I smile.
You smile.
Your face tells a story.
My favourite book to read.
And every time you walk by,
I have to check my vital signs to see if I'm still breathing.
Because you take my breath away.
And even though we don't know,
Each other that well.
I really want the time to cross paths.
I keep holding onto hope even if no one else knows why.
Because you mean a lot to me,
Even if you don't realize it.
You make me smile in the saddest of times.
Your cute laugh.
Your priceless smile.
It draws me in like a pencil; erasing all doubts.
I just don't know what to do.
I know there might be a chance.
But what if there isn't?
What if you turn out like all the others?
I don't want that, you don't want that.
Why chase something that I'll never reach?
But I want to reach you so badly.
Too badly.
So sadly.
Bye-bye.
And that feels like the end of another hopeless journey.
Ended too soon.
Good-bye.
I'll miss you.

If only I could get a date for once.

And no, don't be an ******* and show me a calendar,

Followed by the saying, "Here's 365 of them."

Because it's probably a leap year, *******.
That would make 366.

But I need a date that's better than all the dates you could find in a calendar.

I need a date where the two of us could just be ourselves.

A date where both of us could have the time of our lives.

I need a date that could literally save my life.

With that one special lady.

I need a date with Lady Luck.

Or does she go by "Destiny" now?

It's just not fair.

And it's really ******* sad,

What you're doing to me.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

No caring for me, no cradling me, no supporting me.

But why?

Is it because I'm not good enough?
Not cool enough?
Not good looking enough?
Not confident enough?

Oh, of course it is.

There are some people out there that have wanted to **** themselves for some time now.
And there are some who have bled blood from their bodies to drown out the tears.

There are some people out there who were once the brave ones.
The cool kids.
The strong warriors.

These people, they were once dreamers.
Who are now haunted by nightmares.

These people, they were once believers.
Who are now wearing the handprint of life bitchslapping them in the face.

These people, they were once fearless.
And now fear is the only thing they want less of.

But these people, they haven’t given up yet.

These people fight every day to better themselves.
They fight to be strong once again.

These people haven’t ended it all, even though they feel like the world is pushing them to.
They haven’t given up.
They haven’ killed themselves.

But that’s not something you can brag about at fancy parties.

If I could go back to that night and live it over and over, I would.
I'd go back one million times over.
And then some.
The time we shared was short, but filled with so many memories.
We walked around looking for our destiny, but we couldn't find the destination.
Once we did, it was vacant, just like the hope we had of now having a good time.
But we marched on.
Led by a beast, we walked toward a nightmare.
A long, long, long walk.
Through the lights and sounds, the noise all around.
We walked town to town it seemed like, until some of us started to have doubts.
So, in that next moment, I was off on foot to try and save our weary souls.
I soon reached my target, and I drove the getaway car toward salvation, literally.
After missing the right signs with so many wrong turns, I finally found good news.
I sped toward the west end, bypassing every fall.
I passed the destination, but found my friends in the streets.
They were just looking for some Family.
We rode together toward the flashing light of prosperity, and found the rest of our gang.
We stood together as one, and even though it was scary, even though we got separated, and even though there was moisture, we came out together.
We started to part ways.
But soon most of us were back in the saddle together, tighter than most families.
We soon drove way out to the country where there's five forks in the road, not just one.
Then, as night lagged on, I found my way home.
I layed down in my bed, still feeling, no, still wishing I was there.
Oh, if only I could go back.
Because if I could live it over and over.
I would.

Love is such a poignant drug.
It is something you cherish for your entire life,
Until the one day where it is from your hands and from your heart untimely ripped.
What happens when you lose love?
Do you go on a four hour car ride through nowhere and drown the sorrow with music?
Do you cry about it until your tears can fill the Pacific?
Or do you simply thank that person for their time, and walk away?
"Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened."
That has been said to me over and over again.
It's like my guidance counselor telling me that when I take a trip to her office due to a bout of depression.
Again.
But, I strangely find validity in it.
I believe that no matter what those cold-hearted, vicious, egotistical ex-lovers have told you, you still exist simply to prove them wrong.
You have to show them that you are prepared to wear the blood from a broken heart like a badge of honor.
Like a sign saying, "I'm a survivor. Can I have another?"
Love is a fickle, funny, nonsensical, amateur, thing.
That's all love is.
Love is not about proving yourself to someone who has thrown your mentality of life away.
It's about being able to see yourself drenched in all that wasted blood from all those broken hearts and say,
"****, that looks good on me."

• College is hard.**

And that’s the list of things they don’t tell you in College.

I am a castle of glass.

I've had stones cast at me.
Rocks thrown my way.
The wind has shook my walls.

I've had too many cracks to count.

But I've still got my foundation.

So I will keep standing, ever so tall.

And life will keep casting its stones, ever so painfully.

But there is no stone powerful enough,

To shatter this castle of glass.

There's been a certain darkness surrounding my life as of late.

Did I ask for it? No.

Do I deserve it? Well, that's not for me to decide.

But do I live with it? Yes.

Why? Because days are going to get better.

Someday, somehow.

There's been a certain darkness surrounding my life as of late.

And I've found there's only one thing to do with that darkness:

Shine in it.

It's funny how nowadays if we see someone we know,

We nod our head up.

And if we see someone we don't know,

We nod our head down.

But when we see ourselves in the mirror,

We don't know what to do.

"And here we are".
You've led me into a dark lit room.
"Take off the blindfold babe".
I remove the blindfold, and see beauty.
I see a magical world around me.
"Like what you see?" She says with that beautiful smile that anyone could see and instantaneously feel better.
I see a sign that reads: Paradise.
"Yea. A lot." Is all I manage to say, still in awe of this magical world in front of me.
I realize that she is so kind to bring me here.
She is so helpful, bringing me out of the darkness and into this light.
She is so beautiful, I always stare.
Such beauty, much like this place in front of me.
"This is yours." She says to me in that seductive and beautiful voice.
"Let's go." I say.
Venture into this world together and experience it's beauty.
The two of us together, man we're unstoppable.
She smiles at me and says, "No. I'm not coming with you."
She turns and runs, I call out for her, but she is gone in a flash.
Disappeared.
I turn around, all I see is darkness.
Thunder crashes over head.
Rain starts to pour down on me.
I see a sign.
It reads: "Paradise. If Only We Had Paradise. Maybe We Wouldn't Be So Sad."

"You can't fix all your sad and pathetic problems by writing another ****** poem."

Well, I can try.

Some people just don't win the big one.

And that's not fair.

It's not fair that some people work so hard to accomplish something, only to fail at it in the end.

It's not fair that people who like other people so much aren't liked back.

It's not ******* fair that some people feel their hearts literally break into a thousand pieces over love.

Over affection.

Over attention.

Over someone else.

It's not fair at all the way some of us have to live our lives sometimes.

Because sometimes,

Some people just don't win the big one.

And I'm one of them...

Hate is such a strong word.

But a weakling like me needs some strength.

If this was a poem,
Would you read it?

And if this was a song,
Would you sing it?

And if this was a paper map showing you how to get to Rancho Cucamonga, California,
Would you be inspired by it?

Or just put your joint down already?

My life is a big mess.

And I don't know how to fix it.

I never knew you felt that way.
I wouldn't of expected it from someone like you.
Someone as beautiful and delicate like you.
I never knew.

But **** I wish I did.

I’m moving much too fast,
I can’t check the scenic views.
I feel too far gone,
So far away from you.
You are my release,
My Heaven sent down to this Hell.
You are my escape,
You bring me joy so well.

I feel at times I’m looking,
Too hard for some hope.
I feel like I’m playing hand grenades,
In a world playing jump rope.
I have to keep producing,
That’s what all good artists do.
But maybe, just maybe,
It’s the way we go about it that’s the clue.

My music is my soul.
And not just the genre.
I want you to feel my music.
It’s about life, not drama.
I bleed my heart on that mic.
To the point where my heartbeat, you’ll hear it.
My music goes beyond every beat,
It goes beyond every lyric.

My poetry is my savior.
It keeps me hanging on.
I can craft these amazing stories,
My poetry keeps me from being too far gone.
I bleed my heart on those pages.
To the point where my heartbeat, you’ll read it.
My poetry goes beyond every stanza,
It goes beyond all the rhetoric.

We bleed our hearts out for this art.
We live for our words.
You can call us fighters,
Cause we’ll die by our swords.
And my swords, we mean pens,
Which we use to write down our hearts.
To write down our lives,
You’ll see them in every part.

So the money, will start printing.
And we, will start winning.
Because in the end, we’re just brothers from humble beginnings.

Life sure is a bitter pill.

But instead of attempting to swallow it.

I'm straight up ******* choking on it.

Why would I?
Why should I?
Why could I?
Why would I crawl back into that thorn bush?
Why should I travel back in time to have it hurt again?
Why could I be a superhero?

Well, because that thorn bush has roses.
And traveling back in time and experiencing that pain would be better than the pain of today.
And well, because, I'd look **** good in a cape.

But why would there be roses on a thorn bush?
And why should I still have to go through pain?
And why could I pull of a cape so dashingly?

Well, because there's beauty in beasts.
Pain is never-ending.
And well, I've been my own superhero for quite sometime.

Would I show it?
Should I show it?
Could I show it?

No.

And it's better that way.

Does a wish even mean anything anymore?

It seems that people wish and wish and wish,
More each day and day and day.

But they don’t receive any of their wishes, just more days.
It seems like it’s impossible for a wish to come true anymore.
I’m sitting here in this room and I’m surrounded by is troubled memories.
All these troubled images and feelings.

I look up to the clock and it’s 11:10.
Oh, what a time to be alive.
Because I know in just one short minute,
One little minute,
One rapidly approaching minute,
It will be 11:11.
And that minute seems to last forever.

It is in that minute that the dreamers and the believers and the prayers,
They all become the wishers.
They all wish for better jobs, or better cars, or better tomorrows.
But sadly, no one ever told them that tomorrow never comes.

Tomorrow is just a day away.
But tomorrow will never be here because when you get there it’s Today.

Tomorrow is such a strange thing.
But yet so many people wish for the pain to cease, tomorrow.
For the girl or guy to like us back, tomorrow.
We all wish to find a million dollars on the ground, tomorrow.

We wish, we wish, we wish.

In that minute at 11:11, we spend a lifetime wishing for something that we know we NEED.
We don’t WANT a new car, we NEED one to get to the store to buy groceries for our children.
We don’t WANT that other person to like us back, we NEED them to because we need a hand to hold, lips to kiss, and a shoulder to cry on.
We don’t WANT to find money on the ground, we NEED to because we’re running out of money to pay the bills, money to pay the rent, and money to live.
We don’t wish for things we WANT, we wish for things we NEED.

We need comfort.
We need happiness to come and see the way we’ve been living.
And for it to say “This person needs me.”

I wish we all had our wishes, oh that is what I wish.

Some people look at wishing as Child’s Play.
But I look at it as a lost art that has become unrecognized.

Because there are so many people in the World,
Wishing for a heart that needs healed.
A hand that needs held.
And for stars they need to show so they may keep wishing upon them.

Sometimes, when we wish for a better day, we get a terrible one.
When we wish for more food, we go hungrier.
When we wish for riches, we receive rags.
When we wish for love, we find hate.
Happiness, we find pain.
White, we find grey.

And sometimes we wish for the day but we find the night.

And if it was all up to me, a wish would come true for me and you.
Wishes would be like horses, and gallop toward prosperity.
Those wishes would be like spaceships, and fly to unknown places.
And they would save everyone with good graces.
Wishes would be like cars.
They’d travel oh so far.
Wishes would be like airplanes.
And probably do something that rhymes with airplanes.

Those wishes would save our souls.
Those wishes would make the World whole.

I wish everyone who wishes wishes would have their wishes come true.
I wish pain would turn into serendipity.
Sadness would turn into happiness.
I wish the World would be whole once again.

I would wish for a better today and to never see tomorrow if all it holds is pain.

I’d wish the whole World would be happy again,
And I’d wish you all the best,

But sadly, it’s now 11:12.

Fight back tears, we joyous human beings have to do.

With life being as unknown as it is, it puzzles me that we know so much about pain without knowing really anything at all.
Make sense yet?
Well, pain really doesn’t.
But it hurts.

So why do we have to experience pain?

It’s an interesting and frustrating concept.
When you think of how many people are on the Earth, and how many of them could be facing their own personal pain, what do we do?
People face their own personal pain in many forms.
Crime, the loss of a family member, disease, love.
All of those hurt.

Pain is an evil temptress.
Because she comes in all different shapes and different sizes.
She comes in different capes with different disguises.
And she affects everyone in one way or the other.
And it hurts.

Pain is hard to swallow.
And that’s because sometimes, pain is the dagger,
The dagger that is too busy being plunged into your heart for you to swallow it.
And that hurts.

Pain is something we think we can overcome.
Because, if we’ve already had so much in our lives, why would we need more?
Why can’t we just have our sunny day?
Our clean bill of health?
Our relationship we try so hard for?
Pain is something we curse because even through the constant struggle of pain, we can’t seem to find happiness.
We can’t seem to win.
And that hurts.

But we spend so much of our days imagining winning.
We enjoy the splendor of happiness, the warmth of joy.
We can see ourselves playing in the field of dreams.
We are past our struggles.

But then pain rears its ugly head.
It reminds us of our imaginations.
It reminds us that we are still immersed far within her grasp.
Pains reminds us of one thing:

Some people are just not meant to win the big one.

And that’s what hurts the most.

I HAVE FINALLY RE-EDITED AND FINISHED MY FIRST BOOK, FROM CRO MAGNON TO PRO AVERAGE MAN: AN ASSORMENT OF POEMS!!!!!

Well, I have officially made my first book of poetry. The book is entitled From Cro Magnon to Pro Average Man: An Assortment of Poems. This was the first time I ever attempted making a book, and finally I have pulled it off!!! I made this book through the website: www.bookemon.com. Just a few minutes ago, I actually published the book on Bookemon for the whole world to buy! So, if you’ve wanted a copy all along, are interested in reading it now, and/or just want to help me keep chasing my dream of becoming a known-poet by paying for the book, YOU CAN!! Here’s what you do:

You go to www.bookemon.com

You enter “From Cro Magnon to Pro Average Man” into the search bar in the upper-right hand part of the screen.

When you hit “Search,” my books should pop up!! MY books! I actually made it.

There are two types of the book. A hardcover and a softcover version. It will say which version is which under the title. The hardcover version sells for $28.72, plus tax. And the softcover version sells for $18.07, plus tax.

If you would be so awesomely-amazing to buy a copy, just hit ADD TO CART, Then scroll down and hit PROCEED TO CHECKOUT. Hit CONTINUE under GUEST CHECKOUT, and enter your information there.

NOW, I KNOW THE BOOK IS KINDA PRICY, BUT BOOKEMON SETS THE PRICES THEMSELVES. MY APOLOGIES.

Or, if you don’t have any money to spend and just want a little preview of the book, you can hit READ beside the book and get a free 20 page preview!!

Again, thank you to everyone who has supported me through this long process of self-publishing my first book of poetry. And thanks in advance to anyone who is willing to buy the book and actually does. THAT WOULD MEAN THE LITERAL WORLD TO ME.
Thank you all again. Now I have all my time devoted to the continuing and making of my second book, Pocket Change for Priceless Memories. It’s coming soon!!

Thanks again everyone!

Nick

I look up to you everyday.

Both metaphorically,
And now unfortunately,
Literally.

But I'll never stop looking.

The darkness can consume me,
The pain blind my eye.
The turmoil blur my vision.
The weight force my eyelids close.

You were the first thing I layed my eyes on.

And I still haven't seen anything as beautiful since.

And even though it saddens me that I can't physically see your face anymore,

I'll never stop looking.

I'm the poster child for self hatred.

My calendar's constantly booked with things like "Sit and Hate Myself" and "Live Tweet How Terrible My Life Is."

I'm an advocate for not having enough self confidence.

I'm a member of the Missed Opportunity Club.

And next week I'm the keynote speaker at the "Nothing is Going Right in My Life and it Never Will" Conference.

And the worst part about all of this is:


I have all these accolades and you still won't notice me.......

Both pens and babies deserve the same chance.

The chance to tell the world their story.

We all stood outside as the building burned away.

Everyone was watching the flames shoot toward the heavens like rockets.

Everyone was watching the bricks crack into pieces, the metal starting to melt, and the windows starting to shatter.

Everyone was watching the building turn to ash.

And I was just watching everyone.

And thinking, "Man, out of all these people, I don't know anyone."

It can get lonely in this world.

Especially when everyone around you is watching a building burn away.

All the while you're burning away on the inside.

Are you scared?
Because I am.
I live my life everyday being scared of something.
I can't stand it.
I know I'm fine.
But my mind is telling me different.
It's like a constant devil on my shoulder.
Except its in my head.

Are you tired?
Because I am.
I live my life everyday being tired of the day to day operation of my being.
From school to home life, it's all a mess.
I keep forgetting to do things because I am suddenly remembering to do things.
Get it?
Cause I don't.

Are you fed up?
Because I am.
I'm fed up with how life moves on and forgets you.
Like when something extreme happens in your life.
You just want people to stop and ask you what's wrong.
And sometimes, you just want them to hold you.
But you realize they don't.
People have their own lives to live.
The world moves on, even if you don't.

But that doesn't mean you have to quit.
As individuals, we all have our own intricate vocabularies populated by words we find intriguing not only to our tongues, but other's ears.
And in that vocabulary, there should never be the word: quit.
Quitting is something that we should be allergic to.
We should hate.
We despise.
Because if after all we've been through we want to quit, we're not realizing our full potential.
Reach for it.
Grab it.
We have to chase our ambitions.
Our ambitions won't come to us.
But quitting will.
It will rear its ugly head at every turn.
But we must never give up.

Are you a survivor?
Because I am.

I'm not just someone who time-after-time ***** things up.
I honestly believe I wrote the book on it.

And my book is filled with stories of how I, no one else, single-handedly messed up everything I could have had.
I've messed a whole lot of things up in my life.
And I regret it all.

And lately, I've been thinking,
About all that I've done wrong.

It's been weighing on my mind like an anvil.
And also on my heart.

I've done myself wrong,
I've done school wrong,
But most importantly,
I've done others wrong.

I've neglected outreached hands that could have been my lifelines.
I've missed opportunities that could have been my successes.
I've thrown away friends that could have been my family.
But above all else, I've missed the chances to have the things I want most in my life, and I have no one to blame but myself.

And honestly, I have no idea why.
I've had everything that I have ever wanted right in the palm of my hand.
Everything I ever wanted was reaching its hand out to me...

And I ****** it up.

And now, here I am writing another poem about the things I could've had,
Instead of enjoying them myself.

If I could just have one wish in life,
One more opportunity,

I would want to go back and fix it all,

Go back to those moments,
Go back to those days,
Go back to the hospitals,
Go back to the parks,
Go back to the rehab centers,
Go back to those precious moments,
And not **** things up.

Because if only I could just go back,

Maybe I'd have better stories to tell.

If I was to go broke today,

Would you put me back together?


Or find someone else with money?

Have you ever had those days that just ******?
Those days that were just terrible and you have no idea why.
Why they are bad, why it's happening to you and why does it keep getting worse?
You just constantly ask: why?

Why do we have bad days?
Are bad days a type of requirement to living?
Do we have to experience bad days?

And why the hell do I experience them day after **** day?

For the past few months I've had bad days.
My days are like, real bad.
As bad as criminals locked away in the world's deepest prisons.
As bad as lying in court, or swearing in church, or sleeping with your neigbor.
Well, maybe not the last part, because if that was what I was comparing my bad days too, at least I'd be getting lucky in some sort of way.

My days are terrible.
I have chronic anxiety, top that with separation from my loving family, add in being a freshman in college, make sure you include dealing with the death of my mother, and top it all off with just a general sense of feeling alone.
This is what my bad days are like.

My bad days are horrible.
They make me feel sad.
And lonely.
And depressed.
And at times I think my heart actually hurts.
I can feel the physical pain in my chest.
It's like no matter where I turn or what I do, I can't find anything to help me.
From kids laughing, to girls being in a relationship with someone else,
(Like seriously, every girl is with someone),
All the way to knowing I lost my best friend when my mother passed away.

What can I do to get away from these bad days?

I go home, exhausted after each day of bad.
I breathe heavy not only from the long walks of this college campus, but the burden that surrounds my heart.
I just cry now.
It just escapes my eyes and my soul.

I eventually end up all alone, like usual.

And all I do is think to myself:

"Man, I've had a bad day."

And then I just say to myself:

*"Man, I've had a bad life."

To my mother, Gina,
Who's watching over me.
Today is your birthday.
You would have been 50.

You had me when you were 31,
And left me when you were 49.
No one knew that you were going.
No one still knows why at this time.

You were an angel of a woman.
A healer and a helper.
As I was growing up I'd say,
"I wanna be just like her!"

Even though life hit you hard,
You wouldn't let it phase you.
You'd keep a beautiful smile.
Oh, this much is true.

When you passed away,
It was a sudden blow.
Like from my chest my heart was ripped.
And from my body too was my soul.

Everyday I cry tears.
I leave the evidence on my shirt.
These tears stains are just evidence.
Evidence that it still hurts.

And today is your birthday.
May 2 is the date.
Today is your birthday.
50 is the age.

But you're not in the next room over.
Not there for me to run to.
I can't come say "Happy Birthday."
And you're not there to say "Thank you."

You're up in Heaven.
The big glorious kingdom in the sky.
And it's just got me thinking,
I wonder what birthdays in heaven are like.

You're celebrating a new life.
Eternal life is the name.
You get to walk those golden streets.
And never feel any pain.

But down here on earth,
We miss you, oh we do.
And it's heartbreaking that we have to go to a graveside.
Just to sing "Happy Birthday" to you.

But even through the pain,
There's still happiness here.
Knowing we get to celebrate you.
Is the greatest celebration my dear!

So today is your day.
Our celebration will ring through.
Happy 50th Birthday Mom.
I love and miss you.

Her hands are shaking.
Trembling, trembling as the box moves closer to her reach.
Her heart is racing just as fast as she used to everyday after school when she ran from the school bullies.
Her heart is pumping blood just as her wrists do after she introduces them to a blade.
Her heart is slowly being mended just like the reconciliation of her relationship with her psychotic sister.
Her hands are shaking so bad she can't make out the outline of them in this dimly-lit room.
The candle light ricochets off the walls.
All she can think about is how he has stood beside her this whole time.
The room smells of cigarettes, which reminds her of the first time she met him.
That night at the corner liquor store where she went after her grandad died.
Trying to drown the pain by drowning herself in
pills and alcohol.
She was approached by a man who smelt of death who tried to steal her money, and if he got any further, her virginity.
Just as the man went to put his hands on her, the boy stepped up and protected her.
That trend continued for years as he protected not only her, but their love as well.
She knew she had finally found something worth loving truly for.
No more hiding who she truly was behind drugs, lies, and a noose hung ready in her closet.
She realized that he made her complete.
She'd walk to the end of the earth for him and he'd crawl with broken legs all the world around to see her.
But as the bills piled high and the eviction notices multiplied by the hundreds, they didn't know how to move on.
She turned back to the drugs and the pills as she knew she was drowning,
Drowning deeper and deeper.
Waiting to feel his hand plunge deep in the water to save her life.
And he'd do it every time.
She realized that he took her sky high with his love.
This would soon overcome all her addictions, leaving her only addicted to his love.
She could barely breathe as her hands touched the box.
By now she was surprised they hadn't fallen off from trembling,
Trembling so much.
As she opened the box, her breath rapidly started to leave her body.
She could feel herself going numb.
She couldn't speak.
As he pulled the ring from the box, her body shook more and more from excitement and shock.
He asked for her hand in marriage, and she started to cry with joy.
After they kissed he whispered, "You've always been my addiction."

The listening stopped a while ago.
It’s like the monotonous sounds spewing from your mouth just didn’t meet the qualifications of entering my ears.
It wasn’t always like that, though.
You used to deliver information to my being like you were the great Giving Tree.
And I was a nearby flower.
A delicate, nearby flower.
A flower that went about its normal routines, such as photosynthesis or pollination or other flower things.
Ah, those flower things.
To me they are everything.
This flower would blossom in the spring and wither in the winter.
I would spend my flower days in the summer breathing in the glowing sunlight and living my flower life.
And in the fall, I would spend my flower nights rocking in the breeze, waiting for winter to come and bring me my renewal period.
I would look with my flower eyes toward you, the great Giving Tree.
Tall and ***** like the unstoppable force.
And I, there on the ground, the immovable object.
Your knowledge was so delightful at first.
It lit up my surrounding flower world more than the Sun ever could.
Your knowledge would come at all hours of the day, no matter rain or shine.
I remember once a long time ago when I was a little, tiny flower.
It was raining on my little tiny flower head.
But you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
The rain that would beat pitter-patter on my pedals.
The water that would run down my stem.
You with your knowledge would tell me “Soak up the water my son. You need as much as you can hold.”
And I did just what you said.
Because I knew you were an unstoppable force, and could never be wrong.
And I, as the immovable object, would never let something stop me.
And then there was the time when I was an older, bigger flower.
The Sun was shining on my older, bigger flower head.
And you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
The sunlight that shine zig-zag on my pedals.
The shadow that would cast from my stem.
You with your knowledge would tell me “Soak in the sunlight my son. You need as much as you can hold.”
And I did just what you said.
Because I knew you were an unstoppable force, and could never be wrong.
And I, as the immovable object, would never let something stop me.
But now I am a current, normal flower.
The world is passing by my current, normal flower head.
And you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
You with your knowledge….
Said nothing to me, your son.
I didn’t know what to take in.
So I did just what you didn’t say.
And I just kept watching the world float by you, great Giving Tree.
You, the unstoppable force.
And I just kept watching the world float by me, the delicate flower.
Me, the immovable object.
And for the rest of our days you said nothing to me.
You don’t pass your knowledge to me, your delicate flower son.
Your immovable object.
And I stop listening to you, my great Giving Tree.
My unstoppable force.
The monotonous sounds spewing from your mouth just don’t meet the qualifications of entering my ears anymore.
The relationship we had has faded away.
But I had a feeling neither of us would win when we first met.

“Because you know what happens when the unstoppable force meets the immovable object.”

Do you ever wake up some mornings and think, "Man, this *****, I'm a huge loser?"

Yes?


Well then,

Keep dreaming kid.

This life that I live is hard.
Gets harder and harder each day.
But it's the only life I got.
Will it get better?, I can't say.

The pain that I suffer through is silent.
You can't hear me scream.
My life is a scary nightmare.
It doesn't even recognize the word "dream."

I cringe every day.
I tense up like a statue.
I pray to God for one thing.
And that one thing is truth.

I've been given an open letter.
Telling me to run free.
And after reading that letter.
I question if running is for me.

Freedom is all I think about.
From early in the morning to late at night.
I can't get it off of my mind.
It's such a beautiful sight.

But I scare myself sick.
I worry too much.
I worry that I won't ever get away.
I worry that freedom, I'll never clutch.

And that brings me back to the life I live.
The one that gets harder and harder each day.
It sadly is the only one I got.
Will it get better?

I can't say.

I just want to go back in time.

And live in all the places I felt like dying.

Because fearing death and meeting it are two completely different shindigs.

I want to go back to the places I lived,
The people I loved,

And meet them all over again.

I’ve never moved into a new house,
But I’d like to think it’s as simple as saying “hello” after years of saying “hey.”

Love is a quick train,

And if you don’t hear it coming,
You’ll miss it on a dime.

I just hope you’ll come back around one day.

They say if you love something,
Then leave it.

It will return in time.

But with all these messages,
All the empty conversations,
All these thoughts and feelings,

I’d kick myself for leaving something so valuable behind in an old house.

Sunsets and violent car crashes are known to be thieves of our attention,

Yet mine tends to veer off the beaten path.

It gets distracted by poems and the way words make love to each other.
It gets distracted by lips and how well I can remember how they set my soul on fire.
It gets distracted by pictures and how the thousand words scream at me of what I’m missing.
It’s like it’s mocking me.

I daydream of one day owning a nice house,
And all the memories I wish to place within it.

If I could take the past,
And move it to the future,
I would.

Uproot it from what at the time seemed like a hell hole,
And put some pearly gates around it.

I just wish I could have the things I once had back.
And I wish the things I had wanted me back, too.

It’s hard to live in a future that you so desperately want to escape.

I lived a part of my life where I didn’t actually do much living.
And now,
I’m dying to go back.

The past is always prime real estate for a kid who can’t even make it out of the neighborhood.

I've found the true love that I was always looking for.

Right inside my own heart.

Every palpation, a symphony.

Playing my life along.

I'm afraid the only time you and I, my dear, will ever be together,

Is right here in this poem.

And if that doesn't make me want to bleed blood from my wrists all over this paper instead of words from my mouth,

I don't know what will.

I guess I'm just one of those "lovesick, pathetic, try-too-hard's."

The one who uses their prayers to pray for you.

The one who uses their 11:11 wishes to wish for you.

The one who picks eyelashes from their crying eyes to hope and beg for you.

I guess I'm just one of those lovesick, pathetic, try-too-hard's.

Just hoping to be with you.

But having to face the harsh reality that people like me only end up with people like you,

In poems like this.

Love is like trying to catch a train,
All while standing on the tracks.
You are fascinated with how fast everything is moving,
But also, how slow it is moving all the same.
Everyone is yelling things at you.
So many people are telling you what to do.
You want to move,
You want to jump out of the way,
But nobody ever wants to miss their train.

I was never the most handsome thing to look at.
I never had nerves of steel or confidence of a God.
I never had the best financial situation.
Or the best hair.
I never had the physique of a male weight-lifter.
Or football player.
Or dancer.
Or even ping pong player.
I never knew how to capitalize on opportunities like other guys did.
I never knew how to stand comfortably in my own shoes.
I always seemed to mess up.
To botch my words.
Ruin the moment.
Poison the air with my disappointing appearance.
I never had my emotions figured out.
I never seemed to enjoy a day of happiness.
Because I was too far lost in sadness.
I lost my forest through the trees.
I never even had a forest.
I never had a place where seeds of hope could grow into trees of glory.
Where my legacy could live on forever.
Where my love could rejuvenate even the sickest of souls.
I never had an opportunity to show what my love really could do.
But I always had love to give.
Too bad I never had anyone in line who wanted to receive it.

I've never been good at coloring in between the lines.

Because I leave no space in between these lines that are made,

When the blade molests my skin.