I kinda really don’t want to be,
But probably maybe should be,
Slightly considering possibly,
Going to work out in the gym.

I know I actually ought to be,
But sincerely don’t think should be,
Contemplating eventually thinking about,
Reading that book on my shelf.

I just don’t want to think to be,
Partially doubting I could be,
Theoretically almost clumsily,
Trying to somehow be myself.

I’m going to bed,
Yes, I’m going to bed.
I’m putting down my phone,
I’m putting down my head.

I’m going to sleep,
I’m going to bed.
No I won’t stay up longer,
I’m thinking ahead.

Enough is enough,
I’m just going to bed.
I’ll see you tomorrow,
We can hang out then instead.

Goodbye, goodnight,
Good day tomorrow too.
So I’m going to bed, sleeping,
And awaking refreshed and anew.

I feel you whisper inside my ear
Materializing your words inside my head
Words I will never hear,
Words you will have never said.

I feel you whisper inside my ear
Giving me encouragement and love
I take it to heart and hold it dear
Your precious words from above.

I feel you whisper in my ear
And I solemnly say goodbye
I go for a hug but you’re not here
You’re somewhere in that big blue sky.

My left pinky toe is a little long,
Right right bicep is too strong.
My nails grow a little short,
My hair grows too long.

My inside voice is a little high,
My outside voice very shy.
I have an uneven brow,
My smile is a little wry.

My arm won’t bend 90°
My legs give out before I sneeze.
Life doesn’t seem perfectly alright,
But that’s all normal, right?

Yesterday it rained.
And as I left work I waited by the door,
and wondered:
If I wait, god might stop the rain.

A pause for a second might stop the snow.
Despite their brown color, with some water, the leaves may grow.
We could sleep a little longer till the end of the day.
If we cry just enough we might get our way.
If we push off the party the sun might come out.
If we pray extra hard the flowers could sprout.

And if we wait by this tree,
Just sit, you and me,
The world, might too, sort itself out.

When I grow up I’m going to be younger,
sillier, more adventurous, and free.
I’m going to say what I like, do what I please,
and in general, just be happy.

I won’t care what salary I make;
six-figure, five-figure, or none.
I could be doorless and friendless,
and still manage to be happy and have fun.

If I make mistakes, I will have made mistakes.
Mistakes are just bound to come.
All I can do is learn and become better,
smile, and not forget to have fun.

I’ll work; we all work.
But man, I'll make sure to have fun.
I could pick up trash or flip burgers
while smiling and still getting the job done.

When I grow up I’m going to be happy.
Equally, if not happier than now.
I’ll make sure to have fun and get things done,
and at the end of it all take a bow.

There’s a lonely light left on,
In the farthest corner of forgotten space.
Where dreams come true,
And hopes shine through,
A beautiful stained glass face.

A face with friends and a family,
Filled with heartwarming smiles and tears.
With stained brown eyes,
And lips metal tied,
Unable to share the stories it hears.

There’s a lonely light left on,
Illuminating all invisible forgotten space.
Shining through the pain,
the stained glass window pane,
Sharing stories in a way you cannot hear.

I just really need a hug.
Not a shrug or glance or wave.
Not a “good morning”, or a “how are you?”
Not a tweet, snap, or like too.
Not a smile, a “what’s up?”, or a wink,
Not a letter in the mail, a text, or a joke,
Not a night-out, dinner, or a date,
I just really need a hug.

I'm the one who...
Finished the race,
after blood, sweat, and tears,
but I came in last, so…

I'm the one who...
Swam in shark infested waters,
with brave bold strides,
but the sharks were behind glass, so…

I'm the one who...
Told the girl I loved,
how I deep down truly feel,
but she didn’t feel the same, so…

I'm the one who...
Is an invincible superhero,
fighting all day long and night,
but that’s in my dreams, so…

I'm the one who...
Is pure awesomeness,
no one can even try to compare,
but that’s what I tell myself as to not be sad, so…

Remember when we spelled things wrong,
or when we were picky about what we ate?
When fire and police men were the only two jobs,
we’d play house with friends on playdates.

And then we grew up just a little more,
sports and toys filled our lives.
We went to school and had recess galore,
oh the fear for cuties, oh what great times.

And then we grew up just a wee bit more,
we learned to add, subtract, and multiply.
Not far after we went to high school and college,
they warned us, they said “time will fly by.”

And then we grew up just couple years more,
next thing we knew we were the family of four,
Then late at night when the kids were in bed,
we would dream of being young once more.

And then we grew up for the last few times more,
Our children had children of their own.
We lost our friends and babysat grandkids,
as our bodies ached down to the bone.

Remember when we spelled things wrong?
And then we grew up just a little more,
And then we grew up just a wee bit more,
And then we grew up just couple years more
And then we grew up for the last few times more,
Until we no longer grew any more.

Fake it till’ you make, people say,
And I wonder just how long people wait for that day.
Because everyone fakes something and makes something too,
Everyone just tries their best and barely gets through.

Fake it till’ you make, people say,
And some people, like myself, fake it every day.
Because inside their heads they say today they’ll make it through,
Everyone also wakes up and says that tomorrow, too.

Fake it till’ you make, people say,
And I don’t know how people wake up every day.
Because I wake up blue and brush a smile on my face,
Everyone else seems fine, but I doubt they can paint with grace.

Fake it till’ you make, people say,
And after almost twenty years it all just fades away.
Because I see others lives, and say hey that looks sweet.
Everyone looks fine, copy them, they must know reality’s beat.

Fake it till’ you make, people say,
And people say whatever, wake up, and go on their way.
Because people just accept realty is meaningless and lame,
Everyone gives up hope before they even know the game.

I’ve seen good men die
And bad men cry
And everything far in-between.

I’ve seen hate born of love
And a black feathered dove,
You have no clue what I’ve seen.

But you say things like:
“I feel you brother,”
“trust me, things will be okay.”

But you have no clue what it like,
Behind my brown spherical eyes.
Please stop the stupid things you say.

I’ve seen people given hope,
necks tied with rope.
My world is crazier than it seems.

I’ve had family members lay dead,
Funerals without one word said.
The world just ***** for me.

But you say it’ll all be okay,
As if you’re clairvoyant.

But you’re not.

You say prayer and hope,
Falling off a cliff? You don't need a rope.
“trust me, things will be okay.”

But it isn’t.

It never is,
Never will be.

You have no clue what I’ve seen.

I don't want to just be another poet,
writing words with convoluted meaning.
In a search for purpose or power,
or possible fame.

You see poets write lines like,
the talking flowers,
or
the smiling rainbow.

It's like they want you to look further,
to think longer about their meaningless life,
their meaningless words jumbled together.

Stanzas by coincidence,
rhyme and meter,
and the stupid alliterations.
Words.

I mean
yeah,
I write poems too.

I write lines like,
invisible red stop signs,
and like screaming sealed lips.

I put fake meaning behind them
as if I really believe someone reads deeper,
As if there really is someone out there who is reading them.
But there isn’t.

I write stanzas professing my love
To a girl who will never read the poem.

I title poems to crushes,
Write suicide notes in rhythm,
I do.

But no one reads them.
No one cares.

And yeah,
I could shove the poem in their face,
I could tell them what I want to say;
Or hint at it.

I could run around until I heard what I wanted.
Till I got the girl,
Till I get noticed.
I could.

But that's not the point.
The point is to be heard.
Be seen.

To prove that I’m not the only one,
And rather I’m just one of many.

See,
No one sees from inside my eyes,
No matter how much empathy or sympathy or whatever.
From my eyes, my world, is all me.

No one hears my thoughts.
They may hear what I say,
Or guess what I’m thinking,
Or see me blinking —I don’t know.

And we run around writing poems titled Love,
Begging people to notice and care.
Praying that they’re not just drones who cannot fly,
But humans.

Humans who see like me,
and think just the same.
Who have equally as many existential crisis,
and suicide notes hidden away.

We say things like hello,
wishing for an actual reply,
from a girl or a guy or a cat.
I don’t care.

I just,
I just want them to be there,
To be real.

And yeah,
I don’t want to be just another poet,
I want to be another human.
Another being.

Another person with thoughts and crisis,
With crushes and hidden secrets,
With love poems in piles.

I want to write stanzas professing my love,
And have her actually read them and reply.
I want girls to ask out guys,
And people to not do drugs,
And everyone to be happy,
And people to just stop.
Stop.

I don’t want to be just another poet.
I want everyone to stop,
And be real.
I want to be another human.

A universe of opportunity,
in a galaxy of hope,

on a planet of life,
in a country of equality,

within a green state,
inside a nice county,

on a beautiful street,
in a warm house.

From my perspective the world is flat
because I've never been to space,
and love seems like a stupid idea
having only ever kissed my mom's face.

A college degree just seems wasteful,
but I don’t have one yet.
And coffee seems so distasteful,
but that's true, don't fret.

My world doesn't have unicorns
or cotton candy clouds.
Extremely fantasized love movies
plague young teenage crowds.

I know I sometimes seem all together,
please trust me when I say thats not true.
I take a shower, brush my teeth,
And go to bed broken and blue.

I know I might seem stoic,
and yes, most times, that's true.
But honestly, I do love many things,
one of which is you.

Mindless drones who cannot fly,
who mutter, mingle, and mosey on by.
Asking, “What do you think?” and, “How was your day?”
in their slightly high pitched, oh so annoying way.

They worry, worship, and whisper their thoughts,
congregations in unison pour out their hearts.
Listening to leaders with purpose and power,
a flock full of sheep, God’s words, they devour.

Unable to stop, to pause, to wait,
they ask a question and immediately say “great!”
Politely cartoonish, bland, and boring,
they talk on and on long after you’re snoring.

They get up in your face, in their sneaky sly style,
staying there to bother you slowly for a while.
But then you leave, go on with your day,
and you wonder, can they wonder, in their unmalleable robotic way.

Maybe,
If a pear believed,
That despite its bumps and bruises,
And brownish-green skin,
That it was beautiful.
Maybe,
It would smile too.

It smells like winter.
Sitting in a beautiful Vermont house,
with the snow plastered on the lawn.
The smell of wood burning fireplaces,
harmonizes with the frozen moisture in the air
and that hot chocolate.
The warm, marshmallow filled elixir,
you drink sitting wrapped in a soft blanket
and realize:
It smells like winter.

Help me catch my internal voice,
Help me catch it please.
It got away, it ran away,
Its no longer inside me.

It screams it shouts,
It yells the truth,
It tells my judgments and lies.
Its out of control, gone way too far,
I need to get it back inside.

Help me catch my internal voice,
It somehow got away.
“No way?” Please stay,
Please,
what did he say?

He told you I think you fat, right?
He told you you’re stupid or dumb.
He told you something to ruin our relationship,
Please don’t listen he’s wrong.

Help me catch my internal voice,
he is saying things he shouldn’t say.
Internal voices should stay inside,
And not go out to play.

He’s saying things I’ve thought,
That I can’t deny --I won’t lie.
But he’s an internal voice,
If you’re offended its your fault, not my.

Everyone's a chef when they're hungry,
And everyone's an artist when they cry.
Everyone's a lawyer when they argue,
And everyone's a politician when they lie.

Everyone's a mime when they're silent,
And everyone's a professor when they teach.
Everyone's an author when they write,
And everyone's a prophet when they preach.

Everyone's a photographer with a camera,
And everyone's a gardener holding a ***.
Everyone's a journalist with a pen and a pad,
And everyone's a sailor when they row.

Everyone is, everyone isn't,
And everyone who wants to can be.
Everyone just needs to stop and think,
And everyone needs to look around a see.

Lying on my back,
under a giant straw fedora
I am tiny.
My hand the size of a strand of straw,
My body smaller than the feather on the side
But I’m trapped.
Stuck under the straw fedora.
Not because I’m weak,
But the straw too big.
I can see.
My eyes work fine.
I can see the dots of light which peer through the straw.
Like out of focus images of cities.
Dots, all I see are dots,
and they are beautiful.
But I can hear.
I hear love and hate.
I hear happiness and sadness.
I hear my favorite pianist harmonize with himself,
Not for a crowd but for his ears only.
And he pours it all out.
The high notes the low notes,
Beautifully mixed and repeated to make the most amazing music.
Music.
I lay on my back and see the dots of light,
Shining through the giant straw hat of the universe.
Everything is peaceful,
As the pianist plays the most amazing song.
One without a title.
One without an audience.
He just plays,
And I listen.

Ridiculed for caring,
Ridiculed for not.
Ridiculed for loving,
Ridiculed for not.

Ridiculed for crying,
But smiles just the same.
Ridiculed for trying,
But ignoring just the same.

Ridiculed for lying,
Hated for telling the truth,
Ridiculed for dying,
Hated for living too.

I want to write a poem,
I just don't know what to say.
I could tell you about my day,
Or about the bed upon which I lay.
I could tell you about neighbors next door,
Or all about the girl I adore,
But, alas, that might bore.
I could be depressing and sad,
I could be happy or glad,
I could talk about my mom and dad.
I could think and dream and speculate,
Or possibly spark a long debate,
I could go on and on and contemplate.
I just want to write a poem,
And don't know what to say.

Stay with a beauty,
Blinding and bright.
Stay with an awe,
A powerful might.

Never without love,
Absence of fear and fright.
Never without joy,
Full of color and light.

Stay unique,
Special and smart,
Stay with a passion,
True to your heart.

Never give in, up, or out,
To anger or hate.
Never turn your back,
To destiny or fate.

Stay,
But be happy.
Stay,
And have cheer.

Stay happy and awesome,
Stay to me dear.

Have faith in me and what I do,
have faith, and believe in me.
All which I ask for is just one chance,
All I want is an opportunity.

Don’t be blind, naive, or sympathetic,
Do only what you believe.
But how can I have workplace experience,
Without just one opportunity.

I’m not disabled, depressed, or distraught,
I’m not born with any superiority,
Without privilege or right,
We, we need opportunity.

I won’t plead for a chance,
I won't plead for the job,
I won’t plead for opportunity,
I just won’t plead.

Please,

Just open your eyes,
Your mind and heart,
And see,
Everyone needs an opportunity.