Blessed are the weird people...
Poets, Artists, Writers, Misfits.
For they teach us to see
the world through different eyes.

Devoted living,
Contradicted goals are just the things we despise.
For we grow in contrast to your limited sky.
We live to be free
An avian species yet to fly.

Understand that your soul
isn't bound by a
three-dimensional
earthly existence.
She who is brave is free.

We yearn for the sky
Hope for the light
Treasuring the summer breeze
Escaping the cold winter nights
Trapped in our diversity
Everlasting battles of creative adversity
In times of logic
Rhymes and rhythms seems Shakespearian, somewhat nostalgic.

We are the drifters,
& dancers, the sun worshippers
& risk takers. The dreamers,
the lovers, the believers
& change makers.

*We are the offspring of Creativity
The red-headed step child of derivative.
Conveyors of empathy.
And without us nothing would exist
We are the golden child of heavens bliss.

When things got tough in college
I had a threat I'd always make
"I'm running away to Iceland"

I'd adore never ending summer days
Of road trips to seek out hot springs
And camping wherever my feet take me

Icelandic folklore is steeped in magic
It makes me want to dance on volcanoes
With the lava demons from hekla

But mostly I'd love to be a part of
A culture that isn't afraid of failure

If I am being double crossed or being told the truth, I know not to tell
But let me learn, even if tears swell.

If I should trust a human being or not, I know not to tell
But let that decision be mine, even if tears swell.

If the next step I take will be towards the mountain or the pit, I know not to tell
But let me fall, even if tears swell.

If the sea will be full of happiness for me, I know not to tell
But let my ship sink once, even if tears swell.

If the sun will brighten my life or scorch me down, I know not to tell
But let me burn, even if tears swell.

If I should have chosen the right path instead of the left, I know not to tell
But let the stars lead me, even if tears swell.

If my planned destination is not my destiny, I know not to tell
But let me find my way out, even if tears swell.

If I am young and foolish, I know not to tell
But let me grow old and wise, even if tears swell.

Give me a little more freedom, chances to make my own mistake
A little more freedom, to learn it my own way, is all I seek.

I forever want to be

Free

I want to be able to go out and

Breathe

Without limitations

I want to just

Be

I want a world where I can just be

Me

I just want to be

Free

I want to

Sing

Loud and clear

With only nature as

Ear

To my broken

Voice

And my hurting

Words

I just want to be

Free

Your pleasing melody turned
in to an awful ditty.
That is when I realized it was
time, it was time to let it go.
You had turned my butterflies
blue. The stars in my sky skewed.
I grabbed an old soiled bag
from the closet that
was untouched.
I walked out of the dingy room,
that had been my home for years.
Home? I questioned myself.
How could that be my home
when the demon woke me up
with new scars everyday?
I continued walking.
The air was filled with the smell
of a stale heart along with
which came the first memory.
To where it all started.
I took it and put in my bag.
I ran down the stairs and found
another one under the table.
Caught hold of it and stuffed
it in the bag too.
Millions of
abominable voices
in my head and bleeding
hands couldn't stop me.
I entered an old room.
I walked towards the
mirror on the wall behind
blue drapes.
No reflection, but it
showed me what I
didn't want to see.
It didn't perturb me.
I was impregnable and
determined.
I closed the curtains
and locked the mirror
in the room forever.
By the time I reached the
main door I had captured
all of the wrinkled memories
and fiendish whispers in
my bag.
The ditty had stopped playing
and the stars aligned.
I had to get rid of those.
I lit my last matchstick
and set the heavy bag
on fire.
I burnt it down which burnt
the thirst for eleutheromania.
I opened the main door and
moved on.
I was out of the doorway and
made sure that I was never
getting back to my old ways.

The subway in NYC
Is a rather odd circumstance
Underground transit
Tunnels from one world to the next
Cluttered
Smelly
Sometimes cold
Or terribly hot
All races
So many workers
In service of this city
I sit and I wonder
Why must I do this?
Is this part of the dream?
Or do dreams have repercussions?
A homeless man
Asks for a dime
A dollar he says
Will bide him some time
Every day I work
And every day I spend
In and out of the subway
Feels like quick sand
Underground, lost in thought
Is it all an illusion?
Are we really going anywhere?
I'd like to take my bike
Up into the clouds
Look down on all the beauty
And reconsider the
System
That rules underground
Delays our existence
I'm bound
Eleutheromania
Is what I feel each day
Aggravated by the mundane
By the waiting
I am stuck
Cramped between strangers
On time, early
Words I don't often employ
When I'm talking about myself
Lately I'm wondering
If my eternal clock is behind
Some things are so simple
Obvious
Quick to understand
Easy to achieve
Friendships I make
With very little effort
Lovers are not
So simple or obvious
I try to understand
Am I ever heading in the right direction?
Am I too easy?
Or is it too difficult to achieve?
I find so many men to be like the subway
Often a waste of time
Unreliable, mysterious
A nuisance
And yet I return
Almost every day
To the need and desire
To take the ride
Believing I'll arrive exactly where I want to be
Even if I'm late