The thought of you with him makes my stomach turn, you left me with nothing but a grim type of feeling; a burn. It would be a lie to say I want this to be easy to hear, maybe im the *******, maybe I need a beer. why with the lies? what do you fear? Preach candor but the mark was never hit, amazing in areas but lacking in wit. It would be a lie to say I never wanted you, but I never wanted this. You cried but didn't reap remorse, give me another excuse or 'reason'; of course. 'You ****** her' she says, you ****** me; lies since may laid out like a web. A love I once had laid to rest, I am not your biggest fan but I wish you the best. I want the one who shed her light on this mess; I'm done with stress, I'm done with the yachts, and I'm over all just done with the sess.

Some want to be remembered
for their touchdown record.
Some want to be remembered
for their body count.
Some want to be remembered
for their brilliance.
But I want to be remembered
for my kindness.
I will admit, I look back and remember the boy who always scored the touchdowns that always made our student section roar and fill with happiness.
I will admit, I look back and remember the girls who told funny, yet repulsive stories about their adventures of sleeping with random guys.
I will admit, I look back and remember the brainiacs and how they could make something as minuscule as a piece of gum a deep conversation starter.
But I will also admit, that looking back they have no significance to me.
Looking back, I remember the people who were kind above all else, I think of those people more frequently and hope they are doing well.
I remember those people and admire them for staying positive in a world so hopeless and full of hate and negativity.
I remember those people and feel a little less alone and know that they would be there if I called.
I wonder if those people are out in the world right now, spreading even more positivity and making others feel a little less insignificant.
I aspire to be remembered by kindness.

Old enough to know better but young enough not to care,

I hold onto you like water clings to rose petals

a heavy due

in the morning, we take coffee with cigarettes

we exhale, eyes watering

two smoke rings blending then disappearing into the

ether

a missed opportunity, passes

we are joined at the hip, hip bones grinding against each

other

and in these shattered bones we build

a fire, a house

a home

Sometimes I question the definition of art, what does it become when you abolish structure of any sort, what is poetry with no scheme or strict structure? It's an art, the art of pen to paper with raw emotion behind each line uttered softly to yourself as you write, its the feeling of release as you let words flow out of you onto a page. So when I'm asked how to define art I'll smoke my bowl, sip my beer, and light a dart, and preach my philosophy 'definition kills art'

I was always told money is everything, my response is where have you been, cause here is the thing, bathe in cash but your still lonely, look around and everyone is fake, and phoney, look up only to realize the stars are your only homie. Cash rules everything, but don't let it rule you, they get mad but know it's true, still empty after blowing two bills on shoes. all the money in the world couldn't compare to being with someone real, reply under your breath 'I know how it feels' but it's only to humor me, say I like like the street and assume I'm g, young lost and living in YYC, truth is Im a hopeless romantic who loves poetry.