I forgot the sound of Grandpa’s voice, but not the rattle of the farm truck
I forgot the names of the workers, who smiled so broadly when he brought envelopes filled with money.
I forgot how to tie a fishing knot, but not the taste of the fried fish
I forgot the floorplan of the yellow house, but not the sadness that consumed it
I forgot about the stuff that I hid in the crawl space when we moved
I forgot most of the math after 10th grade, who needs SOHCAHTOA anyway?
I forgot my freshman locker combination, but not the rank smell of a high school locker room.
I also forgot the love that I once felt
because I’m sure that she’s forgotten me

this is forwarded to you
no one i know owns anything
and i don't think most people i know ever will
i'm tired of being bewildered and hanging on to helplessness
i want it all to end soon
know that anything is possible
in these moments of such complete denial
but everyday clumsy stubborn beautiful ideas
wither and rot on the vine
i'm tired of this so called state of affairs
i'm calling an end to fear and paranoia and self-intimidation
i'm done watching the world spin, as if nothing is happening at all
i'm done waiting
this is dedicated to waitresses and junkies and carpenters
to secretaries and schizophrenics and alcoholics
to the imminent societal collapse
this is dedicated to all those who are denied the love they so justly deserve
and everything inbetween
the future is as it ever was
unsure and bleak and beautiful
for all we know, tomorrow they might arrest us all
listen closely to the movements
ascribe adequate weight to dissidents and whisperers
some hearts only keep on beating as long as you keep on listening
try to be free
try not to be afraid
no matter what they say
the end of the world will never come.

Hello, everyone on Hellopoetry!

Interestingly, I have just created a website that has my poetry, short stories, and articles that I have written throughout my life.
Hopefully, you take sometime and check it out! Thank you:

https://whatweweretaught.com/

I see things everyday to potentially get me ******, I want to change it but what hurts the most is rarely do I really feel missed.  Bliss gets whisked away, and though I try to get by my mind goes into disarray.  I want to go out and play, have some fun outside of this hole, but not much is ever really under my control. I binge and cringe at how my past actions could've left me.   Girls and friends came and went, and there were times I felt like a deadbeat.  From what I wasn't told, 22 really is old. But I feel so much older. Words are actions too, and they can crush you like a boulder. I'm almost always cold and want something to warm my soul before this world chips too much at my head for it to take it's toll.  I always want to know but I get ever more aware how much the truth really hurts.  I guess it's best to take it when it comes in little spurts so you can at least prepare yourself for the road up ahead.  Maybe it's miniscule, to you, things that were said.  For me it was more than trivial, and boom, another scar to my head.  I don't wanna give you the wrong idea but so much of our everyday is left unclear and what's worse than feeling of fear is the probability of the actions behind it.  In life I have learned the hard way though that whatever happens, there'll be a day I won't mind it.

go on, cut it's leaves and leave the thorns
you deserve to be happy

Silence is my office.

Surrendering is the key.

Receptivity is my tool.

Dwelling in The Divine Information.

Transmitting frequency of the Love unconditional.

For the Whole, for the One.

This night is going backwards
as I entomb and eat all of my words.
We're not vigilant anymore
and I wish I wasn't aware of it anymore.
I shattered our animated screen
and am practicing remaining carefully unseen.
I'm grasping at loose strings with loose fists
and burying the things I've kissed and moments I've grievously missed.
I'm learning how to be detached
and to manage these vibrantly mundane daily tasks
and recognizing a resonantly unseemly girl
monitor my reflection which unfurls
into some unrecognizable mask
and I dress myself in a costume of a cloak
that's a joke to poke around at
but still clings to my body and to my memory like some ancient artifact.
How about that?
And is this all because you are weak?
No, I think it's because I am weak.
And so we attempt to refrain from our harrowing fumes.
Somehow you're inhaling our fumes,
detached in solitude somewhere on our atlas.
You're oblivious to the fact that I'm deflating to nothing.
But it's whatever.
It's nothing.