We are all human beings
We all have our own lives
And different ways we live them
But each one of us is a writer
And this poem is for all of you

All of you who have virtues and use them in your writing
Those who use flashbacks and revisit mental photo albums

Beginning the story from the middle for that’s usually where you mind is at
Looking back then looking forward
Studying the past so you can be ready for what is to come

Recording catastrophes with a number two pencil

Tales and blurbs of tragedy
Caused by love or the lack there of

Rewards and punishment
Self-reliance and self-fulfillment

We are mere narrators
Humble, maybe unreliable
Equipped with numerous devices
Ironic Paradoxes
Red herrings
Fortuitous plot twists
Metaphors
Allegoric hyperboles
Analogies
Oxymorons and onomatopoeias

We sling Chekhov’s gun like bandits of literacy

We’re visionary revolutionaries
Revolution of the mind, body and soul

Changing ourselves and examining who and what we are
To become what we are destined to be
The best

Rejecting convention
Building our own paths
That lead to cliffhangers

Romantic lust
Comedic affairs
Dark massacres
Spiritual healing

Religious speculation
And the questioning of the way we, the people are being governed

We use the tools we are giving to sculpt new art that the world can stand in awe of

Personification
Symbolic imagery

Practicing pastiche with respect
Dionysian imitatio

Surreal reality
Defying mortality

Reiteration and retort

Using nature to express emotion and thought

Doubts and fear

Opposites
Morals and ethics

Satisfying curiosity

Parodying what we see
Embellishing just a little

We us word play to dive deep into the topic of conscious, subconscious and unconscious thought

Using satire to poke fun at the human condition,  its senses and perception of the universe to get readers thinking

Expressing our anger, our boundless joys
Desiring unknown pleasures

Seeing past the fallacies put before us

We write with great candor about war, personal conflicts, and self-abuse

With hinting undertones to give these ideas a second thought

We write of the supernatural, metaphysical mysteries
Outlandish, obscure mind boggling theories

As the clock ticks too fast for us and the characters we’ve created

Demolishing the fourth wall with a sledge hammer of defamiliarization

Epiphanies in a parking lot
Speaking in the 1st, 2nd or 3rd person

Using fun things like anagrams and palindromes
Candy for the lovers of such things

Spontaneity is an understatement
Nonsense is an insulting overstatement
Absurdity seems to fit just right

We are chameleons
We can write in various forms
Streams of gratifying consciousness
Brilliant prose
Beautiful poetry

And chose to use or merely acknowledge the ways to achieve these forms
Rhetoric, rhythm  and rhyme
Meter and mora
Conceit and consonance
Assonance
Intonation
Working with phonaesthetics  

And accenting aesthetics

A poem can or could not be organized as such
If we want to get technical about it

We have a poem
With a number of verses
And in those verses
Are lines
And those lines might rhyme
And have a meter or rhythm
Stressed or unstressed syllables

In contrast to that we may write
Without all of that and use emotion
Feeling and structure our work with what we feel is the best way
Line breaks
Pauses and puns
Silly similes
Ambiguous antonyms  
Intonation, linguistics
Fight against the fascists of grammar and conservative correctness

So, in the end we are writers of a rainbow kaleidoscope forms, devices, ways and ideas

But we alone are the ones who make the world think
Make it move
Revolt
Renew
Learn
Look back
Remember
Cry
Smile
Forget
Ease

Write my friends write until your mind explodes and your fingers bleed

Read, read and become inspired
Even if what you’re reading is bad cheese

Forget getting published it’s the writing that matters
Disregard the off-putting, critical chatter

And if you think no one reads
Than be the seed and sprout a tree of astounding artistry
And let’s begin a new movement composed of ideals that will hold true forever
I might be preaching to the choir but it must be said that poetry; literature isn’t dead

"Compassionate Conservatism"
and
"friendly fire":
Euphemistic oxymorons
capable of
destroying hospitals.

I want to use all the alterations, Personifications in the world to impress you.
I want to drive you insane with the oxymorons, the metaphors and the similes.
I want to use coliqual words so that I can make you think I'm extremely smart.
When really in reality I'm just average.
I want to use euphemism and lititoes to really make you think I'm that good with words.
When really in reality I have writers block yet I want to capture your attention.
I want to write an iambic tetrameter with the rhyme scheme ABAB so that you notice some part of me in my writing.
I want my words to ****** with your mind so that some part of you thinks about me...
But I have writers block, There's not much I can do to grab your attention.

simultaneously i am
my own deity and enemy
at once a cancer and its cure
the sheep and the wolf
a king and a fool
subservient to none
yet obligated to all
a series of contradictions
and oxymorons played out
to define complexity in simplicity
purposelessness in post-modern artistry

a cornerstone on dry land but
sinking down in life's quicksand i
am defined in tandem with my
community but i also stand apart
independently spouting a philosophy
of non-violent civil disobedience
predicated on the heart informing and
the mind responding in kind
and my rebellion may or
may not be limited to
peaceful protest and direct action
it might also include
burning flags and bombing buildings
symbols of oligarchy come crashing down

i see utopic potential in the dystopian
narratives on Barnes & Noble's bookshelves
carry the fires of Prometheus to shake the
apathy of false hopes and leave desiccated
idolatry in the shallow graves that serve
as mouths spewing hatred and homophobia

i am an anarchist with Messianic tendencies
the infamous Nazarene
died defying Rome's empire and
i'll decry American chauvinism on my death-bed
born and bred in the home of
two happily-married conservative Christians
emerged a nonbeliever
i'll resist until the end

earning my master's in literary cultural
and textual studies and i've been told that
i'm prone to sophisticated soliloquies and
that i have a robust vocabulary yet
people always ask me why
my favorite word is ****
and i suppose it has something to do with
its versatility vibrancy and vivacious vicissitudes

i am in love with a girl with
forest-fire hair follicles that burn
almost as bright as the compassion she
nurtures in her chest a rebel girl
in a patriarchal world wielding middle-
fingers as easily as warm hugs
i adore that she is polyamorous
even if i have eyes for only her

i lead a democratic classroom
by modeling leaderlessness
a professor and a student
fellow learners use
my first name 'cause
we're one and the same
i'd be ashamed if i adopted
the illusion of authority and
tried in vain to tame the virtue of
liberty latent in every one of my students

i am my own damnation
an island unto myself
beset with the black plague of  
self-doubt drowning in the ocean of
delusion bereft of self-determination
betrayed the man in the mirror
i am my own adversary and accuser
judge jury and executioner
i signed my own death warrant

and i am my own redemption
i am the savior nailed to the cross  
nothing and no one
can stand in my path
i am the arbiter of free-will
the harbinger of hope and i
will vanquish the lies that
choke my throat like nooses of rope
and tie myself a lasso to pull down
the moon and sun and travel
aimlessly throughout the galaxy
as i did once
from star-dust i was
born and to dust i shall
inexorably return

simultaneously i am
my own deity and enemy
at once a cancer and its cure
the sheep and the wolf
a king and a fool
subservient to none
yet obligated to all
a series of contradictions
and oxymorons played out
to define complexity in simplicity
purposelessness in post-modern artistry

Underneath the stary sky with all its infinity and unknowns
makes me feel at home

The darkness that hides all the monsters and wraps around the world
feels like a blanket to me

but you avoid my eyes and walk quickly past me
and I still think you care

I live in a world of oxymorons and contradictions
which I usually greet with open arms

But when you are in view
the lack of emotion in your blue eyes
makes me feel loved

I love and hate oxymorons
because of you

You never really know someone until you are laying in a bed with them around 2 in the morning lingering from a night of busy adventure.
Not just a regular night of adventure but one that has exhausted you and drained all of the energy you stored from the week.
A night that took you to new places in a city you thought you knew so well and forced you to revel in the beauty it holds.
A night that creates memories that stick to your soul and your skin more than anything.
As you ride home in the backseat and steal glances in the rear view you love the way the wind wraps your hair around you and the wind smells sweet.
Once you have dropped off everyone else and you move to the front seat you really start getting to know someone.
It's midnight and you are dozing off in the passengers seat hoping this person is noticing the moonlight on your skin.
You feel their presence wrap around you and all thoughts of logic are thrown out the window as you drive down the highway.
It's 1 am now and you are laying in bed wondering how you got to the point of skin wrapped around you and a scent taking over your memories.
The conversation is light because you feel the need to whisper as the moonlight pours into a room of heavy hearts.
Nothing has happened that wasn't anything more than a kiss but the idea is heavy in the air with the cool weather blowing in through an open window.
Eyes hang low and voices start to soften and hang with every sleepy word that falls from a mouth.
This is the point where you get to know someone.
The things they whisper about as their mind tries to escape to sleep but they push through.
How you have a beautiful family.
How I love living in the country.
How you enjoy math.
How I hate all numbers.
How you like to workout.
How I love cake.
How you belief in religion.
How I believe in everything.
How we would love to be part of the stars.
How we hate oxymorons.
It is the simplicity of a tired mind that brings about the most deep and beautiful ideas. They way your voice is deeper and mine is quieter.
I got to know you under the cloak of night and I got to keep you there for a while.

A love so violently gentle
in an impulsive kind of way
I felt so beautifully ugly
a thought, I heard myself say
                   You were always coldly warm
                    as we talked about our pasts
                    Showing your most hateful smile
                    that you often wore as a mask
A dry moisture upon my lips
still remains from our first kiss
when my hair so wildly tame
wrapped around your fingertips
                     Our heartbeats, silently heard
                      as life was passing by
                      A weight, as light as a feather
                      fell upon us from the sky
Now our completely happy nightmare
moves swiftly to an end
I find myself laughing angrily
at this situation I have penned

There comes a time in everyone's life where they have to ask themselves is it worth it. I mean I have the American dream right? I think they're all lies told to make you think you have to reach for something or life is meaningless and wasted. All these empty goals reached don't make me happy. The process is still voided and leads to a dark hole. At 20 my life was never the same and I don't  know whether that's good or bad. Just memories to me currently. I can swim a little, but the waves still still get me ashore. Trying so hard some would say I lost my black card. Some would say my sanity is at risk for extinction. Then I ask myself did it ever exist. Both my sanity and this dream I call mine. Land mines in a field if you ask me. Rat traps to keep you trapped in thinking smaller than you are. Delusion of grandeur leaving me thinking I'm greater than I really am. Balance is the key that kept my door locked all my life. They don't tell you about balance. They tell you failure is avoidable and leads to pits. But really you have to fail to succeed and too much success will ruin you. Oxymorons that's tell you that it's okay to be fine with not being where you want to be.