Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
I scream
"But what about you?"
As if I was holding a mirror in one hand
Directed at your gaze
And revealing something no one else knew
I pointed out your glassy eyes so blank in their stare and
Your thick hands, gripped on a bicycle steering wheel
Angry sweaty blonde hair, pushed back by gusts of wind
I was trying to show you something
Important except not really
I thought then even my shoestrings were important when I had to tie them up and walk out of the door
No one cared about my shoestrings.
I wrote this in three minutes at 7:00 am.
He was always a quiet man,
never seemed to look up...

as if his eyes were afraid of
what it might mean to
see the sky

His gaze seemed neither
fierce, nor soft.
Neither attentive or lost

He would never look at you,
it was as if he was looking everywhere
except where you happened to be.

I never saw a smile cross his lips
I never heard a laugh escape his lungs
I never heard him curse
I never heard him yell

When he spoke, I could hear the dust
falling off his breath

It wasn't a monotone sound, but I imagine
he sounded like what trees or mountains
would sound like, had they voices.

He existed in the loosest sense of the word

He was an oddity and an enigma
His quietness and unobtrusiveness
could be somewhat offputting

Yet...he was often able to blend into
the background like a rain drop
in a storm.

You can imagine our surprise
when he stumbled into town one
hot afternoon, clothes looking like
he'd fallen into a vat of red paint.

Splattered. Head to toe.
In between his head and his toes,
cradled in his arms, was the
body of a young girl

He had found her in the woods,
he had said, voice devoid of emotion.
She had been lying off the path,
in a pool of crimson.

An investigation turned up nothing
The people, in need of a murderer,
settled on the only man they could.
The man who hadn't shed even one tear
over the death of a young child

The trial was a farce
The kangaroo court adjourned
Death by hanging

The man remained silent throughout
the proceedings.  Quietly answering
the frothing prosecutor's questions
with the same demeanor as someone
would use when discussing the weather

He wasn't defensive
He wasn't derisive

He didn't plead, nor pray
when the verdict was announced

On the day of the execution
nearly everyone in town was in attendance
Most of them couldn't tell you why

The noose around his neck, he stared
back at the crowd.  Stared through them,
as if they didn't exist.

When the rope snapped taut,
The man flailed as his body
involuntarily spasm'd.

When he finally passed,
his body swinging lazily
under the gallows,
I caught the hint
of a smile

Only for a moment.

I found it odd

That he would only show
a sign of life
as it was ending
It's funny
 how
Our Paths
Split                     Break
Off from                             Away from
each other.                                          one another
We loop and twirl          We zig and zag
      Touching
         every now and then
     Only to lose each other                Never quite making
In the ether                                                            ­   the connection
Until One day                                                              ­           Until we've reached
   When we feel                                                             ­               A point so low          the farthest apart                                                            ­     That we've given up.
We suddenly realize                                                          ­    It becomes so obvious
How foolish we've been.                             How blind we were to not see
The person we love.      The person we cherish
Has always been walking  
right by our side  
if we had only  
opened our eyes
Life and non-Life are part of a system-- a "system-like" system, but one nonetheless.
Where Entropy's that which is hidden from us--
and Information without meaning is total chaos.
But hold.

Poets, Bards & Thieves.
Of shame, of game, of blame, they speak
of secrets on the leaves.
In more or less a drunken mess, their simmered shimmered consciousness
could barely rarely quite express what causes them to grieve.

After some hesitation and liquid persuasion, the only collusion this final conclusion:

*Pain is entropic; Extra-sensory stimulation
received as distortion via sensory limitations--
Confusing the mind refusing the signs, forcing us to shutter the blinds.
But what is behind? Unveil pain's curtain and what do we find?
Contextualisation, possible causation-- Mind-Body integration without hesitation--
palpable, abstract Information dissemination!
I bet you thought I didn't have anything left in the tank.  Bet you thought that I was done giving mind blowing advice on how to approach this crazy thing we call life.  Well...you were wrong.


1.  Often cases, how good a story you end up with is inversely proportional to how good a decision it was that led to it.  Don't be afraid to make some bad decisions every once in awhile, because those are the stories you're gonna be telling for years to come.  Even when you know it's a bad decision.  Sure, you might wake up naked in a ditch on the New Jersey turnpike with a some blurry memories, a hangover, a tattoo of some girl named Francesca on your chest, and an ounce of black-tar ****** shoved up your ***...but you know what?  You started this little adventure at a black-tie dinner party in Santa Monica, so I'm willing to bet some interesting **** happened between here and then.

2.  Don't be someone who never breaks the mold.  When you're lying on your death bed and someone asks you to tell them about your life, do you want to lean over and whisper to them that you always did exactly what people expected?  That you carefully listened for society's cues on how to represent yourself at every point in your life?  **** no.  You want to tell them you broke off the road and went searching for the oddities that this world has to offer. You want to tell them that you gave the ******* to society and did what you wanted because, you know what?  It's your ******' life and you only get one shot at it, so you might as well make it memorable.  Being normal is boring as hell.

3.  Talk to everyone.  Talk to them about uncomfortable things.  Talk to them about their hopes and dreams.  Talk to them about their fears.  Just ****** talk to them.  Real conversations always leave you with something you didn't had before.  Real conversations make you think about your positions.  Get passionate when you talk.  Challenge their views and allow yours to be challenged as well.  Do you think you know everything?  Yeah, I bet you do.  Why aren't you out solving everyone's problems then, you selfish *******.

4.  Whoever you are, be proud of that.  If you're not proud of who you are, chances are you arent happy with yourself.  If you're not happy with who you are, change something.  If you're still not happy, change something else.  Still not happy?  Guess what.  Change another ******' thing. Are you happy?  Good.  Now change something else anyway, because an interesting life isn't built on stagnation.

I hope you've all learned something today.

Also, I'd like to remind you to never take advice from strangers on the Internet.  That's just stupid.
She loves me, She loves me not
She wants me

No, wait....

A second thought

Indecision
Tunnel vision

As she twirls the flower
between her fingertips
              her finger rips
another petal
         Watch it fall
watch it settle
Watch it settle to the ground
Where it never
never ever will be found

Can you see it?
the pile on the floor?
her wilted lovers
her lovers from before

She holds the empty flower in her hand
she simply doesn't understand

Why the spark is there no more
Why she is now so suddenly bored

He's no longer lovely to her eyes
She doesn't fully realize

Why things just aren't quite the same
and
Why she's the one
The one to blame
Feeling a bit 'meh' recently, but I've not posted anything in far too long.  This one might be slightly exaggerated.
I fell off of cloud nine today.

Everyone talks about cloud nine,
but they rarely talk about those
other clouds.

Right now, I'm on cloud thirty-seven,
after making an error in judgement.
Cloud thirty-seven is not quite as enjoyable

Thirty seven is slate tinted and full of regrets.
It's as if everything has been covered in a haze
of negativity.  It reeks of rejection and failure.
The people here look like lifeless shells.  I wonder
what I look like to them.

The worst part, I think, about cloud thirty-seven
is that I can still see cloud nine quite clearly.  I can
still see everyone up there smiling blissfully, save
for the few who are looking down at me with pity.
Faces stare at me almost smirking, as if the same thing
could never happen to them.

I can look up at cloud nine and it seems so far away.
It's not unreachable, mind you, but I know all the
blood and sweat
expended to get up there previously was for nothing.  
I know that to get back up there requires the same
repetitive ******* that I've been through
so many times before.  

Even if I manage to land back on cloud nine, I'm always
just a single mistake from falling from it yet again..
I've been here to thirty-seven enough times where it is
becoming uncomfortably familiar.  
I fear of becoming complacent.

Perhaps I'm fooling myself.  Maybe I need to stop aspiring
for cloud nine and pick a different one.

Cloud 28 might be nice.
Meh.
tell me what keeps you awake at 2 am
whether it’s the girl who took the knife of her absence and stabbed it into your sternum
or the loneliness that swallows your skin

play the one song which releases the floodgates in your eyes
and let me listen to it over and over again
until i find which line makes your heart drop to your stomach

describe the story of your body to me
tell me of the invisible scars too
and with each detail you describe
i will make a map
so i know which road bumps to avoid
or which holy sites to fall to my knees and kiss the ground of

remember that
i wear a mask brimming with self confidence and an armor of words that are both easy to tear for they were thin like tissue to begin with
i am sensitive
taking to hurt the way a sponge absorbs water

do not hide me behind closed doors or keep me entrapped in bed sheets
when you walk past me, do not pull your hood over your head and avert your gaze
i need you to look at my eyes as if they illuminated the entire world
and kiss my lips as if they are what allow you to breathe

open the door.
bring me flowers.
because the only boy who did either was my 5th grade boyfriend

be willing to meet my family and friends
for they were the ones who created the marble statue whom you marvel at today

take note of how my heart is a reflection of myself
how she is too kind and will kiss the same man who tore her in two
so please do not say words which will make her wings flutter
if you are not ready to be the nest she flies to

let me know that me, as myself, i am enough
that i do not need to be a chameleon
dipping myself in new colors each day to please you

remember the little things about me
like how my first phrase i uttered was shut up to a man in an elevator or the delight i take in handwritten letters and mix CDs, or the significance of my first tattoo
because everything about you is being etched into the walls of mind
so that i can never forget

trace your fingers with a loving tenderness over my scars from the times i transformed my body into a crucifix
pinning my hands and feet onto a cross out of habit
thinking love was a word synoymous with self sacrifice

you must learn my language
know what zips my lips into silence
know the difference between when i want to give up versus when i will actually do so
and be there to hold me when the seams start to unravel

if you want me to love you
know that many have tried and failed
that people like me are not meant to be soft
if you want me to love you
know that to me
love is not a word you spit out of your mouth and juggle in your hands
you need to promise that our love won’t be like an hourglass
for my body has been disfgured enough from the times my chest turned inside out from the pang of abadonment
if you want me to love you
reaffirm my body is a kindgom, my heart is the treasure, and that i am your queen
paint pictures for me in what you do and say
telling me i am worthy to be loved, worthy to be kept, and worthy to stay

but if you really want me to fall in love with you
tell me what you see right before you close your eyes at night to fall asleep
and if you tell me it’s me
i will fall unfathomably further for you than i already have
One day, I asked a chef
how he made his food taste
so delicious

He said to me
"It's simple.  I carefully
mix spices with meats,
fruits, and vegetables,
then I combine them
in a particular order,
during which I apply
heat at certain times
and temperatures."

I was awestruck.

Then I asked a painter
how she created such
beautfiful images

She said to me
"It's simple.  I mix certain
colors together, then I place
those colors on specific spots
on the canvas in a particular
order using a various number
of stroke techniques."

I was amazed

Finally, I asked a writer
how he wrote such beautiful
and inspiring lines

He paused and looked far off
into the distance, contemplating
what wise advice to impart to me



Then he took a hit off his ****

"I dunno, I guess I just
write, like, how I feel
and stuff..."

"Totally", I replied, as I bit into a ham sandwich
Awkward would be the word to describe me...
Around you.

And I don't mean physically,
around you...
Like two bodies intertwined.
I mean emotionally...
I am emotionally wrapped around you.
Like a reader to a page turning  novel
a singer to their next note,
All of these things float-
On my awkwardness of you.

It feels like snow in the summertime
A funeral on your birthday-
The moment when you're afraid to let go
But yet,
You have a reason to celebrate.

It feels so right
And yet so very wrong
Something that makes you question everything
And God only knows I question everything.

I've never been so awkward-
I feel like a boy who hasn't grown into his arms-
Like a swimming pool that sits without water,
Kind of like the circle yes-or-no thing.

I guess if awkward is what I'll have to be
Is it fair to say I'm growing?
These feelings are unfamiliar
I know who I am-
But maybe this,
Is who I'm supposed to be...
Next page