I've been alive for twenty years
but now that doesn't seem so long,
for now it's clear the end is near
in death I must be strong.

No, it doesn't seem so long ago
that we walked hand-in-hand in the snow
yet with steel in my hands I left to fight in foreign lands
the lands where my blood now flows

I fought with valor, like a true warrior
with blood and iron to give.
When I looked up at the sky, I was too scared to die
but right now, I'm too frightened to live

I promised you I would return
assured you that you were my own.
Now I lay in the mud and I'm covered in blood
and I know now that you'll be alone.

I had everything I'd ever need
but I lacked the wisdom to see,
here comes the breath that shall herald my death
this "glory" is now worthless to me.

I'm sorry for this, my love.
I wish I could go back to before.
May no more young men meet early ends
at the hands of the siren named War.

I told Halie she was beautiful today
And she smiled and said “You’re handsome.”.
I could tell immediately that there had been miscommunication.
I returned that smile as if I could ever hope to mirror the beauty of hers’ and changed the subject
but honestly, she was missing the point.
‘Handsome’ refers to features that are aesthetically pleasing whereas ‘beautiful’…
‘Beautiful’.
It’s a word I try to avoid defining because I don’t think I know enough
but just talking to her…
Putting our foreheads together instead of our lips,
I feel like I could write a bible about what that words means.
I see more than anyone has seen of her yet.
Sadly, herself included.
I love you like a blind man, Hail
Where it isn’t your body that keeps you in my mind,
It is everything you are to me.
You are the symbol of innocence, even after all this time
I still find myself searching for words to say
that could do you justice.
Now I wrote a poem for Amy because of her looks.
I wrote a poem for Megan because of the pain she caused me.
I never wrote you a poem, Hail.
Maybe I was afraid my words would fail
To describe in detail the way your fingertips strike my nerves
as flint strikes steel and throws sparks
into my heart.
I want to let words fall out of the front of my face
and land at your feet
as if they would have any semblance of coherency.
When we’re touching, I can’t make words.
I can’t rush to my first line of defense against the outside world
because I don’t want to be defended from you.
People hear my brazen declarations of love and I know
They’re thinking exactly what I’m thinking.
‘In the grand scheme of my life, our relationship is the blink of an eye’.
But if I can make you one promise
and if I could only make you one, this would be it.
I’m going to remember you, girl.
Life is the tide that washes over the sand castles we've built together
in this sandbox we call an adolescence,
but I promise you that I will always remember
the times I laid my heart bare
for you to see how much I care.
I promise upon this fluttering pulse
I’ll always be
Your something else.

I want to be better. But not the kind of better you see on the billboards advertising gyms or the ones mentioned in the hymns sung by entire choirs of liars and deniers of bad desires. I want to be better in the worst way possible.

I want to play air-guitar concerts for stuffed animals, I want to be able to smile in a way that leaves contempt snuffed out like a candle-cap. I want to be able to rap in Chinese.

I want to be able to reinvent the word 'cool', hang out with absolute tools and not just because somebody has to. I want to be able to rule my own mind and mind my own rules. I want to find my running shoes so when I go to the fight behind the dollar store, I'll remember what I bought them for.

I want to be so much more and all these issues I can't ignore be much less. I want to make myself confess how much I love my friends, turn dead-ends into new beginnings and then spend my lottery winnings on a stranger because the only danger I see is never having been able to know them.

The truth is, I'll never be the icon of an attractive guy. I'm never be able to buy a girl a drink and not have her immediately think of what kind of a clod I am that thinks that kind of thing still works.

I keep finding myself trying to rewrite my history where the cliffhanger at the end has a parachute. Where minute details matter less and I can say I tried my best and people noticed.

I will one day be better but I'll always still be me and honestly, I think I'd still sell my inheritance to put enough money down the wishing well to make the two days you were in love with me swell into an eternity.

But we both have other things to be doing than loving someone. We have legacies we have to build on the our bare backs and suicide attacks that need to be led.

And let it be said that I have not  a clue-'n'-half how this turned into a love poem...

but in my head there is a world where in that time and place, I didn't need to be better.

I wasn't perfect. I was good enough.

Here we go again. Memories creeping in uninvited on their tip-toes to bring more of those forbidden thoughts back to the spotlight. Night after night, I play misery's favorite game of 'how many times can I say I miss you in a minute'? Anyway I spin it, I'm still neck deep in it - in this masochistic prison without a single vision of breaking out.
It's a life sentence of my glass always being half-empty and everything that could be said has been, so I'm carving poetry into the page as if this rage will ever equal more than pain and damage. But this stage keeps calling me back for more, with or without an audience, I'm going to shout these words out so loud it'd make the ******* Dragonborn proud.
Because truth be told, none of these rhymes will turn to gold and all these times I've broke the mold I've done it to make a statement. It's always come with an apology like late rent, but I've always known that I did what I meant and I meant what I did.
But you can bid a million dollars on a foot-ladder and it won't become the stairway to heaven. But see, I've got more fuel than a 7/11, I've got the energy and the drive to make this work. I'm not about to give you a play-by-play of my everyday just so you can understand me but if you can just stand me... it's a good way to start.
You clutch your bleeding heart time and time again over who did what, why, where and when and I might need a venn diagram to discern the difference between good and evil sometimes but the best rhymes come out when you aren't quite sure what you're doing and I've been chewing my nails long enough to know that anxiety is a side 'a' me that is slowly dying away. Until the day that roots plant trees and hairless dogs get fleas, I'm not letting go of these precious memories for they have made me what I am.
Cogito ergo sum, I think therefore I become - everything I've ever wanted to be. The only thing holding me down was the lack of conviction, but now I've got an eviction notice for all these **** doubts I've harbored, so I toss them over starboard and now I'm on my way. Good day, ladies and gents. It's been a gas.

She used to stand on the tips of her toes so she could kiss my cheek.

I've cherished these memories through and through and while there is no digital proof that our love ever existed, I remember that September with an indespensible fondness.

But I feel these memories fading away. Slipping through my fingers like wet clay and each night that passes I can spend one less moment of the day recalling how your lips felt against mine...

...or thinking of how I could gaze into your eyes for the better parts of eons, but we are all peons of fate and our innate sense of duty pulls us from the things we are drawn to.

It is then that I remember that you were not taken away, how you chose to leave and that is okay.

In my agony over the loss of someone who's name no longer clings to my lips, I chose to cling to your hips and not let go.

I know better now, but I was afraid.

The memories we shared grow ever harder to remember, but that September you reminded me what love was.

It was fleeting and it was depleting, but I no longer find myself needing your touch.

I let go and I already know that you did so long ago,

but it stills brings a smile to my face when I recall how you stood on your the tips of your toes so you could kiss me,

I suppose even angels need someone to look up to.

We're not all the stuff of legends and fairy tales. We do try sometimes but we more often then not are doomed to fail, because being held to a standard that you're better than human is a hard burden to bear.

We don't all have the natural dramatic flair that makes us fare just that much better on the stage - But whether or not we will ever be like Aladdin, we rub every lamp just in case.

In the face of overwhelming improbality, we still find a way to get ourselves to say 'Maybe this time, it'll be different. Maybe the innocent will not suffer and maybe this time they'll catch the bad guy'.

Who am I to dream? Who am I to make more out of something than what would first seem? Every one of these stitches and seams that run across our bodies like patchwork, every scar from every time we've gone to far or raised the bar, they are ours to wear with pride.
Just because something has been denied to you is no reason not to seek it again, but this twicefold. I may not be Rumplestiltskin but I'm going to keep trying to turn this straw to gold - because the dreams that come to us are ours to hold. Ours to clutch to our chest lest they grow cold.

It is because of these mistakes that we are where we are. When you fail, if you can re-trail what you did wrong all the way back to core of the problem, then you've got experience to store away until next time. I only learned to rhyme like I do through the impromptu misteps that we are all going to go through. And you will learn to be better.

Every, single, letter that goes into writing one of these little soliloquies has to come out like a summer breeze or they should not be put down. You can't squeeze your brain like a grape hoping that pure wine is going to come out. Inspiration comes from the funniest places and I guess you could say that you've been inspirin' me but there is still fire in me to temper the metal.

And I know I'm not going to get a medal for this, otherwise I'd probably do it more often. But each and every one of you needs to know that it is only through challenge and adversity that we grow into these monoliths we hope we one day become. If you can manage to stay strong, live long and keep is simple your whole life through... who knows? - Maybe they'll write the next fairy tales about you.