All of my frustrations are turning my mind against me,
Creating a world outside of reality, swimming in the confines of my brain.
They are stripping me of my internal organs, and leaving nothing but a
Pile of bones inside a raw satchel of my skin.
An empty shell
Of pure and
Utter confusion:
Loss.
And yet!
I will myself to underestimate the potential of my bones and skin,
To underestimate the power of that reality-less world.
So still my frustrations will turn my mind against me,
But I will not succumb.

Here I sit my hands, on top of colorless perfection,
Black overlapping white in sweet embrace.
My fingers brush the cold, the joyful keys of cool percection,
And I’m transported to a heightened place.

As music fills my ears and soul, my colorless friend hears me,
She reacts gently to each playful pluck.
Her body shudders slightly as my hands begin to lead me,
Her voice is soft, I hear my deepened luck.

I listen in this throne as all the colors drain to darkness,
And fair white light seeps through to quicken breaths.
But my subtle hands still find her body, reaching through the darkness,
My sprinting heartbeat, running fast from death.

Her voice grows louder, fuller, as my arms float left and right,
Her ivory keys sing truths of love and fear.
I listen as my voice conjoins with hers, the pure and righteous,
We sing and play in unison through tears.

Then friend and lover, secretly, through open-minded cunning,
Erupts in pleasure, graceful and with life.
Then silence follows, beautifully, and tinged with lifeless cunning,
I drink it in, with gray lines in my eyes.

My love, my life, lays careful as her body, soft, returns.
My fingers- back to stroke her playful keys.
She gratefully accepts my hands, I know her heart returns.
I feel her smiling joyfully at me.

And music coarses through my veins, and coarses through her body,
Our love affair concealed by our desires.

I've never penned a perfect poem,
Never happy with results.
For every one is uninspired,
Always with some gaping fault.

But here I've set to work to write
(Or type, as poets seldom should)
The poem I have never written,
Never cared, or never could.

But oh! Alas! My pen has written
All the way to stanza three,
And nowhere in those careful couplets
Have I declared my care for thee!

It goes without my saying so
That I'm no master with a pen,
But even those with lesser tools
Can write, and tie their thoughts within.

But I have neither told you how
Your presence gives me will to smile,
Or how, with you, I've never spent
A second that was not worthwhile.

But oh! Alas! These simple words
Are maybe badly cut and bruised,
But woven through them, by my pen,
Is all the care I have for you.

They say whenever a door closes,
Another one opens.
But I’ve slammed doors shut and
Stood motionless and trapped
In a house with no open doors
And had to crawl out the window
Just to find a new door,
Locked shut.

Here I sit still, awaiting the answer,
Awaiting this testament,
Awaiting my retreat.
For soon will these
Closed doors be locked and unopened,
Or pushed to let light in, unshut and unsheathed.

A poor fool am I, who sits on her hands.
Talking in melodies, but ne’er across the land.
Whose voice is a weapon, but only in mind:
In soul, but not earth,
In heart, but not time.

The people have chosen, we stand in defeat.
No triumph,
Their triumph,
Inequality: not deceased.
We’re Animals, savages- away from the fields;
Asleep;
Unmoving;
No weapons to weild.

In silence, pure silence, I seek my revenge.
I seek out their vengeance, But only with eyes.
My mouth is tucked inward, held fast at the henge.
No words will escape me,
Nor actions,
Nor lies.

My heart is not true, so they say, so
I trust.
But my mind does not falter,
I know what is just.

For am I a lost cause?
I know it, I’ve seen it,
I’m not even true in my mind.
But Hope is a strong friend, an outcast as I am:
An outcast that oft leaves me blind.

And now I sit still, awaiting an answer,
Awaiting this testament
Awaiting my retreat.
My heart is a closed door, awaits to be opened.
Pushed to let light in, unshut and unsheathed.

His eyes are always clearest after he cries,
As if his salty tears can wash away some sort of darkness that rests on his corneas:
Darkness that can only be washed away by pain.
And in his moment of heartbreak,
His eyes are given new life,
His vision is forever altered,
They are renewed.

I miss the way you walk, with such careful long strides,
I miss your catalogue of laughs and your tireless smile.
I miss our breath combining like tiny wisps of smoke,
I miss your sense of humor, and I miss your sense of style.

I've been thinking about heaven and time,
As I try to define ethics by a state of mind.
Do unto others as they should do to me;
Continue in collective creativity.

I've been hoping for a life without fear,
I'll keep the fire lit so my mind stays clear.
Alter my perception to root out the good,
And retreat into my headspace like I never could.

I had so much motivation
Only fifteen minutes past.
But now, I've found, my lethargy,
Is truly what shall last.

Am I restraining my creativity
By pushing my anxieties to the
Back of my mind?

Is my muse
Hiding
In my paranoia?

We live in a world filled with endless need,
And the moral theory of gold and greed.
It's cause for anger, but none will ignite,
Since we've raised our nation to give up the fight.

We live in a world filled with endless need,
And the moral theory of gold and greed.
It's cause for anger, but none will ignite,
Since we've raised our nation to give up the fight.

We hear threats of bombs from distant lands,
While lovers are hanged for holding hands.
Our perceptions are altered, our ethics are skewed,
We've been fed a diet of lies for food.

Our time is coming, but it's not the end:
It's our oppourtunity to fight and defend
Our freedoms, our rights, our country, our lives;
Resurrect the goals for which we strive.

We've fought their battles, we've worked for their pay,
We build their cities: we slave night and day.
They've owned our bodies, our souls, and our minds,
And in return they have stricken us blind.

We've heard their stories, now let's tell ours
Before they've turned our country to cowards.
We lay down our lives while they reap the rewards.
Is this the democracy we're working towards?

This is a love song to my country,
Or the country that it could be
If all its people rose in anger–
Fought together to be free.

I used to draw a lot of robots: little vestiges of future moments that trickled out of my pen with a tangible lack of precision and an air of false reality.
Now
I can barely create a thing,
But
For the air exhaled from my
Lungs
And the desperation with which I cling to this
World.

You taught me how to hold my head high,
Walk with lightning at my feet.
For every lesson you’ve instructed
Helped me better now to see.

In words, I see such clear precision,
You’ve taught me well to read them so,
And kindness I am ever seeking:
Kindness so my heart can grow.

Instructed in the ways of wisdom,
I have sought that growing tree.
For it was you who told me stories.
By my hand you guided me.

And now the day has come to thank you,
So I give my humble words.
I build the path now: brick by brick,
And know I’ll never be deterred.

So even if the Sun is covered,
Even if the winds do blow,
I’ll use this day to thank you greatly,
For the gifts that you’ve bestowed.

I don't want to see you smile anymore.
It reminds me of a time when you used to make me smile,
When I used to make you laugh,
And when I didn’t know you would break my heart.

I have ascended, become the greatest!
Found my calling as a sadist.
I bought some land and bought some slaves,
With the money my Daddy gave.
I built my kingdom from the ground,
Even got myself a crown!
My slaves did nothing, except the work,
And still they want some type of perk?

And in that moment,
she was gone.
She vanished like a wisp of smoke takes its leave from a candle:
retreating quickly and never looking back.
And suddenly,
it's as if it never existed at all,
but for the faint memory of its ghostly form.
Thus she departed.
She took her leave from this world to make room for
him.

A girl wrote me a poem once.
It talked about love,
Or lack thereof.

When someone you love dies,
At once, you recollect all of the memories you made together.
And then, the realization descends upon you,
That none will ever be made again.

To be a burden is a terrible waste.
All of that time spent perfecting the art
Of being a pain,
A strain.
Only to learn that the problem
Is in being the problem,
In being the extra load on his back.
Yes, to be a burden is a terrible waste, indeed,
Of a perfectly fine little life.

Happiness
Followed by hurt,
Then guilt.
All in a fleeting second,
From a fleeting glance.

The toxic sting of masculinity,
Poured like molten metal upon my skin.
Like devil's trumpet flowers, intoxication within.
Like a trick, a joke, a prayer to Satan.
A trap, a prison,
A cold destination.
Foundation.
Controlled infatuation.
Original sin.

You hold your soul and country
Within your shaking hands.
This ground is so familiar,
But you don't know where you stand.
Should you take the straight and narrow?
Or find another road?
Could you make your boredom pleasure,
Or will you do as you are told?

The cold is setting on you
But you hardly feel its bite.
Your blood is way too hot here
As the day becomes the night.
Your time is speeding up,
You haven't got much left at all.
Two years spent half for nothing,
Have you seen the final fall?

I love to take trips away from here,
If only for a simple minute.
When I close my eyes, I no longer exist,
I can't be touched,
I'm gone.

I love you like the summer loves the sun,
Like the sand loves the sweet waves
And the wind loves the sky.
I love you as the timid rose loves
The morning dew– thankful and
Longing.

Last night, as the rain came down, I thought a thought of you and me:
Of sitting by the fireside, and drinking cups of homemade tea.
Cause you were happy, I was sad, like all the days we never had
Where you would smile and make me glad, but none of that has happened yet.

I’ve only ever dreamt.
Never learned, never spent
The time.
And that was my mistake.      

Tomorrow, if the rain comes down, I’ll sit and think of what’s to be.
I’ll draw my feelings, read the news, and keep a record of my dreams.
Cause I’ve been thinking all the time, that you are yours and I am mine,
Or we could switch and that’d be fine. But I could never lead the line.

I’ve only ever heard.
Never seen, never learned
The way.
And that was my mistake.

Dear Grandma,

I miss you.
Every time I pray, I ask G-d to say hi to you for me.
Have you heard?
Are my messages getting to you?
I hope so.

I wish there had been more time--
That you got to meet this version of me.
The version that I didn't even know I had to hide from you because I didn't have the words back then or the bravery to tell myself.

Did you know you taught me how to be brave?
Back in '99 just before the world had its
Christian birthday of two millennia
and before John and Rae and Nana died
but after Gordon left us
and some time before my molars grew in.

I couldn't sleep in that house with Mom and Dad at the movies.
But you sat with me and told me stories of
deserts and mountains
of caves and tropical storms.
You told me about your adventures until I drifted off--
Your voice lulling me into dreams of
battling latent fears and
throwing them to the wind.

And then,
You left me, too.

And I never got to tell you.
And maybe that's why I'm trying to be brave like you,
So that doesn't happen again.

I love you.
Say hi to Henly for me.

You may never know,
Though I think of it often.
Never know the thoughts of you
That swim through my head each day.

You may never know,
Though I'm sure you used to.
For those perfections can
Draw you in with such a vigorous force.

You may never know,
Though your soul truly does.
That underneath the sarcasm,
Is my hatred for you.