Poetry, for me, is like ****.

I get to watch events unfolding in front of me on my computer.
I can imagine how something will play out.
My imagination can run wild while viewing it.

Poetry is like **** for me.
Something to enjoy on my screen.
Something to give me a thrill.

Poetry is like **** for me.
Something I like to dabble in alone.
Something I fill my phone and laptop with.
Something I consider intimate.

Poetry, for me, is like ****.
I like to imagine myself in a small part of both.

But in both situations,

I'm getting ******.

It's just another sleepless night,
Of me thinking of you.

And the things I want to do with you.
Do to you.
Do together.

The things I want to show you.

The things I want to give you.

But I've got my hands tied on this one.
My back against a wall.

This is not my dream to come true.

Because I can't even sleep,

With these thoughts of you.

Pain can be so loud sometimes.

And while I'm over here screaming,
Does anyone say anything?

No.
Of course they don't.

They only speak up to tell me I'm making too much noise.

The saying is "Always live your life in the fast lane."
But how can I do that if my life has faded like smoke through a keyhole?
It is blank like a notepad on a little girl's desk.
The girl who is constantly bullied for the Bell's Palsy that consumes her face.
The notepad that sits on her desk that she has ripped pages upon pages upon pages out of.
Pages that read words that are thrown at her everyday.
****, *****, *****, loser.
Pages that have drawings of her and that one guy she longs for, but that one guy longs for her disappearance.
My life is like that blank note pad.
The only thing it retains is it's last message telling the world "Goodbye."

So this is where we are:
Another empty bottle, another broken heart, another ******* ugly scar.
If only scars could tell stories-
Mine would write a ******* novel.
The bottle and this broken heart are one in the same.
They both had a label on the front trying to convince the world that they were something different,
But you used them up so quickly it's no wonder you couldn't taste.
You put me to waste and did so with such haste.
I hope you paced yourself, because now I'm out the door.
And it's weird-
There's a world out here-
With people, and cars, birds and trees- more than you and me.
I never knew there was a world outside of your touch,
Your embrace,
Your eyes.
But this world is cold and dark;
This world is strange.
Now I know that one thing's clear-
It's darker an colder in your arms than it is right here.
Here, my dear, is quiet and weird.
It is baffling to see the clouds so white
Or the sky so blue.
It's weird to see the world not revolving around... you.
So I've got this broken bottle-
I'll take it to this scar.
I want to see inside.
I want to see what I broken heart looks like- more than just a feeling,
Like how I saw the outside world for the first time just today.
I want blood to pour from this scar, no, this souvenir-
To fill another empty bottle,
So I can drink my sweet poison once again.
Drink my sweet poison once again!
AGAIN!
I swear I've lived this scene before.
Is my life a revolving door?
Is there no way out?
Or is there no way in-
No door for a savior to run through;
No savior to bare a cape,
No savior to sport a flashy name or spew lies to ****** ears.
Oh wait, I meant victim, not ******.
Victim.
It's not the first time around, remember?
Now that's a label I could wear!
You took my innocence in every way possible,
But is it possible
That I'll end up back for more?
This deja vu, this loopty loop-
Is this the first or the last of my being through with you?
Whichever it is, I know how it will end,
Because this is just where we are:
Another empty bottle, another broken heart, another ******* ugly scar...
Except this time, they all belong to you.

It was all a dream that I knew was a dream but I didn’t want to admit it as a dream.
And my dream, oh my dream, was a dream come true.
It was a dream depicting me spending my time with you.
This dream I was dreaming was only a mere dream.
I knew this dream wasn’t real.
But what was real in my dream was that our time together was standing still.
You were there in my dream, clear as day.
A dream angel in the flesh.
I was staring right at you, dream dumbfounded at best.
Unfortunately, I knew what this dream of mine entailed.
This dream scene behind my closed eyes is not what it seems.
But I will see you again, my beautiful mother, in my dream that is all but a dream.

Many people think that when I say:
"Oh, it's alright"
That I'm complaining.
But for me, alright is just that,
Alright.

Not like "alright" get off my back about this or that.
Not like "alright" I reluctantly give into temptation.
Not like "alright" but it could be better.

My life is alright.
And I like it that way, alright?

I had everything that I ever wanted.
But suddenly, everything changed.
My whole world was turned upside down like a sunken ship.
Left on its back like Candy, the adorable puppy dog.
Left on its back like Candy, the adorable *******.
My world was broken like a shattered window.
Left in pieces like this puzzle, once you got tired of playing with it.
Left in pieces like my heart, once you got tired of playing with it.
I wake up every morning having already lost this game called “Life,”
Man, I had everything that I ever wanted.

And lost it all.

"Who wants me anyway?" is the question I ask.
No one answers.
No one is listening.

"Who wants me anyway?" is the question she asks.
I answer, "Me."
No one is listening.

It is said that the mighty don’t kneel for any **** body.
I am not mighty, but if you strip me bare,
I have got two things left:
My ***** and my word,
And I don’t break them for any **** body.
At the end of the day,
All I am is who I am,
Which gives me all the power in the World,
To be so much more.
Because I ain’t just any **** body.

I just don't get it. I really really don't.
And that's what's killing me.
I'm trying to rack my mind to find out where I messed up.
But I can't seem to find the answer.
And I never will.
And it's starting to make me mad.
It hurts when I pause and look at the world and notice how everyone's together, how everyone's happy.
And then I just look at myself and I wonder why aren't I happy, like them?
Why am I not together with someone, like them?
Why?
And that's what brings us full circle, folks.
Just me going on and on, but nobody really cares.
Nobody really is listening.
I do everything I can to put a smile on people's faces even when I can't put a smile on my own.
I try so hard to show people, but the world outside doesn't care.
But they'll sure as hell care about so many others, but not me.
Thanks, it means a lot beautiful.
I've come to learn I'm just anther spoke on the wheel.
The wheel will keep going after I'm gone.
And so many people out there are so hypocritical.
They're so cheap they won't even tip a canoe.
It's like they don't pack enough chromosomes some times.
I seriously think most people out there take IQ Tests and they come back negative.
But then there are people who have egos that are so fat they can go to the beach and sell shade.
See my point, people don't care unless you're famous or dead.
They don't care how hard you try and fight.
And now, 205 years after the birth of the man behind the concept of "Survival of the fittest," I find myself learning to realize that postulate is true.
And it also feel like it's the survival of the sickest, and I'm infected.
And why I can't be someone out there without making someone mad makes me so irritated.
I try my hardest to put everyone first, but still everyone puts me last.
I'm just a guy looking for someone to care.
I'm just a guy looking for someone to ask what's wrong and actually stay to hear.
But nobody wants to listen.
People won't listen to your cries, your pain, or your problems.
But if they'd listen to one thing, they should listen to this:
From here on out, It's anything goes.
And trust me, trust me when I tell you this right now.
I have the best thing going.

-Nick Moser

I looked in the mirror the other day.

And I was surprised to see the reflection looking back at me.

I was even more surprised when it said *“Hey kid. Guess I’m the better looking one.”

If I came by and kicked you in the ******* face as hard as I could,

Would you be ******* at me?

Or try to figure out what kind of shoe I am wearing?

I looked to you for hope.
For inspiration.
For love.

But all I saw was an empty reflection.

And I looked to my friends for sanity.
For saving.
I looked to them to help pull me out of this rut.

But all I saw was a party, and I wasn't invited.

I looked to my mother for guidance.
For information.
For help.

But all I saw was the slab of concrete baring her name.

I looked to life for hope.
For a savior.
For an answer.
And all I see is a dark and scary place.

And I fit right in.

Love is truly a one way street.

But I always preferred "Avenue" over "Street."
It just had a better ring to it.
Like "Heartbreak Avenue."
Or "Pain Avenue."
They just sounds so sophisticatingly better than Heartbreak Street or Pain Street.
Street is child's play.
Like when children play in the street until the late hours of the evening.
Or when we would sit thinking about the the world down the street.
The perfect world.

And in our perfect world, every street would be an avenue.
There would be no heartbreaks.
There would be no pain.
And in our world, it would be us coupled together coupled with happiness.

But what the hell happened to that world?

It disappeared.
It never was.
It was shrouded with darkness.

Weren't we supposed to be happy?
Weren't we supposed to be together?
Weren't we supposed to be in love?

Well, I guess we took a wrong turn down a one way avenue.

I think that if I keep writing,

I will one day write you and I back together.

We'll dance across these fairy tale pages,
Stumbling over the "I missed you's"
And the "I love you's."

It's hard to finish a book with no sequel.
It's hard to resuscitate a life that has died.

But if there's any chance that I can rewind the clock,
To breathe air into us one more time,
To make a second chance,

I'll just keep writing.

Someone please save me because I am drowning.

And the most important thing is:

I don't know how to swim.

I can hear the birds chirping loud on this morning.
I hear them chirp from tree tops, traffic stops, outlet shops, and until their lungs pop.
Their chirping is a sign.
It's a conveying message.
It capitalizes on the dualities of hope and inspiration.

These birds fly every single day.
They remind me of my mother.
She went day after day caring for us after my father left.
She never stopped, much like this bird I see above me.

These birds chirp to find other birds.
It reminds me of my friend Rick.
Rick was a struggling alcoholic who always pushed people away.
But one day, that changed like the tides.
Rick realized what his life was amounting to, and changed.
He saw life for better, and he reached a helping hand out to anyone who needed it.
He'd give you the shirt off his back even if you had 20 to spare.
I remember the first day I met Rick, he offered to pay for my movie ticket.
Man, how fast two years has gone by without you here.

These birds I watch from my window, they never look sad.
I wish I could put on that facade.
I wonder how truly happy one must be if they're happy all the time.
I know some people who are happy all the time.
Or atleast they act that way.
I just feel like they are drowning, but they don't want to bother people by saying, "save me."
Birds can fly away, so people would think they wouldn't need saved.
But what happens when a bird flies out too far over the ocean?
Who can hear its cries then?

These birds, they're pretty cool.
And I'm probably not pretty cool for calling birds pretty cool.
But when it comes down to it, birds are warriors.
They can see what other's can't view, fly where other's can't reach, and sing unlike any other creature.

Many people go through life trying to be a strong valiant warrior.

And birds can do it on a Thursday morning without even breaking a sweat.

We are taught to do a lot of things in life.

We’re taught how to eat.
How to talk.
How to move.
How to behave.

But why aren’t we taught other important things?

Like how to love?
How to live?
How to fall apart?

Because aren’t those the most valuable lessons anyways?

Sometimes, when I go for a drive,
I see myself in the side-view mirror.

And I say:
“Man, who’s that stud in the side-view?”

And other times when I go for a drive,
I see myself in the visor mirror.

And I say:
“Man, who’s that stud in the visor?”

But most times when I go for a drive,
I see myself in the rear-view.

And I say:
“Man, that stud is never going to get anywhere if he keeps living in the past.”

That cold slab of concrete,
It just sits there.
Sits through the sunshine,
Wallows in the moonlight.
It beckons for us.
It enjoys our company,
Because it had gotten used to our capacity.
We'd pass monosyllabic expressions back and forth,
As if it resembled gunfire.
We'd share laughs like they were on sale,
And we had coupons to buy them.

I looked at it today.
I stared at that cold slab of concrete.
Images filled my mind of parties and celebrations,
We had the best times there.
We, meaning we all shared in the good.
But when it came to bad times,
There was only one occupant,
Me.
I wore the burden of pain.
It's like you didn't even care.
You'd run just like the rest of them.
You'd run toward anything other than me.
You'd run like you saw laughs on sale,
And you had coupons to buy them.

I sat on that cold slab of concrete today.
I was actually glad I was alone.
The silence was soothing,
Like an early morning beach breeze.
Knowing that no one would run or ignore,
That reassured me.
It was nice to sit on that cold slab of concrete.

I sat there and said to myself,
"I think I like it here... by myself."

I got up and left,
Just like all of you did.
But next time, I'd be back.
And the time after that,
And the time after that time,
And for many more times after that.

If they ever put that cold slab of concrete up for sale,
I'd buy it.
Too bad you ran away with all my coupons.

I must have super strength.

Because I’m carrying around these
     mountains on my shoulders,

When I know I should be climbing them instead.

But for some reason,

I’ve always been better at carrying pain,
     Than overcoming it.

I guess I just don’t have the strength for that.

Nowadays, people seem to always ask me how I'm feeling.

I say I'm either sad or mad.

It confuses them, because they can see sweat dripping out of my pours and tears escaping my eyes.

And they ask, "Well, which one are you feeling?"

And all I say is, "Sweat looks like tears if it rolls down your face far enough."

And then grit my teeth and cry.

The sound of my beating heart echoes off these walls of my room.
I'm implanted in darkness, but all I can see is a vivid picture of you and I.
My body trembles as my thoughts of you continue to grow bigger and bigger, as does my love.
And you can feel it too.
And I don't want to let this slip away like my father did.
Five years since I've seen him.
It feels like a lifetime.
But at the same time, it feels like I've known you for a lifetime.
And at the same same time, lifetime is the word to describe how long I want us to be together.
But right now I feel like I'm forcing this down your throat, constantly
Day after day like a disease.
I feel like I'm hurting you with each word I say because with each word I say more and more of my affections fall from my heart and my mouth like sand through an hourglass.
I want to give you the world wrapped in a rainbow.
"This is yours" I whisper.
"I am yours."
And I feel like you're stuck in an abyss, falling deeper and deeper forevermore into agony and sadness.
And I just want to swing in on a rope and save you.
I want to dry your tears like the sun dries a desert, which seems to describe what he's doing to your heart.
He's leaving it dry and barren.
He only pleasures your heart with a sprinkling of false affection.
He wouldn't travel to see you, but I would fly to the sky just to bring you back the stars.
And now I feel we're in a Pythagorean theorem situation, just looking for a solution.
And with every word and every thought I feel like I'm driving you and your affections away but I don't want that at all.
I've realized all along that not even space can separate us.
We're bonded together by something too strong to break.
Passion, caring, love.
And I just hope you feel the same and never lose that hope.
And someday, we can share that hope together.
As we are together.
In each others arms, shielding each other from everything that tries to break our spirits.
Anyone that tries to make us pebbles in their shoes, just for them to act as giants and crush us.
And someday, when it's you and me, I'll give you the world and whisper, "This is yours. I am yours."

I either write when I'm in love or in pain.

So call me the constant writer.

But be not afraid when you see my poems drenched in blood,

For they are all like that.

Because I only write when I'm in love or in pain,

And for me those are the same.

I'm crazy for you.

And that's why I'm writing another poem.

Another canvas splattered with my gushy, mushy emotions.

Another fairytale romance covered in my blood, sweat, and tears.

I'm crafting a story where you're crazy for me too.

Where we can be together.

And I'm sitting here feeling my heartbeat race everytime I read your name.

And my knees go weak when I see your face.

And my eyes and ears widen when I hear your name.

I'm crazy for you.

And you'd probably call me crazy, or sweet, or generous, or a great guy, or a loser, or pathetic,

But as long as your calling, I'll keep answering.

So I hope you like this poem.
This canvas of my unstable emotions.
This fairytale romance drenched with my blood that I bleed from my fight.
The sweat that I pour from my fight.
And the tears that fall because of my fight.

I just hope you like this.
And I hope you like me, too.

But it's alright if you're not crazy about me the way I am about you.

But ****, if you were,

That'd be crazy.

There has been a lot of pain in my life.

Heartache,
Loss,
Injury,
Defeat.

But no matter the label, the pain still shows.

It covers my body like a cloak.
It hides my body like a shield.
It encompasses my body like an ocean.

But I'm smiling under all this pain.

I'm beautiful under all this pain.

My muse has left my body.
They must be following the trail of tears.
I've never felt pain like this before.
November 14, 2014 will be a date I will forever hate.
That was the day my mother was taken from this world.
Don't get me wrong, I'm glad she can no longer feel pain.
But man, the pain I feel right now is unbearable.
And now I have to keep walking this path alone.
And I don't even know the way...

Can I ask you a question?

"First of all, it's may I."
"And second of all, you just did."

Dead fish do not move.
They lay there,
Dead.

Dead fish do not breathe,
They lay there,
Dead.

Dead fish do not speak.
They lay there,
Dead.

But the dead fish do wander.
They wander around fish heaven,
Or fish hell.

Dead fish's minds, lasting longer than their physical bodies do,
Explore crevices of the universe that people aren't even familiar with.
Well, at least not people from Earth.

Dead fish not only wander, but they do this thing that sounds like wander and is spelled like wander but is called "wonder."
Their minds forever wonder about things.
Like seaweed, ah the good ol' days of eating seaweed.

Or maybe dead fish wonder about what life is like now that they are gone.
They might wonder if it's raining, or if it's sunny.
But they're fish, so what the hell matters if it's raining or sunny?

You see, dead fish also do this thing.
It sounds much like wander and wonder but it's different.
The thing is "nothing."

Well, I assume "nothing" would sound like the words "wander" and "wonder" to a dead fish.

Considering dead fish can do nothing.
They just lay there,
Dead.

But we are not dead fish.
We are alive people, well at least some of us.
We can do things.

Like ride a rollercoaster, or eat a sandwich.
We can watch televisions shows probably longer than most other human beings can.
We can write poetry books that only five and a half people will read.

(One of those hits home for this author.)

We can go out and live lives livelier than those dead fish.
We can live for those dead fish.
We can wander and wonder and do nothing all at the same time.

We are all given life to live and lives to breathe life into.
Alive humans and dead fish.
At one point in time, we all have the opportunity to be someone who does something maybe even with somebody.

Alive humans and dead fish.
Dead humans and alive fish.
Alive humans and alive fish.
Dead human and dead fish.

Creatures have beautiful and blank canvases on which they can spill beautiful masterpieces on.
Or even blank masterpieces.

It just depends on who you're asking to paint you a picture.
An alive human, or a dead fish.

Both have some type of story to tell.

You say life is but a dream.
Well then when will I wake up?
I'm tired of living in this lie.
This fantasy.

You've diluted these waters I swam in.
You've poisoned my sweet serenity.
How could you ever look me in the eyes and tell me the truth?
You have drowned me in my own existence.

I'm struggling to wake from this nightmare.
I can barely tell right from wrong all while I'm trying to right the wrong you've perpetrated against me.
I'm struggling to resurface.
You constantly hold my head under while I drown away.

And now I've become the deadpool.

So come and take a swim.

Human beings need help.
They can’t do it completely on their own.

That’s why we spend some time calling out to people.
But it just ***** when you keep calling out to those,

Who have already hung up the phone.

Pass me a torch,

And watch me set the world on fire.

Because I am a whole body full of gasoline.

A human being made of fuel, just searching for love.

A desperate lover with fire burning within, looking for a companion.

A hopeless romantic filled to brim, hoping for someone to burn forever with.

Because I am a whole body full of gasoline.

And I'm just waiting for the perfect "match."

I house thunder inside of these bones.
I contain lightning inside my heart.
I contain raindrops in my veins.

I am the storm.

But, do not worry dear plebeians, I do not strike on dark days of gray,
Only on dark days of pain.

I pour down on the suffering, to wash away all of their troubles.
And I'd rather have a lifetime of saving rain than a constantly-glowing sun.

Because the Sun is just too dim compared to the fire that burns inside of me.

Have you ever walked through a store and stopped at the bakery?

Just stopped and stared at the doughnuts?

Noticed how they had a hole in the middle?

Man, how they resemble my heart.

I watched them go swimming one day.
They were ok at best, but they kept trying.
Backstrokes and breaststrokes, repeat and more.
I watch from the sidelines as they laugh and cry and share their happiness.
I can hear them shouting, but I can't make it out.
It sounds like a cry for help.

But it's funny, I'm the one who's drowning.
They're the ones standing three feet away shouting "Learn how to swim".

If you really did "Love me to death,"

Then why am I the one who was left here for dead?

I'm just a spoke on the wheel.

And the journey I've been on,
Has been tiresome and painful.

But I keep turning,
Hoping that I will soon reach my beautiful destination.

This whole thing is one big typo.

It’s supposed to tell you how much I love you.

But instead it’s just another boring poem.

How lame.