Only a month and a half in,
but I'm already ready to say good bye
say farewell to anything and everything
the unpleasant memories
the hospital visits
the tragedies
the death
the despair
the darkness
the mistakes
the missed opportunities
and missing you...

I'm ready to start anew
pushing the past further and further away
repressing it all as far into their neat little boxes
even though life is way to messy for that.
This year has already taken so much out of me,
and I don't know if anything will be left.

Mathematically,
pi proves that sometimes being
irrational
is okay.
Even in such a cut-and-dry, structured science,
a little irrationality is accepted.
Sure, you cannot boil everything down to a
formula or math equation,
but that does not serve as a challenge for you to try.
Instead,
appreciate the spontaneity, randomness that comes
with these emotions,
just like your precious distribution of statistics.
Logic and reasoning may seem to take you far,
academically,
as will your critical mind,
but what success have you had outside of that vain?
Emotional healing?
None to speak of.
Mental growth?
Philosophically, no growth in a well being sense,
arguably a deterioration.
Social acceptance?
Only as close as your calculated eyes
allow people to get, before subconsciously
pushing them away,
a self-sabotage,
as to avoid any deeper connections
that could go wrong later
as so many have.
Instead of cynically
over analyzing everything
with your mind,
why not just open up your heart,
taking a blind leap of faith,
even if that is deemed,
"irrational"?
If you refuse to open up and be intimate with others,
why won't you at least trust me?

I'm getting tired of having these conversations
to a cold, unforgiving mirror.

Just getting so sick of everything and everyone.
All of their little agendas,
only talking or coming up to me
when its convenient or they need something.
Treating me like garbage,
as if to be cast off into my own secluded island,
only to almost attempt to justify everything with an apology,
repeatedly
days, sometimes weeks later.
As if that makes everything okay,
erases all the hurt.
But what's the need for all the apologies in the first place?
Do you feel guilty?
Do you see how actions and words
incrementally destroy people?
Whatever, I don't care how you wanna spin it,
and explain it to others.
Can you explain it to yourself?
Maybe you don't see,
just too busy focused on your selfish business.
Might as well stop wasting our time,
y'all can just go **** yourselves.

"No one will ever love you until you love yourself."
Its a phrase that's easy to believe is true,
but for people who suffer from depression,
its terrifying.

I mean, as the expression goes,
I have to love myself first,
before I can accept that others do.
But what if you can't stand the person in the mirror?

Depression is something that has been a fixed constant
for as long as I can remember,
as if it has hallowed out my bones
and created a home.

With every moment, every thought,
I feel this deep rooted pain,
a nagging presence,
second-guessing every minuscule detail.

My depression doesn't care
if I'm trying to enjoy myself.
It doesn't care if I'm surrounded by people
who constantly argue that its irrational.

I know its irrational, there isn't a day that goes by
that I don't wish with every fiber of my being that I could simply
turn it off.
Praying I can wake up one day and the nightmare will be over.

I am thankful I have friends around me
that are able to help juggle my mood inconsistencies
or draw a map that leads to a treasure of momentary
escape from this tight hold.

I cannot express my gratitude enough for those
wonderful human beings that express great hope
while I stumble down the darkest of paths,
unfortunately, most days, it isn't enough.

I have never once blamed anyone for that,
and I appreciate their efforts,
as well as I try and recognize the strain they are put through
as best as I can.

This thought process controls how I communicate.
I am constantly plagued by guilt,
knowing that my pain causes empathetic, pain-filled responses.
"I'm sorry", "I apologize" phrases as common as corn fields in Nebraska.

This guilt
stems from the fact that I hate
how my feelings, or me in general,
can cause so much pain in someone else.

Every day is a struggle. Constantly on edge,
bouncing between caring too much or not at all.
Afraid that the next thing will be the final push,
wondering when enough will be enough.

While I am quickly reminded over and over
how my friends are 100% in,
I am also quickly met, internally,
by a crippling doubt.

So I'm a little down.
So I'm not like everyone else.
So I'm battling something people don't know much about.
So I'm different.
So I'm "dysfunctional".
So I'm not from a traditional background.
So what?
Does that mean,
I shouldn't be allowed to attend my college?
The one thing keeping me going?
That I should be locked up in the loony bin?
All because my brain has become numb to some pain?
I've found function in my alleged dysfunction,
some traditions occasionally get broken.
Exceptions to the rules are made.
The world is full of suffering,
but it is also full of overcoming it.
So where do you get off,
telling me how to deal with something
you've only read about in your
guidance text books?
Where five minutes into meeting me,
that you feel the ability to dictate how I should go
about my life?
I've lived 20 years on this Earth
without your input,
sure, it hasn't been perfect,
but I've made the unconventional work.
I mean, ask anybody that actually knows me,
if they would ever consider me "conventional".
So don't sit there, and hide behind words like
"I just want what's best for you", "I care about you", "I'm concerned",
"Its your choice to go, but if you don't:
the police will forcibly escort you,
or you'll not be allowed to be in our college community."
Scoffing at the word community,
because whenever someone tries to use that word,
usually it is about discluding people, rather than including them.
"So, either be discluded now, by your 'choice', or by us making you.
All the while, literally 12 hours previous,
we had zero idea what was going on,
or even who you were. "
Seems like you really do have "my best interests at heart", huh?

One of the most frustrating things,
is when people say they know how I feel.
Frankly, no you don't.
I'm not discrediting the burden you are saddled with,
as your trials and tribulations may have been great,
but you can't possibly know how I feel.
Can you possibly comprehend what its like
to feel empty? to feel nothing?

Sometimes,
people take it a step further.
When talking about being hurt,
they feel the need to relate a story
about how they overcame
the tragedy of a passed away family pet
or one time daddy didn't buy them everything.

While those may be instances of pain,
pain and hurt are two separate categories entirely.
Pain is short term. Temporary.
Hurt can be eternal.
Something you don't just
"get over".

At least the people who say things like
"get over it" aren't misguided.
They don't understand,
but at least they haven't deceived themselves
into thinking they know what it's like to hurt.

Abuse after abuse
scar tissue forming over broken nerves
only reflect the inner hollowness
of no more feeling.

Ever so often a flair of hurt
wears down the numbed barriers
becoming the only thing that's real.

You can't tell me you know how
I feel.

Because I don't feel. Not anymore.

Some people have a natural feel for the spotlight,
they know how to handle others focusing on them.
Then there are countless people that are more content
in fading to the back, allowing others to shine.
For we are the forgotten sons and daughters,
sacrificing our sunshine to help more prominent flowers flourish.
At least, that's how I deceived myself.
Instead of just being okay with fading,
somehow that was all I did.
As I sit on my throne of shadows, without a speck of light
near me, no one else around, I question if it was all worth it.
If  labeling myself "forgotten" to give everyone else
an opportunity to glimmer in this world,
was as selfless as I try to make it sound, or just how life is.
The fade is a slow process, but a constant as well.
At this very moment, less and less of me remains,
I can only speculate what happens when I'm all gone.
Then, I truly will be forgotten.

"Hey, your backpack is really heavy!"
my friend shouts from across the classroom.
If only he knew
                            how its weight is incomparable to the one inside
                            how pain and grief and anger and loss
                            cannot be measured by mere pounds, but by metric tons.
"You really fit a lot of things in here, huh?"
Oh...if only you knew...

I feel a presence nagging at me,
like a dull, constant ache,
only more.
Its almost as if there is a scared little child,
deep down, begging to escape the dark.
While this passenger tugs at my heartstrings,
everything blurs out of focus.
Struggling with keeping order,
my thoughts jumble chaotically.
Every once and awhile, though,
I find moments of clarity,
and those are the most precious moments of all.

Looking into my beaten and bloodied hands,
covered in calluses.
I can only think that they are a reflection of me,
damaged and disfigured to the point of disrepair.
Life has taught me to live as if I am one big callus,
adapting to survive all the external pain.
External pain is something I can handle,
but what of the internal?
Trying to fight off what comes from the outside and inside,
something has got to give.
Focusing on my outward defenses, my insides swell,
while protecting my innermost ring leaves me battered and bruised.
I am unsalvageable, there's no rescuing me.
Turn back, save yourself.
I refuse to be an anchor to your balloon,
dragging you down and out of the sunshine.

You think that I don't try,
that I've given up.
That isn't true,
I wouldn't still be here if I did.
Lying in bed,
every night,
I have to convince myself
that tomorrow will be different,
that somehow I'll find the strength to push through,
that life is worth living.

Everyday,
I think about what it'd be like
to not have to worry anymore
to not have to pretend anymore
to not have to lie to others anymore
to not have to lie to myself anymore.

I have hit rock bottom before,
like I told you.
How that fifteen or so ounce
revolver
felt like the weight of the entire world.
How squeezing the
trigger
felt like everything finally going away.
How the sound of the
blank
made me question if its what I should be doing.

I try, everyday
just to keep my head above water.
As you already know,
I can't swim.

All I want from you
More than anything at all
is your happiness.

In a perfect world
You would choose my happiness too
But I am afraid.

That fear holds me down
Sears scars deep into my flesh
Burns my entire self.

Numbness brings solace
A familiar comfort
Constant escaped hearts.

Emotionally
Closed off from all stimuli
Until recently.

That opening like
A storm of swirling rawness
Complete destruction.


So choose. Choose me. Please.
Make being vulnurable
Worthwhile. I love you.

Sometimes, I feel like a lump of coal
under all sorts of pressure.
The pressure intensifying,
continuously building up,
to where I doubt I can handle it.
While I desperately push forward
trying to adapt and survive,
I am weighed down by
chains of doubt and insecurity.
Oppressed in ******* by my own mind,
no exodus, no escape.
All those miles, conditioning I did
only to fall into a pit of darkness,
losing myself in the abyss.
Chained down, pressure equivalent to anvils
dragging me farther and farther,
I can barely see the light above,
only a fragile glimmer of hope left.
Nature has provided me tools
to fashion a ladder,
for there is no "quick fix" for escape.
You have to take one step at a time.
So while I feel like coal now,
maybe one day I can transform
and become a diamond.  
But, God, why must the
ladder seem so long?

Throughout history, huge achievements have happened.
Shakespeare articulated emotion, tugging on the heartstrings of many.
Darwin developed the idea of adapting to outside stimuli.
The Wright Brothers taught us how to fly, Neil and Buzz walked on the moon.

We've seen people capable of
love,
evolving,
teaching others to fly,
technological advances.

Yet, not love for people who are different.
Yet, an inability to evolve to someone who isn't the same.
Yet, people are locking each other in cages, clipping their wings.
Yet, sociological advances grind to a screeching halt.

The human race is truly amazing, and has done some incredible things.
But let's not let past glory make us complacent and content with where we are.
We have a long way to go.

I'm not exactly the sharpest crayon in the box,
but hey,
at least I'm in the box.
If only sometimes.
More frequent than not,
I'm content to break out,
do my own thing,
but really, its just
running away.
Wether it be
making jokes so that nothing is too serious,
keep my distance,
so they won't matter,
because then it can't hurt.
I've been worn down to the nub,
as dull an indigo Crayola as you've ever seen,
label peeling off, stepped on, cracked.

It's true that each color has its own flare,
its own brilliance,
its own
beauty,
if only to the artist overseeing.
So while I may not always know
the plan God has in store for me,
who am I to stop resisting,
even if the design
is still an empty page
waiting to be explored.

Darkness and light.
Balance.
What happens when the scales shift,
And that balance dissipates?
The cliched expression goes, "without light, there is no darkness."
Which I disagree, I find there to be ONLY darkness,
and those engulfed.
When the passive Yin overcomes the aggressive Yang,
When warmth and intimacy give way to cold and insecurity,
When the ebbs destroy the flows,
When the cons outweigh the pros,
What is left?

In the midst of a hopeful new year,
stubborn ignorance longs for a refreshing beginning,
even if time is just a arbitrary social construct
devised to add order and pretended control to an essentially
chaotic reality, filled with otherwise random
summations of events that seem to only add
pain and misery to this exhausting existence.
Whether or not any of this is worth the effort
is another debate entirely,
as the "new year, new you" cliché
fails to grasp the inability some people have
to escape the darkness.
The past, entrenched in suffering, despair
growing in the shadows, eat away
at the edge's of one's psyche,
slowly,
continuously,
until the deterioration reaches the peak.
Inversely, sanity becoming nothing less
than a distant memory.
So distant, that its even a question if that
was a memory, or a diluted dream
born from a fantasy.
Ambition long gone as well,
fading things that used to be fun to the background,
like a picture without any saturation
dulling even what seemed to be the brightest flowers
to a completely boring gray.
After ambition and sanity,
I only fear what I'll lose next.

I went to the park today
and marveled at the ducks gliding across the pond.
Above the surface,
smooth sailing, graceful, serene.
When just below,
their webbed feet,
kicking like hell,
struggling to keep going.

Its weird when the destination becomes more fun than the journey.
Goals are important, but you have to enjoy the ride.
That way its not solely based on pass or fail,
you still can get something out of the trip,
even if you don't succeed. And you won't every time.
No one does. Adversity shapes character.
No wonder the best people have the most scars.

All in all, I have been relatively lucky,
everyone has their trials and tribulations.
We are products of our environment, more or less,
in comparison, my struggles are no worse than some.
That might be worse, knowing how rough others have it,
because guilt can be a powerful deterrent to communication.
I feel guilt about letting people in for they have enough,
they do not need me to weigh them down.
Because bearing my weight alone is more appealing,
I find security in keeping people at arm's length.
Keeping people far enough away acts like a vanilla roller coaster,
you don't get too high on happiness, or too low from pain.
I hide behind the illusion of self sufficiency,
as to avoid exposing any weakness.
Over the years, my joy has waned away,
to the point where I simply drift through.
Living this way, give plenty room for reflection,
isolation has led me to an epiphany, or revelation if you will.
I believe I have gone as far as I can alone,
I want something more. I need something more.
Holding everything inside doesn't make us strong,
but the willingness to give ourselves up to others.
I tell you this having lived life as a hermit with moderate success,
but it has all been superficial, nothing deeply helping.
You cannot make this journey alone,
believe me, I have tried.

As time goes on,
unforeseen things pop up,
and require our uttermost attention.
The little things,
they tend to fade into the background.
No wonder,
I can barely see myself now.

Today's Father's Day
Well..
For me...
its just another

Sunday

Its been two months
since I broke apart
and my heart was pierced
by a thousand arrows.

My dear friend
writhing in emotional
and psychological torment
made a decision.

He decided
life was no longer worth living.
That the pain, sadness, sorrow
overwhelmed indefinitely.

I think of him everyday
there seems to be no end in sight
and to be honest
I'd have it no other way.

Blake was one of my best friends
and forgetting him
would be the biggest injustice
for someone who had the impact he did.

The people and the friends
that we have lost
or the dreams that have faded
should never be forgotten.

It's been five years.
****.

I never met my grandpa,
he fought in Vietnam.
He didn't die in battle.
When he got home,
he attempted to pick up the pieces,
of his shattered mind.

The unimaginable things he must have done
all for the sake of fighting for his country.
The cruelty he must have seen
all for a government squabbling.
To return, with angry faces meeting him,
as if it was his decision to go to resort to arms,
as if PTSD wasn't enough of a punishment.

He returned to his family
struggling to acclimate to the environment.
Tried to shake off
the horrific nightmares of war
that led to bloodcurling screams
keeping the entire block wide awake.

He returned to his job
construction work, paving roads
seeking solitary work,
afraid he would snap.
One day, he crashed.
Pinned into the machine
on a hot June day.

As the sun
baked the blood in his face
this man paid for whatever sins
he committed, and then some.
slowly, he inched his way to Death's doorstep,
with a crooked smile, and a guiltless heart,
finally having peace, in a life of turmoil.

Fun fact 1:
Depression is genetically linked.
Fun fact 2:
Schizophrenia is genetically linked.
Guess what litters my family tree?
I've already written countless times on
my ongoing battle with depression,
and all the casualties that war has brought,
whether it be 2-3 hours of sleep a night
if I'm lucky,
or complete lack of interest in everything.
But to consider the potential for schizophrenia
to only add to the list of things I constantly worry about,
delusions, hallucinations, general apathy, etc
are things that I've experienced, only to attribute to depression.
Sometimes the only thing that keeps me sane is the ability
to write out all my crap on here and at least pretend someone else reads.
I can't internally self-reflect, simply because I cannot trust my mind.
All that being said,
I doubt I can quantify how much this site helps, even if I rarely write
"poems".
More often than not, its just a free-style blog.
I say that I believe that knowing how much this site actually helps,
because even in the time I've written on here,
I've attempted suicide on multiple occasions, currently 0-3.
I don't care how many times the lightning bolt glows yellow,
or how many people repost, comment, or add any of my writings.
But that could just be the apathy creeping in,
slowly suffocating any potential joy,
all the while, posting at times where people aren't as active.
Just like in real life, where I alter my schedule,
as to not see anyone, or at least,
as few people as possible,
that is, before attempt number four rolls around.
Until then,
it looks like I'll be busy trying to distinguish what is real
and what is all in my head.

"Great minds think alike."
Or so they say.
I hate these expressions.
Clichés, idioms, old sayings, etc.
All these do is limit how people see the world,
trusting an all encompassing phrase.
I find it especially frustrating,
when I couldn't disagree more with them.
So while you say, "great minds think alike",
all you are doing is to justify that you have a similar opinion
as somebody else.
You know what makes great minds "great"?
They see the world differently.
The ingenuity and innovation they provide
to push humanity further and further.
Great minds think differently from everyone,
that's what makes them great.

In me, the pressure keeps rising,
despair prevalent, continuously building.
All the scars,
ripping back open.
Tearing my flesh,
Ripping me away,
grinding me down.
Are you happy now?
My heart is exhausted,
What will be my release?
Do you pull me up,
just to throw me down again?
Peel away my skin,
separate the meat from bone,
callously inflict everlasting pain.
Are you happy now?

On the twelveth day of Christmas my family gave to me
twelve drunken drinks,
eleven scars scaring,
ten belt a-beatings,
nine father's laughing,
eight mother's glancing,
seven sister's hiding,
six tears a-streaming,
five unheard apologies,
four cries for mercy,
three bruised organs,
two busted ribs,
and a very, very broken heart.

I can solve a rubik's cube.
I can't unravel the puzzle in my head.

I can checkmate someone in four moves.
I can't protect myself.

I can master any Dungeon, with my trusty d20.
I can't hide from reality.

I can compute complex mathematical functions.
I can't answer why.

I can type 80 words a minute.
I can't get three out of my head.
I can read 300.
I can't stop thinking "I'm not worthwhile."

I can repair an Xbox 360.
I can't be fixed.

I can run a mile in under six minutes.
I can't get away from my own mind.

I can recite lyrics from hundreds of songs, without the accompaniment.
I can't escape.

I can diffuse a difficult situation via mediation.
I can't stop the onslaught from between my ears.

I can greatly influence others with sound logic, rhetoric, reasoning.
I can't bury my internal conflict.

I can dunk a basketball.
I can't slam my troubles away.

I can qualify for Honors programs.
I can't keep up with the burden.

I can get recruited to play Division II college sports.
I can't emotionally handle the lifestyle change.

I can bowl a 230.
I can't clean every proverbial frame.

I can "wow" people with my athleticism, skills, abilities.
I can't accept what I do as ever being "good enough".

I can outwork my opponent.
I can't go back to where I'm from, I have to get out.

I can feign happiness, joy.
I can't bring myself to feel the real deal, no matter how much I want to.

I can function.
I can't survive...not like this.

I can take away other's pain.
I can't stop my own.

Feeling great,
effortlessly moving
without a care in the world.
Only to fly too close to the sun,
burn up,
come crashing down,
back to earth
and the painful reality.

As I lay,
scorched and charred
beyond all recognition
I only pray
that the memories left behind
aren't as disfigured or damaged
as much as my body and soul have become.

I'm not mad at you,
I promise.
Don't get me wrong,
I tried so hard to be.
I wanted to be mad at you,
for how everything has played out in the last few months,
but I just can't bring myself to do it.
I love you,
and that just doesn't work.
I miss everything about what used to be,
even the sort of "is this a thing" element,
the mystery became its own little twist.
Each moment treasured,
praying for time to slow down,
come to a screeching halt,
stand perfectly still.
Where everything else
faded out and I finally could
live in the moment.
But I was afraid,
so I did all in my power to push you away,
only to realize too late how much it meant,
finally admitting and coming clean,
only for none of that to matter anymore.
And over the last six weeks,
we've become strangers.
I'll admit I'm not a big fan of that,
but in my heart I genuinely feel that its best,
because the last time we talked and hung out,
only resulted with me going to far,
in pursuit of that previous happiness in a vulnerable time.
Do you remember the last thing you said to me,
after that incident?
That I made you feel uncomfortable.
I refuse to do that again,
because of how I feel about you.
I creaked the door back open,
half-heartedly saying that if you needed anything or wanted to talk,
I could do that.
Only to experience radio silence and glances across the cafeteria.
So maybe,
somewhere inside
you think that this is best,
and I wouldn't blame you for that.
Don't you think you did anything wrong,
because that's simply untrue.
This is just the only way I can protect you
from the monster I've become.

Five years ago
I knew an 8th grader
who felt ashamed for who he was
who felt constantly out of place
who tossed and turned at night
     with deep enough despairs
     with ideas of throwing it all away
     with plans for those actions
     with no dreams, and only one long nightmare

Three years ago
I knew a sophomore
who finally just started to accept it
who reached out and tried
who thought everyone felt the same
     with only blank stares for replies
     with only confused "friends"
     with no family backing
     with no true "inner circle"

Last year
I knew a senior
who carried the burden alone
who perfected his mask
who finally learned how to hide
     with perceived success
     with sarcasm and quick jokes
     with pushing everyone away
     with justified fear of opening up

This year
I know a college freshmen
who is struggling for acceptance of himself
who brags of the physical scars
who is afraid to reveal the deeper ones
     with walls as big as he could muster
     with iron bars to conceal what is beneath
     with pandora's box within
     with that same scared kid locked inside.

I cannot say how many suicidal soliloquies or
diatribes of dialogue I have veraciously verbalized
towards the stark stare looking back at me
from my own reflection.
The cold calculating eyes piercing, penetrating
a completely cumbersome set of armor
deliberately designed, ironically, to protect
those forlorn, forgotten windows to the soul.
Windows, once reliably radiating with life and love,
only now to be desolate, dark.
Alone.
Abandoned.

Another sleepless night.
As the hours tick by,
days seem to blur together.
The concept of time, lost
a seemingly unrecognized importance.
A constant order, now shrouded.
Lacking focus, distinctions hard to identify.
Clarity is a wonderful thing,
with value tends to be misrepresented.

Taking into account all the extra hours I have,
Reflection and self-evaluation tend to fuel
all my extra thoughts.
Nights like this tend to be the worst, at least during the day
there is sunlight to dispel the inner shadows.
These thoughts, more painful than any physical abuse
I have ever experienced.
For my psychological prison tortures me more
than those forsaken tools of punishment.

Coat hangars, wire, studded leather,
the list goes on and on and on and on,
long-lasting impacts, not initially seen.
While the scars on my body have healed,
the injuries of the spirit remain fresh.
Damaged so badly, dreams are gone.
All that remains is hurt. Those
nightmares so vivid, so painful, so...
real.

As things run into each other,
the nightmares fuse with reality.
These distractions limit my interactions,
for sometimes,
comprehension disappears.
Letting things happen and not making decisions
serves as an escape.
For my brain is busy
trying to distinguish what is and isn't real.

Expressing myself has never been a forte,
for how do I explain the hallucinations,
the manifested fears, the projected demons
that originate from within?
So I deflect.
I run away.
I pretend to be okay.
I try to remain steady
amidst a raging typhoon of anxiety, regret, and fear.

Don't think of me as some depressed statistic,
or do, if that comforts you,
if you can't understand how for every shade of blue, green you had,
my life has been dominated by grey.
I'm not complaining, its just how things are and have always been.
Its my life, where yellows, oranges, purples just don't seem to have that
POP. As if everything is faded, dulled down.
Where happiness isn't achieved by just being,
but every smile a constant internal struggle,
consciously having to fight, struggle, claw at the outposts in my mind,
just to have a remote chance.
If you don't, the infectious grey seeps into everything, filtering through.
With nothing seeming to provide joy
the little things have an added negative spin,
while the big things serve as reminders as to what it was like
to feel all the bright, fun colors, the carefree optimistic feel of hope,
only replaced by a severe lack of ambition or desire to do anything.
I'm not asking anyone for a hand out, or attention, or even someone's pity
as I've been accused of.
Instead, I'm just trying to help people understand the hardest question of why.
Why I do the things I do.
Why I say the things I say.
Why I act the way I act.
Because my rainbow consists of only a single, monotone, joyless color.

In the fast world of today,
where you're pressured to go out and do,
I find, that my favorite days,
are filled with just laying in the grass.

The peaceful experience
tends to slow down time,
and I appreciate the little things
that much more.

In some ways,
You were always someone I looked up to.
I may have been older,
But the respect I had
For your innate abilities and skills
Was unmatched.
Unparalleled.
Without equal.

We often
Interchangeably
Took the lead
Its what made our friendship special.

But now you've gone on ahead
To a place where I cannot follow.
Hiding my feelings from those closest
Its just easier than seeing the pain
Rush over their face.
For they didn't know you
So they can remain sheltered
From the eternal agony left within
That almost seems to consume
More and more of me everyday.

As opposed
To cherishing your memory,
I almost feel like I'm tarnishing it.
I could remember all the late nights,
Too short of summers,
Endless laughs,
The good times go on and on
Seemingly unending in the context.
Instead,
I lay awake,
Crying all the time
Missing what used to be.

We often hear about how fast light is,
comparing extremely fast things to be
"faster than the speed of light"...
but no matter how fast light is,
darkness is always there first,
waiting for it.
In the end,
no matter how hard light attempts to catch up,
the darkness will always be one step ahead.

Our minds are beautiful.
Able to help overcome pain, see past malice,
protect us from the truth, create delusions
so we don't have to deal with the reality.
The mind's ability to create barriers and limits
isn't a focused laser beam only taking away the bad
and leaving the good,
its often more like a clumsy grenade,
leaving craters of casualties in the wake of destruction.
Anything and everything can be controlled and limited
in the powerful grips the mind has over you.
Even love.
"We accept the love we think we deserve."
Because that's adapting.
But it still hurt.
Because it actually hurts more to expect anything else.
But it still hurt.
Because disappointment was norm.
But it still hurt.
Because anticipating being let down seemed better.
But it still hurt.
Because then it didn't scar all the way to the core.
But it still hurt.
Because life hurts.

I could tell her faith was shaken.
I felt like I should do or say something...
anything.
but nothing came.
I was just as lost as she was..

Often people hear the name Michael
and are drawn to the depictions of the archangel.
Vanquisher of Satan.
Hero.

My Michael is more in line of a fallen angel
lost of grace and devoid of that serene light
drowning and suffocating in his
darkness.

My father
Who art not in heaven
has abandoned long ago any family ties and remains
untethered.

9 years and some change
since I have had any contact
other family claim similar stories yet
question.

Every gathering of these people
whom I do not know
constantly compare me to his
shadow.

Imagine getting compared to the myth
of a person or being
that you have barely met and fail to
understand.

"I am accustomed to pain!"
shouts Frankenstein's monster.
Van Helsing desperately pleading to pull him out
of his desperate, life controlling despair.

The life parallels to this scene I have were already highlighted,
in a previous poem, showing my friends to be quite heroic.
Just like the monster portrayed in this movie,
I also struggle with finding hope within the bleak hand I've been dealt.

"How could the world go back when so much bad has happened?"
Sam asks Frodo, referring to the raging war.
He continues, "A new day will come,
when the sun shines it will shine brighter."

How is it, in a world surrounded by death and destruction,
that someone can look to the potential future and find promise?
The optimism stands out, especially considered the source.
Hobbits weren't looked to as leaders, but in this moment, Sam was one.

"I know you play msterious to avoid getting hurt."
******-analyzes Scott Pilgrim, showing talent outside of guitar-playing.
"I know you have reasons for not talking about your past."
Oh, Scott...don't we all?

Scott shows us bravery is not a required part of the operation,
but merely a deep understanding for those around us.
Showing we can't all just run away like Forrest Gump,
but surround ourselves with people who care.

While I doubt people turn to movies such as
Van Helsing, The Two Towers, and S.P. vs the World for advice
but I find it foolish to turn down free wisdom falling into my lap.
So you shouldn't take things at first glance, they're worth considering.

Father.
Defined as "one who exercises parental care over another"
stressed on the words 'care' and 'another'.
Because the only care I saw
was occasionally he would be passed out on the couch,
a reprieve from the belt.

Let me tell you about my dad, if I may.
To everyone outside of the house,
he was an upstanding member of society.
Well educated,
hard-working,
brilliant.

In many ways,
I'm just like him.
So many characteristics passed,
no matter how much I try and deny.
In a way,
that's what scares me most.

Out in public,
putting on a persona,
calculating every action.
Behind closed doors,
finally being my true self. Abusive.
Instead of outwardly, though, my focus has always been inward.

One thing with my dad though,
is that he grew up the same way that I did.
Following the footsteps of his dad,
continuing the cycle.
What if that happens to me?
What if I can't control myself?

Its been six years
since I've seen him
skulking around.
Lurking. Hunting.
But in my estimation,
six years is fourteen too few.

Something I am no stranger to
always having to perform
whether that be
on a stage, court, turf
the list goes on and on
but for everyone else
once they leave their battlefield
they can go home
relax
be themselves.
But not for people like me.
The people
that have to outwardly display
this image that they think everyone else expects
a fictitious persona
that is no longer you.
Because its easier.
Avoids all the half hearted
"are you okay?"
"what's wrong?"
"do you need something?"
"wanna talk?"
Frankly, I'd rather not say.
So I deceive.
Pretending to feel a way I'm not.
A way I can't even comprehend.
A way, long forgotten.
Happy.

Favoring night,
comfort in the darkness.
Been here so long,
its basically home.
Loneliness remains constant,
regardless of the hour.
At least at night,
the shadows are welcoming.
My retreat,
its all I've ever known.

There's only been one person I have ever had that I truly trusted,
could look to for advice and know that what he said was true.
My uncle, who was more of a dad to me than my so-called father,
a monster, pure embodiment of evil. A testament showing that evil does not come from these supernatural interpretations, but of the people that share our beds, eat at our tables, etc. That's a tangent for another day. Instead, I want to honor my uncle's memory here by posting his life objective. My uncle passed away a little under four and a half years ago, and to say I've lost quite a bit of direction would be an understatement. Now, re-reading the last thing he ever wrote brings me a little peace of mind when I'm feeling down, but I think it's time to broaden the potential of this passage and see if anyone else can get anything out of it. So, without further delay, here's what he decided to be his life goal:

**I wish for a little peace of mind. I want to feel like I have done my part, or at least tried. I want a good night's rest. I feel that there is much more to this life than the earth. I feel that I have more to offer this life than to the mundane. So my objective would be that offering I give to leave the grind, to give my all in whatever endeavor that best suits what I have to offer this world. So I intend to put my best foot forward, head down feet churning shoulders square, I mean to smash into destiny, the end result will either be victory or defeat. If it is defeat then I'll pick myself up and try again till I exhaust exhaustion, until death embraces me. Then all that will be remembered will be that which is attached to my bones, the label they earned from the integrity of my life. That is my objective.

I've had an off and on relationship over the years,
as many people in the world have.
However usually that involves another person,
while homelessness has always been my veiled mistress.
The last couple weeks have been awfully tough,
as the unrelenting weather has ferociously tested my will.
Wind, grinding away anything close to smiles,
Hail, battering my already bruised body,
Sun, sapping what little strength I have left,
Cold, freezing the very blood flowing in my veins.
Rain, wiping away my very identity.
Now, I'm just a ghost, wandering through town,
clothes tattered and torn, mismatched shoes,
grizzled face, eyes masking a deeper pain,
wondering when, or if, there will be another meal.
Not that a source of food is all a home is,
but it brings with a sense of warmth, safety, love.
I guess I just wish I had something like that.

When observing people throughout history,
the big, gory details often stand out.
Not everyone dies extravagantly or suddenly.
Plenty of people face a slower fate.
They fall not by one swift strike of the sword,
but by a thousand paper cuts.
These cuts seem insignificant by themselves,
however together they become much more.
Constantly being oppressed,
Continuously getting beaten down,
Running into brick wall after brick wall,
Discouraged beyond recognition.

A young man,
struggles to be able to find comfort.
Most just credit this to a bad day or two,
but what if every day is like that?
Where merely closing his eyes
refreshes all the tragedies of the past
that are permanently imprinted,
just behind the eyelids.
All he wishes for,
is to be able to find peace and comfort
to close his eyes,
without fear of reliving the horrific.
To just,
sleep.
A friend gives him a bottle of sleeping pills,
and a bed to sleep in.
First few pills don't work,
he's just so very tired.
So he shovels more down,
popping them like candy.
As the room fades away,
he finally feels that he can rest.
Only to wake up
after violently convulsing
in a pool of his own *****.
What really struck this guy as significant,
is not what he found,
but what he didn't find.
No one was there standing over,
trying to help.
No one noticed.
No one cared.
If he never woke up,
the world would have kept turning,
leaving him in the dust,
barely a memory.