This warm ache in my chest,
Is it love or
routine stress?
I mask my worries with confidence
To increase my self providence
Yet distracted, I fill
my consciousness with sweet
joy and bliss
that heals my mind for a brief moment
whenever she is around
and suddenly,
my mind and heart are at war
Shall I take the plunge
which my affection pulls me towards?
or abscond into the vast
complication of my obligations?
forever feeding my various ambitions?
Ay!
What a choice to choose!

I lied about my age
I lied about what I do
I actually go to school
And.. I live in NJ

But I did like your dress,
And those curls you probably worked hard to perfect
Your makeup was impeccable
Complimenting every curve of your face
I was surprised you even talked to me
Oh and
I deleted your number as soon as I walked out the door

The atheist brother
Has a big mind
           for a teen
And his parents
Do they ever know what goes on up there?
Their thoughts are barred away from his
Metal bars created by their own
           Reluctancy
To understand, to comprehend, to attempt...
They want to keep with what they already know
And he
           tries to discover the unknown
With books,with people, with a globalized community
of those who want- who need to learn more

The atheist brother
Has a big mind
       for a human
Will we ever know what goes on up there?
       We could
             We should
Step out of these predetermined molds
of who
you were taught to be
Go out and want, and need to learn more

The youth always seems to be more optimistic

Have you noticed?

But when it comes down to it,
there's always slight
negativity around us

I am young, with hopes, dreams and wishes,
hoping,
dreaming,
wishing.
I hope to be successful, I dream of the perfect home, I wish for the perfect love.
They call it naive.
Does that mean there is no hope?
There is no such thing as dreams?
Or wishes?
Without them you are lost so I am not that naive.
I know there is bad, and wrong, and evil.
But please just let the hopes, dreams and wishes last,
Before reality really sinks in.

is that what poetry has become?
your eyes are like clouds
her heart hurts
roses and thorns-
stop punishing me with your incompetence,
with your ignorance,
feel something and give it to me
in more than one language.
if i don't feel every syllable
coursing through my body
in all the wrong ways
(you're a thunder storm, baby,
you're a forest fire under a full moon)
then it isn't worth my spit.
give me something filthy.
have a couple drinks and tell me how
raw you feel then.
peel back each layer
of your broken soul
and show me what you got.
it's not about love,
it's not about lust,
it's about how deep you can dig
when you know you're about to hit rock bottom.
give me something filthy
and write your name all over it.
write my name, too.

As I lay on my bed with a cool fan blowing,
I can almost see darkness, neither hands are showing.
As I lay on my bed, I feel all of my worries flowing
from my head
to my feet
and beyond my cotton sheets.