You are not the only one
with tired eyes, with shaking hands and
ribs creaky from carrying
too many sighs.

You are not the only one
who feels like a failure -
in the eyes of so many, and the
coldest gaze comes from
the mirror.

You are not the only one
lonely and misunderstood,
wracked with hopelessness and
headaches, heartbroken.

But you are the only one
with courage enough
to crumble mountains who refuse to move,
with passion brilliant enough
to build cities in between words,
with hands strong enough
to hold me
gently.

You are the only one
who is fierce enough
to fight the demons within you,
enough to convince whole worlds
to live underneath your ink,
enough to stand tall and say
you are more than what
numbers will tell you.

You are not alone.
I am here with you.
Always.

humans were made to run barefoot.

we were made to climb mountains, fighting gravity
and to fly across stony deserts and dangerous forests.

we were not made for these,
these bastardizations of heels and soles and
    skin.

humans were made to run barefoot,
because
we were always meant to leave traces of ourselves
on everything we touched, every inch
of the world that we would walk.

we were always meant to take with us
the scars left by the walls we would climb,
the bruises left by the falls we would take,
the hard skin and the instant familiarity left
    by the paths we would forge
    alone.

so worry not.
you were never meant to feel the skin of this earth
through designer heels and combat boots.

you were only ever meant to feel the weight of yourself,
a breathing, bleeding, human
charged with electric emotions and spinning
out of control
    upon the ground,
meant to break yourself on the roads you paved
and the dreams you wrought in stone.

but tread carefully.

sometimes you will step on glass,
and sometimes you will step on hearts.
and so always, you will walk in blood.

make your footprints matter.

odd things, humans.

we like to say it'll be okay
in the end,
if only to fool ourselves that it can't be over
until we're brilliant again;

we like to say
we've only got to be brave, believe
we can drown old scars
in cheap beer,
talking up the next new distraction
until we're breathless, believe
we're dancing through our darkest hours,
and dawn will come in a moment,
holding hands with a graceless hangover --

and you call up your favorite ex-girlfriend
for a day to spend *******
     each other senseless
and talking about World War II
battles lost due to
     failure in communication.

she's okay with your sloppy metaphors
as long as you stop
for cheeseburgers on the way home.

my heart has four chambers -
one of them is probably a radio station.

love songs don't come as easily
as anthem rock and afternoon blues,
but transatlantic static never stopped my poetry.

humans aren't quite made for long drives, we like
pit stops and motels clean as they come,
and switching in between stations
but once in a while we like to make road trips
to that place where the crickets can sing.

and in these moments I remember
that screaming at satellites
only brings me back to echoes -

you are
the white noise in my life,
quiet and constant,
filling in my empty spaces.