Bravery is being the only one who knows you're afraid
it's also being the only one who knows you're lonely, sad, or broken
bravery is walking alone and smiling because the people
in the cars driving by need to have their days brightened
bravery is leaving home and saying you had a good day,
when you're crashing down inside and you might as well
have built a sandcastle in a hurricane for yourself to stand on, bravery
is still being a rock, because others need a place to stay as well.

I keep thinking about how you used
to giggle like that to me
and now you giggle with that skinny boy
and how I got mad because Karl said men are better than women
because women are weaker
and when I got mad you were like "Oh God, don't start that conversation with her,"
like gender equality is a minor aggravation
and my passion was to be silenced
and you don't even look as you passed by
maybe I did it,
maybe it's my fault
but now you're
fine without me
you're fine
fine without
me fine
without me fine
me fine without
without
fine
me
and I'm dying inside.

it was a burning, living heaven, or hell, as we called it-
but I've never missed it more.

I pass back and read late at night
write poetry,
eat yogurt, things I had sworn off and return to with ever more vigor
I am caught in an orbit,
the gravitation is just enough to keep me spinning and too much
to let me go free, I fight it,
I fight it with stolen cigarettes and late nights
and tumbling over and over on a golf course
I fight it with drinks by myself and the purchase of ridiculous items
song lyrics composed on the spot and bold winks across the room
smiley faces and pickup lines to people I should not dare
a fantasy of LSD and the hope I'll see a dragon
so I can finally stop dreaming of them.

So, what's the deal with ******?
Why is it that there's this whole weird thing
associated with being unclothed,
as if we don't wake up and each of us
strip down for a completely naked shower,
and under our clothes, we're completely naked.
Why is it we spend so much time pretending our bodies don't exist
and fragilely hiding behind these pointless social
constructions about what and whom you should and shouldn't be,
why do we lie about who we are and cover it up
because it's not safe for children?
CHILDREN ARE THE SAME SPECIES AS US.
THEY ARE THE SAME SHAPE.
They get naked too.
and if they're not quite the same shape yet, why do we hide what they're going to become?
It's completely pointless to build walls and act as if they were set there by someone other than ourselves, we've given each other amnesia, it's always 'they', it's always 'society', that did it.
Why do we create all these rules and desperately
struggle to follow them as if we weren't the ones
who wrote the rule book and we aren't the ones
who can erase it?
Why does he cover his emotions because he's scared to be called gay or too feminine?
Why does she wear long sleeves or look down when you talk to her?
It's not because of some conniving voice in all of our heads,
an imaginary force,
It's every time you made a sarcastic joke about people who defied the norm
and every time you yourself were afraid to break it,
you built the walls and now you're suffocating within them.
I see you, there, hiding, just like me, and it's painful to repress it, isn't it? It hurts because there's something more we're longing to do, somewhere else we're longing to be.
What is it that is so broken within ourselves that
we can't be raw and we can't be free and we can't kiss random strangers when we want to?
****** isn't dangerous if you don't hurt
and you don't make someone else feel vulnerable
or like they're trash for displaying
the image of God.
Why are we hiding the image of God?
Why do we cover our hearts like they're shameful to show?
We are born into this world naked and our parents
try to instill this ridiculous idea in our heads
that we can't share our innermost thoughts, we mustn't display,
"society won't like that"
YOU. ARE. SOCIETY.
I am a member of this universe, just like you,
and I was born naked and I take showers naked
and when we get up on stage, we're naked
and late at night, we're naked,
and when we cry, we're naked.
WHY ARE THERE ANY SECRETS LEFT WHEN WE ARE ALL HUMAN?
I have pain and joy, just like you, so show me.
My goal is to unclothe the knights in shining armor
because I don't care about the armor, I care
about his heart.
I will strip down these walls dividing you and me,
because I want to know everything about all people.
I want to unravel the secrets deep within God's mind.
I want to open the doors that are locked,
and I want to see you naked.

sleeping alone hurts a lot more
when you have actually felt
the warmth of someone else for weeks on end
all these teenagers complain about not cuddling
when their cuddling is awkward and strange, hard to fall asleep to
but when I was in my friend's arms
(and legs, and face, and hands, and feet)
it was like the world was okay again
and the two of us together were dry and warm, right there
taking a break from reality
the cold could not touch us.

I pass back and read late at night
write poetry,
eat yogurt, things I had sworn off and return to with ever more vigor
I am caught in an orbit,
the gravitation is just enough to keep me spinning and too much
to let me go free, I fight it,
I fight it with stolen cigarettes and late nights
and tumbling over and over on a golf course
I fight it with drinks by myself and the purchase of ridiculous items
song lyrics composed on the spot and bold winks across the room
smiley faces and pickup lines to people I should not dare
a fantasy of LSD and the hope I'll see a dragon
so I can finally stop dreaming of them.

Who is it that does not know of Hercules?
Tragic hero written in the stars
and of the stars to tangle his string
with that of Megara's. He watched the sunset
with twisted arm and muscled thigh
alone, his bride in the Underworld.
he thought he'd be strong enough to rescue her
maybe not- maybe the grasp of the ghosts
was too great- the cycle and spiral down, down,
down into the chasm, leaving Hercules
alone, once more. he couldn't save her,
not for all the trials in the world, even with a divine
parent who guides his hand, He can't weave
the strings in Hercule's favor, he watches the sunset
alone now; the moral of the story:
everything we love will die- we must learn to never
make our home in others, for we will be homesick forever.

maybe the reason why I dislike Batman
and love the X-Men
is because Batman, gifted with money and power, chose his struggle
the X-Men were forced- they had mutanthood shoved upon them
and had to be crucifed as society pushed them away
hiding in fear and hatred of what they must face
the X-Men learn to adapt, they take what they have
and choose to be the better man, or the worse man,
but they take the fight that was given them
and the freakery that they were born with,
and they adapt.
Batman, however, was born normally,
did not have to run or hide, for he was privileged,
and he walked, walked straight into freakery
he took the burden others were throttled with
and laid it upon his own shoulders, crying 'woe is me'
whilst he went about the noble task of hero-dom
he made himself a fancy suit- he had been given
normalcy and he invented freakery in order to claim sacrifice
he did not need to give himself- he was an ordinary man
that laid down his life.
The reason why that bothers me so much
is that ordinary men do not need to lay down their lives
they are not called to that future
it is not in their cards
he claimed his heroic deeds and choose to throw himself into the
furnace flames- while others suffered unwillingly
he chose it
he took their pain and made it less
'see, I can do it! anyone can do it!'
what makes the X-Men special is that
their mutation isn't 'deal with pain of superheroism'
it's some other power, but they have to learn how to be ostracized
not anyone can do that- they had to
their survival depended on it
Batman walked into the struggle of their lives
and declared himself a hero
though, for some, the declaration
was not in their words or actions, it was written
into their DNA, it was marked in their skin
by the brands of their oppressors, it
was pounded into every heartbeat shocked with electricity
they fought and hid their heroism their whole lives
for they knew- it was not something to love,
it was something to suffer with-
and Batman took that, he took the heroism
and he projected it across the night sky,
declaring, "I am Batman",
and it is something he can escape from,
he can walk away, he can walk away, he can walk away,
and yes, he chooses not to,
but what he does is steal from those who cannot walk away
his heroism takes the nails in the hands of mutants and orphans
and masochistically drives them into his own palms
crying whilst doing it.
rather than being forced to adapt and look normal,
he puts on a suit and prances through the night dramatically
he takes everything sufferable about being a hero
and tosses it out the window-
he takes everything noble about being a hero
and growls it in a dramatic voice, posing, in his fancy suit,
when he could be safe at home. why would you choose this
why would anyone choose this
be thankful for your ability to be safe,
that is the real superpower- the ability
to be normal, to have a home to go back to, to
have a normal purpose and a normal life,
and Batman is completely, utterly, ungrateful-
he wishes there were more,
while those born with 'gifts' would be satisfied with even less.

parenthood is the scariest thing, to me
the ability to love something to the point
that you know it better than it knows itself
seems nearly impossible and very easy to ruin
its chances for fulfilling its dreams
and guiding it through storms while it constantly pulls away
is the bravest of the loves, I think.

the true bravery comes in knowing you are limited and breaking
your own limits anyway.

you don't need to groan every time I start talking

you'd like to argue 'no, your grades don't indicate your intelligence'
because you have bad grades and
you don't want to think of yourself as stupid
and now you've settled yourself into a pit of
oh, I have bad grades, but that means
I'm smart in a better way than them,
it's like a smug superior thing,
like 'those people have such an ordinary intelligence'
and 'here I am, someone whose mind
cannot be contained by this fragile institution'
and you've made yourself satisfied with your bad grades
because you think yourself to be unorthodoxically intelligent
and those who have good grades
are boring, pointless individuals.
you don't want to feel bad about yourself
or put in the work to make them better
so you decided this mindset would work best for you
but I'd like to propose that yes, your grades do indicate your intelligence-
it's only a certain kind of intelligence,
mind you,
but it's the type of intelligence we measure
as ordinary intelligence.
if you have bad grades
you
A) don't understand the material
B) aren't paying attention
C) aren't putting in enough effort
or
D) there is no D
because grades are a combination of homework,
tests,
quizzes,
participation,
and projects.
I get if you're a bad test taker.
I personally don't understand how that works-
like, you get the material
until someone asks you something about it
and then you can't communicate your knowledge?
I mean, if you know something, then you know it,
and putting it on a paper, test or otherwise, shouldn't be difficult
if you actually know what you're talking about.
which ties in to A. if you don't understand it,
then actually,
you C. aren't putting in enough effort.
but okay, I'll accept that reason-
even though I think bad test takers are a myth.
you can't possibly be bad at homework
unless you don't put in the time to do it.
projects, too. if you fail those, you C.
and participation is B.
all those are easily solved by hard work if you
lack, for now, the kind of 'intelligence' we measure.
so if you have bad grades, no, it doesn't mean you're unintelligent.
but it does mean you're lazy.
or have reached a point where you don't believe you can do more-
which is a lie.
because you are capable of solving every problem
you believe you are capable of solving.
and telling yourself 'I'm just not good at school'
guarantees that you are not good at school.
if you appreciate your capability
you can go so much farther.
there is a limit to human potential,
but I don't think it is different for everyone.
I think the limit is where you either
cut yourself off
or
the upper limit-
very few people have reached that limit. perhaps no one.
but it is very high up there.
the limit where you cut yourself off
is that imaginary edge of human behavior
at which people say "boys will be boys"
or "evil is human nature"
or "certain people are more inclined to __ than others, and I am not one of those people"
or "everybody's potential is different"
because that is not ******* true
your potential is what you say it is
and the line you draw for yourself
is a wall you can now never cross
because you don't think you can
like 'I will never be more than what I am'
or 'All I can be is me'
or 'accept me just the way I am'
because you can be more.
and as a human being with this amazing power of metacognition,
you are obligated to be more
you are obligated to train yourself and
change yourself
and program yourself into the best possible human you can be
because every action you take builds you higher
and every choice you take breaks down the wall
you just have to make the decision that
you will reach the stars
you will do whatever it takes
because at the top of that mountain
you will realize you can do anything now,
you can go anywhere now,
you've made it all the way here-
now to the moon!
and I dare you to go
because I know you can.

christmas lights have a smell
as does freedom, hatred, and ugliness of heart
headaches have a smell, clarity has a smell
home smells like new wood and sand,
both growing up and childhood smell like smoke,
fear smells like my sister's old bathroom
sleep smells like my mom's perfume
love is warm and smells like sleep
anxiety smells like Pure Sport Old Spice deodorant,
work smells like a gym,
familiarity smells like the locker room when the trash
hasn't been taken out,
lost love smells like grass on the lakefront,
nostalgia smells like a cappucino,
comfort in isolation smells like the fur of a dog,
purpose smells like a church,
platitudes smell like mildew,
tears smell like rotten wood but joy smells like that too,
jubilation smells like a fire crackling,
discomfort smells like that attic smell
when the Halloween decorations are taken out,
new beginnings as well as things we leave behind
smell like airports and morning dew,
risk smells like a hot tub,
liberty smells like a public pool,
a broken heart smells like the mountains,
but a healed heart smells like them too.

I've never known how to apologize
not even to myself- much less to God.

I love you like the roof loves the shutters
I love you like blue loves green
I love you like 'school' loves 'zone'
I love you like rust loves metal
I love you like an oak loves its twin
I love you like the Moon loves the Earth
I love you like a magnet with the same pole
I love you like a star-struck poet loves a muse
I love you like someone who has never loved before
and I've written it a thousand times, but I've never said it to you
because I love you like Darcy loves Elizabeth
and I'm scared if I say it aloud, you'll hear it.

what does it take to ruin someone and for them to ruin you?
I can look in your eyes and see what is true, I can
break into your motives and see why you do it, I can
take a flame to the glacier and melt your ice down, but
in my ears beating my burning heart sounds like a thunderous
cry, etching your name on my soul, when you leave there can be nothing,
I can never be whole, my mind is a solver, I crawl into blank spaces
and find underneath them the hidden, dark mazes- without the problem
there can be no solution, only when you are there can I have absolution-
you are a lock to my key that will melt- constantly forming-
into something I've lost. Every day has a morning- but the night destroys
day and the dark is afraid- I am only for you, now, forever and always
(at least til the next, when I fall in the hallways)
my heart is not open, it is a strong focused beam-
to bring light to your days, and bring hope to your dreams.

do not talk down on me like I am less of a soul
less of a point of the whole universe observing itself
less of an intelligence than you are; I am
equal, I am equal, I am equal, I am equal
and how long have we been trying to prove it?

the one constant in your life is you.
I am the tectonic plates, shifting and burying and grinding
changing against myself with little cares for trees and bushes,
I do not mind that my earthquakes destroy sheep
I do not lose sleep over my sinkholes, nor does the
fresh breeze disturb my actions- you
might think your life changes when someone leaves
or someone dies, or someone new comes
and maybe yes, it does, but you are really far beyond the scope
of one meteorite, one blast of destruction or creation-
this is no apocalypse. The world is different, now, but not really-
it still exists, and it still is called by the same name-
no matter what physical shifts occur, it's made of the same mass
of **** and dirt and rock and pure lava tossing in the celestial laundry.
What do you find there?
You are more unchangeable than you know
and yet, once you are changing- there is no stopping
the earth from folding in on itself and unearthing your new truth.

A lot of my poems are about love.
the kind of love that works to give and not take
it's hard to describe that love
and I couldn't, for a while, but I think
I can do it now.
Love.
it binds us together
you give all you can
and when you can't give any more, you keep
giving.
and when they fail to give,
you FORgive. you give FOR them.
and you put others first and
you swear their heart is pure
when it's not
because that's what love does
because it shows them that you believe their
heart is pure. and that's worth more than
anything. and you trust in their heart
and you hold it gently in yours
and when they fail you, you hold their heart
even more tenderly
so that they may heal.
This kind of love is selfless, and exists solely
for the benefit of others,
and it is eternal,
ever-flowing,
Christ-given,
all-knowing.
This kind of love is hard,
and the path to find it is long,
but if you give,
and don't expect anything in return,
you will be happy.
and everyone around you will be happy.

'cause you let it go, now you're good to go.

the archer is not flighty but rather intensely focused
once fired, the arrow will pierce and remain
but I will gallop away the moment I want to leave
not a second sooner or later, and my mind is detached,
gone.

I wish there were more than 24 hours in a day
so I could do all the things that need to be done
and all the things I want to do
and homework
and studying
and musical instruments
and sports
and eating
and a social life
and clubs
and reading
and sleep

but you can't have everything, can you?

people assume that everyone else thinks and is
exactly like themselves- that's just a fact of life
so if you look at yourself and you see someone
selfish, foolish, broken, and hurt, when you **** up
you blame yourself for it- then when you see someone else
**** up, you assume it's because they're selfish, foolish,
broken, and hurt. But if you learn to forgive yourself,
when you learn to love yourself, and know that your
****-ups and your mistakes aren't the end of the world
then maybe you'll look upon your brother and know
that they're just another human going through the
same pains as you are, the same hard times, and that
it's not their fault, because it wasn't yours, and maybe
we're all worth forgiving. That is the worth of self-love
because it grounds you in your humanity rather
than casting yourself above or below those around you.
Self-love destroys your loneliness because when you hate yourself
you end up hating the people around you- and when you
love yourself, not only do you love the people around you
just for being who they are, but you enjoy being alone with
your own person, because you're worth it and you're beautiful
and you are someone worth loving.

it seems that I've waited so long for the key to my poetry
and the words didn't come easy, like ink on skin,
I waited for ages and it hurt, it stung
but at last, now, they flow.

the first time I saw her,
everything in my head exploded
I have never been more or less
than I was then
and I shall never experience more
than I am now
and all my little tics and rituals become absolutely necessary
for without them I shall not be able to keep her.

Flame burn bright when we are bornèd
every laugh and tear we shed
Flame burn bright when brother wakens
under broken tire tread
Flame burn bright when kissed the first time
soft warm eyelash on the nose
Flame burn bright in late night slumber
wrapped in arms, a sweet repose
Flame burn bright when we grow older
Flame burn bright when young and crazy
Flame burn bright in stars at night
Flame burn bright, soft and hazy
and when the evening comes at last
to the only cold we'll ever know
Flame goes out.
but- while the drunken stupor lasts,
while we're living, wild and fast,
Flame burn bright.

God gave the wisemen their wisdom,
and to the poets their dreams.
To father and mother, their love for each other
but He left me out, so it seems.

I went around brokenhearted
thinking life was an empty affair
but when God gave me you,
it was then that I knew,
He'd given me more than my share.

"Remember when"s are words I should not dip too far into
the well of the past because I don't know what else has fallen
down there in the mud. Broken glass will cut your hand
when see-through hearts have shattered into pieces of black
used water- not to be drunk again, even if they tell you it is clean
I am scared it is not clean now, and will never be. What about me?

"I'd die for you," that's easy to say
We have a list of people that we would take
A bullet for them, a bullet for you
A bullet for everybody in this room
But I don't seem to see many bullets coming through
See many bullets coming through
Metaphorically, I'm the man
But literally, I don't know what I'd do
"I'd live for you, " and that's hard to do
Even harder to say when you know it's not true
Even harder to write when you know that tonight
There were people back home who tried talking to you
But then you ignored them still
All these questions they're for real like
Who would you live for?
Who would you die for?
And would you ever ****?

that once you give something, it's yours to rip from them
that the love you have must come at the expense of the people around you
that every conflict must be met with loud noises and anger
that being alone is a dangerous thing
that being alone is the only safe place
that to feel comfortable with someone, you have to assert your dominance
that you can never feel comfortable
that to ask a question means there's something wrong with you
that my opinions mean nothing and I am never right
that if I'm upset, it's not their fault but mine
that no matter what the situation is, my feelings are invalid
that happiness or sadness has more to do with sleep than choice
that 'genetics' give people an excuse to be *******
that if someone's going through a hard time, they're allowed to **** up their children, but apparently the children's hard time doesn't matter
that a child is less of a person because they are a child
that only your own schedule is important and other people are not to be thought of
that nothing is really private
that I never want to be a parent
and you know what's ****** up about all this? that my friends are going home to verbally and emotionally abusive households, that at least four of my closest friends have panic attacks on a regular basis because of their parents, and the whole world can only just laugh and shake their head and say 'ah teenagers am I right?' I'm sick of adults normalizing pain for an entire age group when they are the ones that cause it. I'm sick of my parents being the only negative thing in my life, and in other people's lives. I'm sick of being on lock and key for no reason and being afraid to say anything because they might jump down my throat. I'm sick of seeing my best friend cry and I'm sick of looking at her father. I'm sick of watching my parents kiss each other and then curse at me for walking the dog ten seconds later than they wanted. I'm sick of getting pages of text messages from people who feel so broken and alone that they have no one else to turn to. I'm sick of it.

there are many types of love
while I might feel phileo towards him and
eros towards her and storge towards Her
I might feel agape towards you
and I would say that the difference between romance and friendship
while I thought it was ***, for a long time,
is not- it is something more, intangible
an inseperation between souls
a terrible desire to be one-
a necessity of agape between the two
and a feeling that you will be insufficient
without it.

whatever souls are made of, I'd love to watch them
in their bare bones and swirls of color
darken, burn, and mold together
rather than just our faces. I'd like to sit
and observe each orb of love and hatred,
some consumed and lost to apathy, some bright
one way or the other, I'd love to see what happens
every time I meet someone new, every time
I lose someone old. I'd love to watch my heart flicker
and to know for sure the right or wrong by the
light I show the world- I'd love to see it, pure,
so that it's no longer a war of lies and masks and faces
I'd love to hold the raw, stinging, spitting essence
of someone close to me, so they can't deny it anymore
and I can't deny it anymore- the world would be good,
I swear, if we'd all just let go and open our doors
(although I'd like to see yours- I don't know if I could.)

what does it mean to be a child? an animal? a human? an adult?

"what's your favorite book?"
"oh, you mean aside from the Bible and the collected works of Plato?"
"yeah"
"the art of racing in the rain"
"like jumping and skipping through a field in a rainstorm?"
"no. like racecar driving while it's raining."
"is that a metaphor?"
"the whole book is a metaphor."
"books like that are ******."
"books that aren't like that are ******. if there's no hidden meaning then you have a ****** author."
"point taken. but wouldn't a good author let you take the meaning yourself and not pointedly write it in?"
"a good author does both; but the pointedly written in part is written so that you can't even tell it was on purpose."
"is the art of racing in the rain by a good author?"
"absolutely."
"so what's the meaning?"
"read the ******* book."
"no, just tell me the meaning."
"you create your life, man. everything you did led up to this moment. you made the problems so you have to react to them faster than at speed. it's- it's like in a race, if it's raining, then you have to spin your car out before it spins itself out, because that's the only way you can solve the problem, you see? and if you can't stop looking at the wall then you're gonna run into the wall. like if you accept a terminal diagnosis, you're gonna die. you have to look away. you create your future by accepting it and refusing to change it. you can also create your future by writing your own story in the way you want it."
"I don't get how a message like that is explained through racecar driving."
"read the book and you will."
"okay."

I never looked at things like maybe your mom does
Like, 'I've been in love with this man for twenty years
and he doesn't want me any more'
until a few days ago. And then I realized
maybe that's why your sister has such a fixation on gender
because what a man should be
is different from what he's been
so she wants him to go back to what he should have been,
and maybe, that's why you aren't touchy-feely
or comfortable with affection, because
you haven't seen it, because the past ten years
your parents haven't been expressing love
and maybe that's why you feel uncomfortable with overt displays
or even unvert displays
and maybe that's why you don't know how to love.

Honey, if you let me, I'll show you.

Who
are
you?
Can you show me
who
I
am?
Come
a
bit
nearer,
let me hold
your heart
next
to
mine,
Don't be afraid,
because
I've been
longing
for you
longer than
you
know.

you are not alone in this. No, you are not alone in this.
as brothers we will stand and we'll hold your hand
hold your hand.

I have a mathematical mind
everything is cause, effect,
close-all-loopholes
find the data, analyze, program
I have a mathematical mind that sees in angles
in the relationships between people
I see the lines and points of contact,
the widening of the eyes and the glancing touch,
how short someone's fingernails are
the marks around their mouth
I have a mathematical mind that sees in positive space
because negative space is a pointless area
and I do not need to exercise
extrapolational thinking, not in this school,
I have to give the answer that is expected
in order to get the reward I desire
there is no reward for a creative but wrong answer
and therefore being rebellious is illogical
I have a mathematical mind that knows how to please people
how to find their strong spots and praise them
how to find their weak spots and support and exploit
I know how to solve the problems of someone's heart
like a scalpel of pain
who can find a rational solution to an emotional problem
because in order to be happy,
you must follow certain steps
and take the logical course of action
that will lead you to your goal.
I have a mathematical mind,
and I know how to use it to find and
give rein to
emotional and philosophical reality-
because my mathematical mind has a preference
for **** subjects like psychology
and my mathematical mind
likes other people so much
that it is willing and able to manipulate them
in the best way possible-
all for the pleasure and enjoyment
of my mathematical mind.

believe whatever you want to believe,
but as for me, I believe that love wins.
Always.

I could watch the gears turn in his head,
obsessive, you read that book twenty times
you tell me about all your sisters even though its pointless
you tell me how you think, searching for help
obsessively searching for help? a presence,
lots of friends who care, must be a leader role,
tired of being independent, wishes to be dependent
scared of dependence? childhood dependence
wants to grow into adulthood- so looking for equal partnerhood?
hates invalidation, that accords with equality,
wants equal standing but love and help.

the centaur does not always want to run, the centaur
sometimes sits, and accepts what is told to him
one must sit still to learn. But, what the centaur finds
is that when he sits for too long, shackles begin
to be thrown over him, and his muscled arms and legs
strain, break free, and launch away, burning bridges behind him
out of an instinct of hatred for constraints and a wild passion
for freedom- sometimes he forgets that he needs
to cross those bridges again. But it's okay. He'll find a way.
But, sure as hell, he'll learn his lesson, and he won't sit still. It's just as well.

"I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself king of infinite space,
were it not I had bad dreams."

You know how that quote goes, everyone does.
"If I was a drizzle, she was a hurricane"
When we're all just our own kinds of rainstorms
Magically not working with each other
Just trying to drench whatever we can
But I'd rather spend time with you than anyone in the world.
People used to tell me they looked up to me
and the same people barely talk to me anymore
because what they saw was a figurehead instead of
a friend who is on their level,
and they like people who have flaws (not that I don't),
but tell us to strive to be perfect.
And I've worked so hard to learn how to love
flawlessly, but the more I love, the more I
bleed, with every breath you don't appreciate
and every love poem you don't read
And they keep beating me and beating me down
expecting this priceless gold mountain of positivity
and crushing me. It's like they're looking for flaws
in the statue I'm hiding within, and they seek to
destroy it because even tarnished gold is too bright
in their losing eyes. Maybe I'm the flaw in the statue,
my pink flesh and pale blood can't stand
these attacks and violent words, creating
holes in my heart where before there was none. I'm on my knees,
begging because I don't think I can do this anymore.
The blood I give is torn out of me from the passion I have for
you, I've had my suffering and death,
where's the resurrection?
I'm driving my head into the ground trying to
whip up the storm that will make me unique, beautiful, and valuable,
trying to gather little tornadoes around me,
while they're destroying me from the inside out;
standing for these things that are greater than me, and
watching in vain for an equal partner, since
no one can come too close to these whirlwinds
and mountain-high clouds.
It's lonely being a hurricane, too, because
none of the lovely drizzles think they're worth your time.

that's it again
the artistry of the curling hell
the mark of what was destroyed
and for some reason used as a metaphor for life
I look in the mirror and I see long, lean, noble
like a greek god, or goddess, someone gender ambiguous
with hair framing my face and jawlines ever reaching up
my body is beautiful and I shouldn't destroy it
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
like whitman,
there is this strange dark attraction to
standing somewhere leaning against the wall
with my hood up as I watch the stars become clouded
and that warm friendly scent fills my clothes where no one wants to go
it's like a forest, a forest of embraces and thistles
something tragic and suave and slenderly beautiful
the workers in the yard light up daily
just like my sister when she's hanging out
always happy
or my grandfather on his patio with the parrot on his shoulder.
he lets her drink coffee sometimes,
and lets me drink in the air of his breath mingled with ash always.
I am the rolled tobacco, just ready to be lit, inhaled, and blown away
flammable, quick to go,
filtered, my body a slim cylinder,
the heat at the end catching the eye of children
I want to be united with that which I personify,
unhealthy, but **** cool looking.
It wouldn't surprise anyone-
where there's smoke, there's fire, they say;
maybe that's why I've always wanted a cigarette.

God loves me,
doesn't He want me to be happy?
why must He do this
again and again
why,
why must I quaver with self doubt
bring myself to tears with doubt and shame
no one should feel like this, no one should be afraid
that their love for another person will send them to burn
for eternity- my eternity cannot be spent with someone else
and I am in agony, I feel as though
part of me is ripping in half
why do they tell me that it's because of sin
when it's just because they've been telling me
how dangerous and how evil, how wrong it is
that my soul wants something contrary to God's will
they've been telling me this over and over my whole life
it has never felt anything but right between me and God
until someone else came in and told me it wasn't
and I'm not sinning, I'm not acting, its just
the shape of my heart is different than they say God wants
but God fashioned my heart, didn't He?
did He not hold it in his hands and mold it with His fingertips,
teaching it how and whom to love
so that one day I may use it?
did He not plan every part of my heart out and
write my past and future,
why is it that I must ignore what He has written
into me with every pump of His own handiwork?

what am I?
please tell me about myself
something you notice that I've always taken for granted
can you see right through me? or am I an enigma?
can you paint me? draw me? play me on your instrument?
who am I to you?

too much of anything can disturb your inner balance,
acidifying your stomach lining and destroying you from the inside out-
control what you put in your mind and contain it
so that your heart will not have an overload or an overflow-
every single cause of death is the end of homeostasis.

They're flying around now
and I'm on 2% so
I need to write this one fast-
Maybe, these lovebugs
are what's spreading this, along with
the quickening of the heart inside
with the warmth
And maybe if I catch enough lovebugs
I won't have to love you anymore.
Or maybe, just maybe,
if you catch a lovebug,
you'll love me, and I can keep loving you,
just like I always have.