Eighty years old
with frazzled white hair,
Sad because I
am pining for air

I'm talking to the air

about my regrets and mistakes.

I'm talking about how I

tried

to do something and all it did

was make me feel more

lonely.

Because I has made mistakes.

Because I was a fool.

Because I was too weird or strange

or something that repelled people.

I'm talking to the air

about that time I talked to my

school counselor

and how I instantly regretted it.

Because she didn't have my wishes

in mind.

She had the law in it

so she did things

I didn't want her to.

I'm talking to the air

about the mistakes I still hate

about the girl three years ago

that got me birthday presents

and I never got her any

because I was afraid to show my

affection.

And now she's gone

leaving me thinking about what

an idiot

I was.

I'm talking to the air

about this:

poems will not change one thing,

that this is slowly breaking

my mind

because I keep thinking

that this is slowly breaking

my social life.

But for some reason I don't want

to stop.

I keep talking to the air

because it listens.

How many years will I never get back

How many laughs can I no longer grab

How many friends have I forever lost

How many chances out the window I've tossed

How many opportunities are passing me

How many fires I'm too blind to see

We talk of time like Earth is a desert

with nothing to harvest nor gain

When in reality,

it coats the oceans

and is trapped between every rock



Strangely, we talk of such deprivation

at times when it's grown luxuriant

For there's not much

to do with too much

except ponder how we've so few



Oh what of Humanity

is to come when all is done

and the desert

is teeming

with flora as far as I see?



We talk of time

like we have no time at times when we've nothing but.

The cage was flooded with the rushing black

With only two small holes to drain it through

Reach, but in vain; grasp only the untrue

Loves and smiles, which in pure I have lacked

Reach! But in vain! For the the fruits are too far

One must crack the wood that surround their Self

Your consciousness, into which you must delve

And then, you'll find the true person you are



I've began to break the walls that were built

However I felt nothing but clean guilt

I was forced to spill the water on those

Who chanced to be close to me. I'm sorry.

It's more stressful than I'd hoped it would be

But now I guess I'll just see how this goes

My poetry

reflects like broken glass

and a sheet

Happiness is a guilty pleasure.

It's just not me; not who I am.

And I love it.

It feels so amazing, so wonderful

to be happy

to talk to strangers

to laugh

to love

in life.



But sadness blinds me eyes.

Stands out in the crows

and I love it.

It feels so thoughtful, so honest

to be conscious

to have will

to learn

to listen

in life.

The wait is much too long for me to bear

A laugh eclipses a diminished mind

Temporary joy that is soon to die

Crying on the shoulder made up of air

Pile blankets and wrap your arm 'round it

Share your feelings to the void as you sleep

Getting by, by faking the things I need

Like a magnet, it just pulls me right in



But even if all I do is glance left

The water and love; within they are kept

Like a magnet, it just pulls me astray

Farther and farther until I give up

And my only chance is gone all because

I hesitated the whole year away.

Wonder is far beyond any feeling

It's the bright leaves parting the sky as seas

It's the magnet called curiosity

And expands a void that isn't filling

'Tis too, quite a bumpy path to healing

That I never cross because Fear drives me

And so the path fades and I take my leave

Head back to my unseen world of hurting



Pain pounds me when I find myself alone

Mound of blankets doesn't work anymore

Writing unsent letters can't numb the hurt

Learn to fly passenger; mostly solo

Overlook in wonder the sea of orange

Unable to describe all my wonder

Nothing changed when I write poetry

I can pour my heart into fourteen lines

I can spend eternity on these rhymes

Doesn't cure what the **** is wrong with me

Even if it takes me a thousand years

To write a sonnet to express my pain

My attempts for relief are all in vain

Still I try to hold back my ******* tears

Who really cares that I wrote this sonnet?

What would have happened if I had done it?

Things this year are what brought me to the brink

How painless: the absence of emotions!

Such relief's an incredible notion!

Already I'm aching to cease to think.



Crawling to the cliff

I know I've been here before

We'll see how it goes

Do you feel the blades in you

The sharp pain of the knife

Aching as you build up to have

Your king's hand touch the sky



All the blood in the meadow

For gods, for goods, for gain

How many on the battlefield

Were so mercilessly slain



We live in the result

of thousands upon thousands

of years

of pain

and sorrow

and effort

and intellect

Like beyond the sky

It's unknown

Why? I ask

Why am I such a mess in front of people? Why am I secluded from society and all its norms?



I understood why I had wanted to die last year

I understood why I feel things

I understood down to the chemicals in the brain why....

Except why does my rational being fear others?

Why is that  humans are the magnet of my disarray?

Like the exosphere it's knowledge obtainable by not man nor woman nor self.

I concede I shall never be a truly happy man. I'm disregarding and empty of faith in everything; Any God, humanity, and love. I've tried to mask myself as much as I can. But the mask I wore is gradually peeling. My days of trying are exhausted and done.



Now I'll surrender any control of my Self, but not my body. Drift along a river that's flowing past. With battle scar to commemorate the times when I still loved and for Love I did try. But I've lost the war and the sky is foggy. The exile of my own soul unto me is cast. Glance back at the gates; far through them, it's reminiscent of when I had flied.

I hold Happiness on my back

I bought it how we make it.

But I keep fumbling and stumbling

through the world

because this Happiness doesn't fit on my back.

Through fruitless attempts

I drip gallons of sweat

to lift this Happiness onto my back.

For it was manufactured in squares and boxes.

Time to make my own.

Her mother never loved her

At least she never showed

Never asked her daughter's feelings

So Love, the girl didn't know



My mother can't understand me

She doesn't know how I feel

And so she often yells my faults

So I hide from what is real



I never could handle children

My attempts for empathy fail

My daughter screams she hates me

And fights me tooth and nail

I'm taking a break
Need to organize my thoughts
And think some things through

Anger is a retort blocked by coercion

Like I want to just hate

And hate

And hate her eternally

I want to despise the sheer shadow of her

Until light is absent and the world drowns in shadow

I want the cruelty and bullying

The patronizing and lying

The hatred

To be fired in a beam right back at her

No, not waves

A beam

A powerful, blasting

Beam

That spews and spews every word of disgust she's shot at me

And bombard her with her own words

Let the pain fall on her like stones to the skull

To finally get through to her head

Finally for her to understand

I'm not just a lifeless shell

Although I know I'll be fine after her yelling,

I can only leave her yelling smiling

(The other option is crying)

Because she will not ever understand

No one will

Because her coercive power blocks my anger

The new moon's arise

The waves are starting again

I find my self at the main office

But never do I go in



I feel all alone

Like I have lost all my friends

Why will I not see my counselor

When a storm's 'bout to begin?

And then she placed her rainbow broom

With colors across the spectrum

Leaned it against the kitchen chair

As her face grew very solemn



"Wash away the grime!" she says

Grasping the dripping mop

Soft and hard, wet and dry

She coats every exposed spot



Her face while working, 'tis so solemn

Watching the colored bristles drown

In soft and hard, wet and dry

And slowly but surely go brown



Soft and hard, wet and dry

Yet the children do not cry



They know how to laugh and play

Even when the sun's away

I thought they'd help me calm the waves

But they only sped them up