting some hollowed ground where it seemed to appear.
Through the creaking In the floor, and
The quiet of the well...
(Where your hair stands up when your heart strings bell)
The words don't sit quite right
And you disagree...
(When the mere mention of something seems terrifying)
Imploding bombs of atomic construction
Seem to go off and bruise their function;
Miscellaneous hands
Grappling, pulling,
Letting go;
Reaching for solace for evermore,
For evermore.
When the strawberries have rotted
And the bluebells withered up
When a shivering lake of frost descends on my cup.
When the sadness figures inconspicuous,
Behind tall wall'ed towers,
When no-thing tangible seems real and
Nothing impermanent seems to matter.
Longing for when the leaves swing like a cyclone,
(High beyond the trees)
Where the willows thrive and
The moonshine bleeds;
Till through some epiphany
Like the dawn we finally see,
What beauty In the broken be...
If not beside you and not within me.