I have not a creative bone in this body
All 206 are exactly the same
I can't force life into my words
I can not make the ugly duckling, beautiful
I can not write of love
Make hearts beat widely

Only make the heart stop
The music slowly fade
This pathetic soul that I parade
If only these words could show

The Starry Night within me
The workings of artistic ability
The music we all sing along to
Or that one hit wonder

All are nice ideas
Ones I wish could dig down deeply for
From the deep unconsciousness of my mind
Though these words a creative bone I will then find

Then shall I cut off my ear?
I will continue to search far and wide day and night
Hope to find words that fit together just right
I must perfect every line
Breathe breath into this dream that is mine
Reveal the secret of the pen, the love of every letter left hanging
Making a world forever changing

I just want to be heard
My boring tale to be cured
My words to flourish
Be the poem that every English class is reading
To bring new meaning
To every heart beating

For that is my goal
To reach deep, deep within the soul
And maybe find the surprise
Lying at the bottom of the cereal box
That every child wishes he will find

Now
That I've
Forgotten
Off
The table
Out of
The
Market
Out of
The basket
And woke
Up
To see
You
In
A million
Different
Shades
And
I know
You now
And that's
Just
Too much
To take
It comes
In lakes
A fathom
To high
To reach
To low
To see
I'm sick
Even though
I'm free
And it's
Always
Been
Always
Will
Be
Be
Be
Because
I can't
Have
You

awkward hellos
and
sad goodbyes
is all we have,
at least it's all we have
that people could see,
alone you and i can see each other
actually look into one another's eyes
feel our bodies touch and press together
in an almost never ending embrace,
of passion and desire.
i taste your lips over and over
simply because i am afraid to forget how soft,
how sweet, and how warm they are.
i love to share myself with you,
every inch of my pink flesh.
and when the night is gone and the world awakens
once again the awkward hellos
and sad goodbyes is all we have.

I woke with a sleepy start to find the devil standing over my bed.
I screamed in alarm and punched that ******* in the head.

He frowned then said he was feeing lonely
with a sad little shrug
So I laughed and gave him a big bear hug.

Then God sent me to hell for being nice

0_0

I’m standing on the edge of a broken porch in New Jersey,
pink 3 AM clouds around a bowl of stars.
This jacket’s been warm for nine years.

Yes,
I still despair sometimes.
But I am learning to claw out of it by writing it.

Also, Jesus.

Tonight on this porch I’m thinking
what are symbols of happiness, what is
happiness, experience of it, etc.

I think of:
driving an overpass into the city tonight
all that color like spilled Christmas lights
like driving up into the sky.

--Think of:
7th grade boy with an earring and soft eyes.  
Angelo.  His name is.
Translating the story into Spanish for his friend.

--Of:
The blue, the green.  Of the reef.
Pacific silence.  Coconut cathedral.

Of: The Avett Brothers song, The Perfect Space.
Of friends who are like that.

: Africa, all seasons.


Also,
Jesus

Every red droplet that flows
Replaces every tear no one knows
I sever my heart into pieces
Let everyone see
But I go closing this wound back up

This black, vacant space is now where it used to be
It was swallowed up whole by what was inside of me
I feel like my insides are being  devoured
By something, something so callous and sour

These extreme  feelings inside
That I continue to try to hide
I block out the pain with this blade
Knowing someday the scars will then fade

And, maybe just maybe My heart can be brought back to life
The veil covering this ugly worthless person I've become then lifted
And the tool used to shock the heart will succeed and this code blue
Will then hopefully be over soon

Funny how we woke up in the morning
and pretended that tomorrow never happened—
strutted naked in mirrors celebrating our youth,
laughing, knowing suns and moons couldn’t do the same.

We borrowed our arms from the fridge
and peddled bicycles with bad breath—
trading war stories ‘cause we knew
if we came back alive
life would still be the death of us.

My mind is a little street beggar boy
covered in scars and sores,
freezing by a bus stop,
no blanket nor expecting any.

                 …Tell me:
if you could remove
pain or fear
from your life
which would you choose?

Mind is a little beggar boy.
In a street market.
In a riot.
Not pretending
that a life of despair
is good enough for him
when it isn't,

more free,
more free,
so far surviving
slum and street,
decorated
with scars,
just as he is

meant to be

your face is leaking shadows, baby
you ain't got nothing to lose today
so tie up your white shoelaces
and get on your way

deep inside yourself you'll find
something glistening to remind
you that you've got to get a move on
and never look behind