I don't really know what to write anymore
I've got bits and bobs and puzzling pieces of poems
Floating through my mind
But I can't put them to paper
I know what to say and how and why
But cannot
I could write about love and life,
But I'm tired of that
I can write about butterflies and doodles of
Flying cheesy donuts or a land whale
But nope. That's too boring for me for now
Lethargy and apathy are taking over for now
So my inspiration tree is a little wilted.
So here's to another lack-of-inspiration poem
And another ode to boredom.

I sing for you my friend
Be safe, be strong, be all you are and more
You are beautiful
You are special
You are loved
I know you are troubled
You’ve got personal trials
Your inner fights
Your own battles
I’ve heard you say, “I’m ugly”
I’ve heard you say, “I’m nothing special”
I’ve heard you ask, “Why do you love me?”
I know I've said the same
But you are beautiful, inside and out
From your skin to your heart
But you are the most special person to me
For I trust you as a best friend
But you deserve love as no one else, and as all do
Since you are you and no other
So listen to this song and know you’ve always got
My shoulder to cry on
My hand to hold
My everything to be
I love you with an intense fiery passion
The flame’s color only dependent
On our relationship
Best friends, you burn yellow as sun and lemon and sand
Old friends, you burn orange as citrus and rust and balloons
Romantic friends, you burn red as blood and apples and flowers
The comedic and entertained, you burn green as grass and words and ether
The sad and most troubled, you burn purple as violets and poison and art
And the ones I love most? You burn blue-white, the hottest flame of all
The blue-white of shells and ice and sky
So to my friends all:
Know this and hear my song
You are beautifully stunningly gorgeous
You are more special than the stars you wish on
You are more loved than I can ever say
To me you are everything
Love and Laughter
Food and Drink
Breathe and Life

As we step into tomorrow
Leaving behind our yesterdays
Taking it in with a slight touch of sorrow
And the feeling of come what may
We try to hold our heads high
Trying to keep on keeping on
Following a red thread of hope
Tied to our wrists and tugging at us blindly
But is it the blind leading the blind
That gives us inner sight
Taking us to another level
Pulling us back into the light
They say love is blind
But hope is not love, while it never stings a soul
It only guides us gently
Soothing wounds til we are whole
So as we step into tomorrow
Perhaps it won't be so dark after all
If we walk this walk together
We will never be left alone

I’ve been told that my tongue is flirty,
And not only that but it’s wordy.
But try to put on a yoke
And I’ll laugh at this joke,
For my tongue will always be *****.

To sleep -- perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
For once your life's candle is but a nub
Your fate has been decided and you cannot run
And you wonder what happened to bulletproof weeks
In your arms, just building sky-castles of words
And as you open your mouth, the raven first speaks
Telling of cabbages and kings, and gentle demon birds
Playing an asphyxiated song of angel's wings
Leaving me intoxicated and feathered with silver crowns
And as the breath from my lungs makes rings
Of vapor in the air, the mist settling on ancient frowns
The future runs through me now to capture
Absolutely clawed leviathans, found in rapture.

I don't get this tough guy act
This facade of strength and invincibility
Put on by guys who work out
They brag and strut, show off their muscles
I think it's a bit pathetic.
Ok cool, you can lift 300 pounds,
Can you discuss poetry and science intelligentlly?
Why act invincible and as though you're more solid
Than a diamond, strong through and through
We both know you're more of a turtle,
Strong shell, and soft center that you pretend is nonexistant
In all honesty, I think guys do it to show up other guys
But I'm more into smart, funny guys
More lean than musclebound
And above all, gentle and kind
Sensitivity is not weakness and chivalry should not die

At my school though, it's dying
Some guy will run me over
And another will let the door swing
A third will simply push on through
The rare friend or stranger who stops and gives way
Who holds the door or makes some space
Is hard to find today, and precious

I'll never get this tough guy act,
Made of agression and violence
Fueled by pure testosterone
And removes all common sense.
So guys, please stop this tough guy act
Not a pretty sight at all
You'll beat each other up
For what all too? A girl? A prize?

Toys
What are they?
Ask someone to define a toy
And you may get an answer like
Something for a child to enjoy, a plaything
A more creative person may say
An object to be enjoyed, anything imbued with love
As for me, I might say the first, or the second
It’s all perspective
When a little child, I considered toys to be fun
Enjoyable, and probably bought from the store
A doll or bike, wooden blocks or a swing
But now, toys are different
Now, they are still enjoyable
But not “toys”
My notebooks
My brain
My pens
These are my new toys
I tend to create my own games these days
Drawing, writing, reading and thinking
Even these poems are my new fun

I'm trying to free this masterpiece
that's stuck inside my brain
if it isn't released,
the pressure will make me insane.
So I put my pen to paper
and try to make it flow
but for my inexpertise
there are details I can't show.
The movements of the pen
and traces of the ink
represent what I can do
not what I can think.
So the cartoon scrawl that
lays upon this sheet
simplifies the imagination
that stands upon my feet.

Asian faerie pirate
Beautiful pirahna
Dancing firelights
Conversion faeries
Benny Grunch
Phantasmagoric unicorns
Mardi gras
Terpsichorean cassowaries
King cake
Satircal parody
Highly intelligent humor
Unliving dead
*******
Planned obsolescence
French Quarter
Baton Rouge
Rock & roll

In a universe of toys and dolls there was
One planet
That is to say, there wasn't one planet alone,
But one specific planet
This was the planet of stuffed creatures
The second home of teddy bears
And velveteen rabbits
The place for old friends full of fluff and honey,
Old grey donkeys and shy pink piggies
The place to go after they've been loved to pieces
The over loved and worn are
Ever so tenderly pieced together
The battered and abused are mended
Comforted with thoughts of laughter and sun
Given extra shiny buttons and softer filling
The loved and misused have all have come here
The adored and discarded have all come home
Long after their time on Earth is through
Once burned or trashed or lost
Little angels fly them to the new world
For a second life of happiness
Home to the land of stuffed creatures

My breath and yours are made of stardust,
And will someday mingle in another’s being,
Or the midnight sky.

Your fingers have dipped in starlight, and
My eyes glow like the moon
And what you've painted on me, your canvas,
Has made my every nerve end twitch
Trembling with anxious, drunk-love excitement.
Sandman's heavy seeds have been sown,
And weigh down eyelids with their tempting fruit.
My fingers are dimmer
And I softly worry your shirt between them
Staring at a space behind my eyes

You're a warm sun in the cool of evening and I don't know how to tell you I love you except for in the small ways you keep me breathing.

I think constantly about whether I'm happy dating you, and it's not your fault I'm uncertain about loneliness, because you didn't make me question myself for a year and a bit.

You're not perfect, you leave your coffee mugs around and have odd habits I'm not used to.

But you don't make me feel bad for not being vegetarian and you are so gentle and you tell me you have butterflies for me and that's not something X did.

You welcome my mess of fabric and paint and uncertain touch and you make me think about accepting affection and I'm tearing up writing this.

I'm sorry I haven't figured myself out but I'm so glad you're along for the ride

Mother nature has been flirting with Spring and Summer again, but I fear she'll give Winter one last parting kiss.

The boy’s hand slips into mine. The cave tunnel is dark, and wet. Not cold, or musty, or anything other than dark and wet, and still. I look down at him, and smile softly, then turn forward as we stepped into the water. Large pebbles underfoot crunch roundly over each other.
Take a breath and everything is green and clear and open. Underwater, all the even lines of an empty public school hallway hauntingly echo the muffled silence. The stairwell opens easily, and strangely so.
The landing at the top is far enough away that I nearly choke looking for it. But we make it and there’s a few feet of air and this door is harder to open. Much harder. We pour out through it, onto the matted carpeting of a library where many eyes swivel to find the disruption.
A crisp lady with cat-eye-glasses ushers the boy into a side office while barring me from entering further. She and a round, stationery man snap back and forth at each other in distress.
The boy and I are in the wrong time, it’s not the right time. ****. ****. They’re sending him back to 200 BC. And me to 2017. No. No.
No, I’m supposed to take care of him, he wasn’t even supposed to be in the cave with me. Neither of us were supposed to be that far away from the group. He isn’t old enough! This was supposed to be quick and distracting and ******* hell what do we do?
The people in the library push us back into the stairwell and it’s cold. Not the water, the color. The light fades out of it as ceiling glow-stars would, and he’s so calm HOW IS HE SO CALM?
His hand is so small in mine and I’m afraid we’ll run out of air before I figure out what to do, but we can’t do anything. We can’t. There’s nothing here. We have to go. It’s the only direction; back into the water and hope they were wrong. I don’t understand how he can trust me this much, why is he still looking up to me? We might drown.
I need to make a move, and he hands me some glowsticks. Somehow he’s found light. I’m sure my hand is unpleasant and clammy and can he feel my heartbeat through my palm? We need to go.
Big breath, into the watery shadows of stairs. There’s sand at the bottom. My hand’s on the door, pushing out. I can hear my blood. It’s open. Oh god, ***-

I’m awake

Its like a little round shiny green boat
Made just to carry a pale pink origami flower
And happiness...
That's my poetic answer.

Some say love is a kiss
Pressed softly against your cheek
Or perhaps a beautiful summer's
Day, with sunny skies and green grass
Maybe a pain in the chest
Caused by love unrequited,
Lost, or unatainable
But why can't love be everything?
A simple pinprick of emotion
To a blade ****** and twisted in your heart
A plastic grocery bag floating
Heavily in an Ankh-Morporkian river
A dandelion crushed by
Children's running feet
A single raindrop streaking down
From the sky
A baby giraffe stumbling to
Her feet, gangly legs tangling up
An awkward kiss, half shy
But still enjoyed
A hundred spears pointed towards
The heart of one man, standing forward
A broken butterfly wing
Fluttering to the ground

With your eyes, you seem to look through mine and into my soul
With your words, you make me feel happier than I've ever been
With your kiss, you make my heart blush with a scarlet redder than fire
With your arms, you wrap me in an embrace that makes me feel entirely safe
With your hands, you remind me that you are always there for me and have been
With your touch, you soothe me and my anxiety fades like an old photo
With your love, you make me feel more loved than I ever dreamt

When you're a child, hotel rooms are magical, a place for pillow castles and blanket superheroes;
When you're a child, an empty paper towel roll is a telescope or sword, Excalibur in disguise;
When you're a child there's a man who runs on the telephone wires as you watch from behind car windows;
When you're a child you're told to act your age and grow up, to behave, sit nicely and mind your manners if you want special privileges.

So you do what you're told, and you grow up.

But when you grow up, hotel rooms become places for weary collapse in the stale cigarette burned blankets of a cheap road trip motel, or intimate rendevous with someone you can't take home.
When you grow up, an empty toilet paper roll is a reminder that you need to get groceries but you're running low on cash and payday is in a week and why don't we have any clean rags in this house?
When you grow up, you forget the telephone wire man because now you're driving and so help me I will turn this car around if you make one more sound back there!
When you grow up, you wish you didn't have to act your age or be grown up, you grumble at your boss and swear at the guy who cut in front of you because who the @#$% does he think he is?!

They don't tell you that when you grow up, you might lose your wonder.

How about this,
Take the knives from your back
The razors from your wrists
The needles from your arms
The pain and suffering in your heart
And the doubt in your mind
Drop them all in this bucket
Toss them into that abandoned well,
And come over to this side
Cross the line separating dark and light
Wicked and angelic
Rough violence and gentle caresses
Step over and join us
If we can offer nothing else,
We can offer ourselves.
Friends, lovers, comrades,
Formerly tortured souls like yourself
It isn't perfect over here, but it's better
We'd escort you over, walk with you
But we've already crossed that line
And once you cross the line,
Only your voice can cross back
Only your voice will want to.

You've asked me why I love you
As if you couldn't believe I would love you
But how could I not love you?

Why do we sentient beings,
We intelligent masses of flesh and bone
Feel an inclination to wonder?
To admire and collect and ****** beautiful things?
To pluck a flower from a forbidden garden,
And to taste  lethal meat?
To see and feel and smell
And hear and taste
Until our synapses overload
And we experience nothing more
Than an achingly painful
And powerfully unsurpassable joy?
Maybe this is what it means to be human...

I have no fancy words for you
Nor any spectacular things
But I will give my heart to you
And my love flies to you on wings
I love you more than anyone
And I've never loved this way
For you, my love, and what you've done
I don't have enough to say
You've made my head absolutely whirl
With just the thought that you are mine
I'm not the brightest or prettiest girl
But I tell you that when our fingers intertwine
Then I seldom feel loved more
The words you speak, each touch and kiss
Makes my lips curl into smile and heart soar
And when we part for a minute, you're missed
Even in my deepest slumber
I breathe your name
When your antics cause me to wonder
I still feel the same
I have no fancy words for you
Nor any spectacular things
But I will give my heart to you
And my love flies to you on wings
I've never lost love for you
It has only ever grown for you
So I tell you once again,
I love you

Before I had you, I never worried about losing you
Only about never getting you
Now that I have you I mostly worry about loving you
Because if we do leave each other
The reason will be a good one
We love each other too much for it to be otherwise

Recipe for an All-Purpose Orifice
Makes one serving of patience

1 part nasal cavity
1 part ******* *****
1 part yonic *****
1 part oral cavity
1 part aural cavity

Blend gently in a hollow synthetic cylinder.
Envelope the spirit of the form.
Let it set.
Gently coax the form out, once you've assured the spirit of its safety.
Accept the tedium; love can be tedious.
Set it on your shelf for people to pick up and wonder at at dinner parties.
Carry it with you when you move.
Leave instructions in your will requiring your loved ones bring it to the cemetery yearly.

I am a mouse in a sea of cats
A red fish in a blue school
I know not what to do
So I decide, having read the writing
Etched upon the wall, I decide
I shall be like Despereaux!
Let out a defiant squeakl
Lift my pokey-pen sword
And charge forth!
I shall be Jack the Giant Slayer
Destroy my fears, speak brazenly
As I run off, leaving this
Phrase etched into the wall,
Waiting for the next timid mouse to read;
Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero
(Pluck the day and put no trust in the future)

"Most men lead lives of quiet desperation"
Fighting the blanket of oppression
Within and without themselves
The metaphorical blanket holding them
To a goal that is not of themselves
Tied to be someone they are not,
Trying to fill the wrong size shoes
Life planned out by superiors
Blinded by tinted glasses of lie and
False truths put on by others preceding
This suffocating blanket restricts and constricts
And holds the victim to one forced idea
Like blinders on a horse
Or a blindfold on a magician
Only a narrow, yet clear path is provided
A leap of faith must be taken to discover 'self'

Cold. Distant. Lonely.
How am I supposed to explain to you how I feel when I don't even know?
When you have a girlfriend, but you still comfort me and soothe my self-doubt?
When we walk and converse together every day and I feel like I know you, but I don't know you?
Am I supposed to traverse this path alone, or with you, or with someone else?
It's fall and it's getting cold, so I need you to cloak me in your warmth and wrap me in your arms to shield me from the elements and my loneliness.
There is a dance tomorrow that I want to go to with you to, but all I've got is a field trip while your girlfriend is on both of our minds.
I just need an embrace, a touch, a physical sensation to tell me you care about me.
You and I and our friends know that she's the kind of girl who will break your heart, rip your already fragile and many times mended heart to throbbing, aching, weeping pieces.
Our friends try to play matchmaker, and I play a different game with the same objective.
How can you not see that she is like the others?
All her predecessors who fragmented you?
Won't she do the same?
But if you will not listen to reason, and true and pure love, then I only hope she will take care of you, cradle your heart in her hands and give it strength.
I hope that she will give you what you need, and more.
However, if she does not deliver, I will be here, waiting.

You frighten me, in the way that a small bird or beautiful flower would frighten me.
The way a soft rabbit might rub against my ankle and and doze in my lap.
You are the clouds beneath my weary airplane, flung out across the atmosphere.
And you are the prickle of a heavy wool blanket in the thin chill of the night.
You are the the warm, green earth of the mountains, holding up the lightness of the blue sky.
The breeze kisses at the hem and collar of my shirt, and I hear you in it.
I lose you in my arms and find you, a fleeting creature in the forest.

You are the music while the music lasts,
If it can flow through your body
If you let it surge out of your mouth and fingertips
Then allow it to explode from your soul
Or coax it to whisper from your lips
The music will dance for you like a charmed snake
Caress the ears and minds of your audience
And open the eyes of their hearts.
For music is emotion put into sound,
Inducing tears and laughter, smiles and sympathy
And you know, no matter how you sing,
Even if you hit a few sour notes,
It only matters that you feel the music.
So long a as you feel it, enjoy it, let it overcome you
The music will make itself great.
And after you fall from the trance, back into the real world,
After the last notes and chords leave your instrument,
If your audience silently pauses before suddenly exploding in applause and cheers,
You know you have done well.
Just let it fill your bones.

I'm sorry to tell you but the little things you treasure;
An old letter from an ancestor
A silver trinket
A memory
Will all
Crumble into dust
Tarnish into black
Fade into nothingness
So before all the years and months and weeks fly by
Detach yourself a bit from your clutch on these
small things.
Read the letter.
Play with the trinket
Enjoy the memory,
But all things must away and so
I urge you to live in the moment
Rejoice in the light of the present day
And shout for no other reason than your existance.
But heaven forbid,
I implore you otherwise,
Please do not say
YOLO.