It is said that the people we don't know that show up in our dreams, are merely people we've seen on the streets but never met before.
And it is said that on the inside we are all the same.
But I disagree
Because Adam ******* is still squeezing my chubby cheeks with his nostalgic hands, shaking violently at my ignorant little face whispering
"Stay here."  "Stay as long as you can." "For the love of god cherish it."
... But I never listened.
And most of you are probably thinking right now,
"What the hell does Billy Madison have to do with anything?"
I assure you, I am no medium.
But what I can tell you is, not only am I that boy; I am also the blue duck; and the little puppy that lost it's way.
I am not unique because I can quote a dumb movie I saw when I was nine.
And what differs me from you, can't even really be expressed by the English language.
But I will try
All of us can have similar emotions yes,
But we are not the same on the inside.
Because my heart is not a tandem bicycle, waiting for another passenger to pick up on my momentum for an smooth and easy ride.
And my brain has been telling me to just wait. "Your silver lining is on it's way."
what it failed to tell me is that line will be drawn in the sand only to be stamped out and washed away by beaches of people that claim they were only passing through.
How is it that I can say something as complex as that,
But I can never muster up enough courage to ask a girl to get together for a simple mutual gathering such as a cup of coffee.
I am living, breathing, regret.
And one day my best friend said to me; "Man, I wish I was you." "You're so much better than me in everything you do."
I was entranced by the audacity that someone would even consider trading places with me.
I thought "you may be my best friend. But you don't know Everything I've been through"
Just to think he would give up all his problems in life in exchange for my own. It's something else.
I replied, "Shut the hell up dude, you have a girlfriend."
But the more I look into it. Problems, are not something you can trade at a flea market.
because if you could fit problems into a box, there would be some boxes so heavy that it would burst the packing tape on the bottom end just as you tried to pick it up and move it.
Real problems are just misguided events that fog up the view of your dreams.
And as it would seem, these so-called "Dreams" have scattered upon the floor like a bag of five dozen marbles.
Meanwhile, people at the market start to crowd. So you put on a little charade.
Because you're so afraid of causing a public attraction that you'd rather try to brush everyone off with your "I'm fine's" and "nothing to see here's" when you could have just wasted less time and started to pick the marbles up one by one and fit them into a bigger box.
However in that instance, you did not stop to recognize nor study the faces of others that rushed to see if you were okay. And you did not notice they brought their boxes with them as well.
Some filled with dumbbells and some piled high with feathers.
So as far as dreams go, we are not the same.
neither is the shape or size of our boxes used to contain the items in which we hold so high in sensitivity that we think that thing we call a "dream" is the thing that matters most.
but what really matters most,
is the faces of others that we do remember when our dream does decided to roll around.

I'm just trying to do what I love.
but I have to survive in the process. I've already worked 9 to 5 until I died.
My literal graveyard shift has been going on for almost two years.
all my options now will just be backpedaling. But I told myself that I would never go back.
To live a life of constant worries, with empty stomachs and vision blurry.
I put all my faith into these empty dreams and tried to live a childhood fantasy.
But I haven't gotten anywhere in nineteen years.
And most the time I wonder,
"Why haven't my kids from the future come back to visit me. or at least warn me about what wasn't meant to be..."
Because nobody ever told me I would lose the five people I called my best friends. Nobody ever told me that being a good guy and telling someone they're a ******* fake right to their face would bite me in the *** one day.
I'm still waiting for karma to rip off their limbs and beat them to death.
But it hasn't.
Somehow I don't think it ever will...
Because I realized that no matter how terrible someone is inside,
That won't effect their soon to be rich and famous life.
And no matter how many times I do the right thing, I'll still get another knife protruding from my body.
My real nickname should be Julius Caesar.
But the worst thing of all is that "Good" is just a point of view.
It's not tangible in the slightest...
And maybe that point of view has blinded me from what's really going on.
So maybe I'm Brutus...
Maybe the reason I let the bubbling magma that is my anger burst in the faces of others is because I know I will never pole vault over the bar of expectations my parents have set.
Filing claims of "I had a job at fourteen, since they WERE fourteen"
Well it's a new age, and depression hits in different ways.
And maybe the reason why I let my sadness grip my ankles and drag me below the earth's crust is because In the seventh grade I asked Mary if she wanted to be my girlfriend and all her friends laughed at me. She then proceeded to respond with "I hope you're not mad"
... It was valentines day.
So then a girl finally notices me, only I pass down the empty box labeled "Rejection" just as it was passed down to me.
I always try to find a different way of putting things.
To look artistic, or have some form of character
But that's not true.
Because I had to became a thief of Shane's style to even write this **** poem.
And my character is still being sculpted out clay in the supply room of the art class that you kissed me in.
I don't even exist yet...
So here are two fact's about life
Number 1. There will always be someone who is better than you at something
and Number 2. Nobody is original.

I wish I had your body warmth here, with me.
The sound of your voice... Anything really.
It's like a contest. Whoever caves first loses.
And the grand prize is disappointment.
You always win...

May you never convince yourself that your last, will ever truly be your last.
Withstand everything.
Even though all you see are apparitions of people from your past,
Do not lose sight of the moment.
Despite the fact ninety-nine percent of your thought process is spent trying to figure out exactly where things went wrong.
Use the one percent to let go...
Continue to breathe,
Continue to smile,
Continue to grow,
Become the Hydra.
Know that for every head severed from your body,
Two more will rise.
May your "Hello(s)" present themselves more often than your "Goodbye(s)"
Let the fires of your mind be forged by the words of infinite knowledge:
"Do, or do not. There is no try."
You are the steel bolt that binds this foggy, eight-thirty traffic jammed bridge together.
Or an ice-burg waiting patiently to capsize others.
You have only scratched the surface.
Keep searching...
Allow others to spend their lifetime on the quest of consistency.
Still the sun will rise and set.
Experience all you can, while you can.
Because every spec of dust is significant, and things happen for a reason.

This is what I do.
I write depressing poems at two in the morning,
so I can never really learn how to forget you.
Somehow I knew the ache in my belly would never form be a swarm of monarchs
So with the aid of my left index and middle fingers I forced the larva out
and watched them flop about on that grocery conveyor belt.
... You were more interested in saying "no" when it was convenient.
which only prolonged the inevitable cirrus clouds in my head from colliding
Just.
A bit.
Longer.
Somehow by the grace of god a conversation began to bloom.
and I remember this because our words were footprints
that trailed down Northeast 15th Avenue.
You said, "I wish everyone was born with name tag's."
I replied "Yeah, but then there would be no mystery to anyone."
It's times like this I wish I could forget your rose red hair.
Considering all flowers have to die, so must our meaningless discussion.  
And it's times like this I wish I had that little piece of plastic.
Because you didn't remember my name.
and the last words I ever said to you were,
"I think it's beginning to rain."

Not a soul knows the fragility

That every couple of minutes we must come up for air

Yet we always seem to sink back down.

These walking trick candles

Make me feel like I'm just another wasted breath

My envious eyes hope to be the raindrops that collide on the windshield.

Acknowledging the sun, yet jealous of the sea

So one day, I forgot to come up for air.

All the men of faith and men of science have their questions.
Could it ever be on Earth as it is in heaven?
And it seems each of them can't find a way to make any sense of it,
just like me.
Fog circles in your mind
And you do not mean to hurt these ideas flowing like gold in a river of sewage
but i grew up on them superstitions
probable cause for my lack of ambition at all.

So you fall in the rain you’re pulling out every page in the book, and you’re doomed, because you do what you do.
Let the unapologetic ground open your eyes.
Strengthening for the chance to sustain the sun.
Many even deeds I've done
I'm looking for a reason
For a reason not to run

And don't worry, you can't get hurt
just as long as you don't really care.
Did they do the same to you, child?
Did they lock you behind your door?
Smooth, you soaked right into the floor.
When they whispered their darkest secrets, saying,
"I don't love you anymore."

Making laughter, can't remember
How we spent our time together.
I guess I still miss you,
But talking is for functioning people.
You're the dead fur on a coat.
You're the antidote that can but wont be sold.
So don’t believe in everything you see
Because what you want might not be what you need

And it’s okay, If I’m grey today
Twisted around side to side.
You confiscated the night.
A taste gone mad, a sweet sadness, my favorite feeling.
and repeatedly the paper man says that its all wrong,
and all i got are sedatives in these **** songs
Count your blessings not your flaws

So forgive me for my lack of words
announcing adjectives are slowly pulling down my spine...
I wish I could say this was a story about how I got on the bus a boy and got off a man
more cynical, hardened, and mature and ****.
But that’s not true
The truth is I got on the bus a boy.
and I never got off the bus.
I still haven’t...

You are the only one in control of your happiness.

Quarters and dimes would come flying from my pant pockets if ever anyone used this phrase.
Because I'd pay good money to see someone who cannot become afflicted by purely a noun.
Blissful mid sleep conversations kept our bike locked arms around each-other.
Our smiles interrupting each kiss like a brief intermission telling the audience that the show will go on.
Until time happens to be the only thing that could make me take the long ride home.
What she said was "I never want to leave this bed."
she didn't say the next two day's she'd be sharing it with another person...
I often dream of a place that's serene enough to keep my agony in silence for a full 24 hours.
But I've moved around enough to the point where I know that "home" can no longer be found on a map.
More or less in my heart.
That being the thing conflicting most with my head...
Because if I have to hear one more person say "You'll be fine" or "Everything will work itself out" I think I'm going to find the nearest guillotine and decapitate myself.
I don't want to hear your advice
I don't want to hear what a "professional" has to say,
I just want this to end.
Every paradise found being a mirage of things too good to be true...
Meanwhile I'm running out of water and the only questions people care to ask me are what I'm going to do as a career or where I see myself in five years.
Rather than a real "How are you?"
and to be honest I could ******* care less.
allow me to just live in the now and take it one painstaking hallucination at a time.
Because somehow I turned out to be the pet you had while growing up, rambunctious and packed full of excitement.
However years later, it only enjoys drooping it's head and sleeping all day.
Incapable of speech the only thing it really wishes to tell you is it that it feels like dying.
Life isn't simple enough to make happiness into an on/off switch.
If that was the case it would only ever need to be in one position.
It's that
              sadness
                             has
                                     a
                                        mind
                                                 of
                                                     it's
                                                          own.

I know ever other sentence I mutter is an apology.
And I don't mean to be such a **** up all the time, but I guess it just kinda happened.
...Like the "very" first time, I laid my eyes on you.
Uniformed crowds of people making their every which ways from the parking lots...
Your shirt pressed down to every corner, nice and neat.
And among that gaggling group of people your faint smile gripped my eyes full focus.
Until you peered up and saw my stare as you crossed the street
All I told my self was "If I ever get the chance to see her again I have to ask her out."
But you already know all this.
because that chance did end up falling in my lap.
And I bet right now you're wishing it hadn't...
I did not write this as an excuse for another apology.
Even though I owe you another one...
But because within all our precious moments, whether they be joyous, or tender, or furious, I soon succumb to the realization how blessed I am to be so stupid.
Because you're still here.
                                                  Miraculou­sly
I don't think I ever did anything to deserve someone so unconditional. And I really take you for granted.
... Your someone that thinks I have talent.
... Someone who builds me up and believes in me.
And that's all I could ever ask for.
                                                  I'm so sorry.