Don't let your kids grow up to be poets
because poets are a messy bunch
poets are the worst influences
they live in the thick of things
suspended in their own minds
and they are by a very large percentage
worth less than the clothes on their back
and they are all crazy
they all have to be
these mentally unstable babblers
they'd talk at anybody who'd listen
more like drunken tramps
than artists
so for the love of God
please don't let your kids grow up to be poets
because it's a rough time
you'd be better off keeping them in academia
that being said
upon reflection
would I have done it any differently?
not a ******* chance

Hey
When you feel down
Just remember
You aren't dead yet
So you just do your job
And keep on ******* living

A lot of the kids I went to school
were so **** sure of themselves
they would prattle on about
how macro economics was their passion
or how a major in accounting
is their dream
and there's nothing wrong with that
but would your would be passion
be your passion if you were homeless?
if you were terminal
I'm talking like
one year left on the clock
is your passion what you'd still be pursuing?
so you have a passion?
then go out and get it

when you're alone, you don't have to defend your motives
when you're alone, you don't have to have five good reasons
or three
or even one

every action has a consequence
maybe every action has an antecedent
sometimes i just don't want to investigate.

it's as if
everyone else lives to.

sometimes
i'm just difficult.
i'm just emotional, i'm just irrational, i'm just impulsive.

but if i was predictable, who would bother predicting?

it's embarrassingly easy to confuse people.

sometimes i believe that i hate you.

usually, i don't.
because i don't.

i wish i despised you.
i wish i could honestly say i haven't thought of you
that the whisper of your memory didn't pervade my mind
and drown out that propaganda

i wish there was more about you that bothered me
i wish i didn't remember your gentle touch,
those comfortable silences,
how we'd giggle not because anything was funny but because we were giddy and our smiles bubbled over.

i wish he was more like you.
i wish i'd met you later.
i wish our paths weren't so separate.
i wish
i wish
i wish.

welcome me into the innermost workings of your mind
share with me those ghosts you protect
as if i too knew them,
for i think i might.

pour it on me.
go on.
let your mysteries submerge us both.

**i want to get closer.

YOU
set my cheeks ablaze
YOU
a moth to flame

It's weird what goes on
behind these "simple" eyelids--
the thoughts and the urges
I simply cannot control

In one moment, I feel like
cleaning my desk, my vanity, my life--
next I am moving in a fluid dance,
and every object has it's place so
please
don't touch my pile--
just watch as I rearrange
the makeup and bracelets,
don't speak as I shift the contents
into a perfectly patterned formula.

Don't look as I starve myself raw
let me tear up inside and tango
with the devil - once dormant - parading my soul.
everything's just a means of control.

And then there's the highs, like one
speedy night,
where the right words escape me, yet I
never shut up.
they roll on out
and with the drop of my tongue,
the tragic downs
shred the place where my hope once hung

The world is distorted--
all senses curved and
odd thoughts odd actions--
when there's more than
one of you
inside

Ignorance
is beautiful
when it's strung together with metal links
and hung like chains in the candlelight
so the world can see it glisten on the sour part
at just the right time.
My body,
liked to **** up that ignorance
late at night when the moonlight uncovered my hidden despair,
my secret wish that you could be mine,
so that I could pretend like it still didn't hurt that much,
like it still wasn't painful to open my eyes
when the sun came up.

When my future became blurry,
I found clarity in the comfort of the past
because truth is,
I knew it well.
So I opened the lock on the wrecking ball cabinet,
let it explode all over my life
burnt out all the flame remnants
with my fingers,
numb.
I let myself love this stencil someone
of everything I told myself I'd never give excuses to
no more,
because that was easier,
pure ignorance was more painless
than admitting
I still needed you,
after all these days.

I mean,
how is it we continue to want those that break us apart?
And why is it we can erasing the memories, tearing and tugging the stitches
but people still remain in our hearts?
I mean,
how is it after this complicated translation
I still want back to you,
I still want
you.

It didn't make sense to me,
and I cruelly didn't want it to make sense to you.
So I fragmentaly kept it covered in my safety guard,
my ignorance
because that's easier than sinking into innocence,
calling out help, tracing out apologies on your skin,
begging you to believe that trust is more than just
some cacophony I've prepared in the back of my soul.
It's easier than trying to get you to believe in me again.

I didn't want to admit that I needed you,
but I do.

Ignorance
is beautiful

when it's strung together with metal links
and hung like chains in the candlelight
so the world can see it glisten on the sour part
at just the right time.