A question mark
is only an exclamation mark
that strayed from the straight path
in search of answers.
A period is only the end,
setting tracks for a new beginning.
Ellipses
are only thoughts
that never got...

The truest bliss you impart upon me
sends a shiver down each column of my spine,
etching track marks over all my body,
a drug no-one can perfect or refine.
Your visage leaves lightning bolts on my eyes
and a heart palpitating in my chest.
Your body silhouetted in night skies
melts my deepest poetry to mere jest.
When we touch, it smashes my composure
into oblivion and far beyond.
When we lock eyes, I'm chilled from exposure
but for certain, only I feel this bond.
Although I strive for a day we would meet,
with the others, I could never compete.

I once told you, Miss,
that your poetry is so edgy
that I cut myself on it sometimes.
Well, I've been reading more
and I feel
at a loss for blood.

A wise man once said,
that what starves us carves us
and I have never been anywhere near you,
but I imagine holding you in my arms
would be either the worst or the best experience of my life.

You've got some jagged bits,
but I bet if you put your best part forward,
you could split a man's heart apart
in the best of ways.
Make him think of you for days after,
caught in the rapture of the pain you bring.

If I could capture a joke out of thin air,
I'd find you and give it to you,
just hoping that maybe it might possibly
make you smile.
'Cause ****.
It must be a supernova waiting to happen.
Only the death of stars could live up to such an event.

We watch time fly out
our window sill
and yet we still
try to capture this moment
hold it
as if holding it
will keep it here""
but it sinks into the atmosphere
the moment you let go
and you must let go
because the flame that is smothered dies
and there will be no rise
from ashes, no cries for help
no morse code dots and dashes
there is no running
not now, not ever
and you don't need to be
the most strong
or the most clever
you just need to be you
because you are a miracle
in a world that is content
to let science explain everything
we don't need a flow chart
to know the heart
we need faith
not in gods or crosses
or wins and losses
but in our own reflection
not self correction
in us
we
are
all we are
and all we are is
the answer to a question
we have been asking ourselves
since the last time we felt lost
since our lullabies became embossed
on text books and bibles
since we were held liable
for the actions of generations past
we are not the last
but we can be the first
since the day we were cursed 
with this desire to be more 
in a society rotten to the core 
and no amount of rhyming 
or perfect
...
timing
will cure that, 
we all have our own tin-foil hat, 
but if someone is trying to read 
your mind 
think something worth a **** 
stop trying to find meaning, 
stop preening,
stop everything you are doing 
and simply be.
I am no authority
on living a good life. 
Grief and Suffering are my in-laws
because I married strife 
but if you believe a single thing
that I ever say
believe that you are not stuck,
there is always another way.

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.

In a better world...

every TV, in every house hold,
comes with it's very own blindfold
so that the children won't be able to see
the horrible, bloated beast
that media has come to be.

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.

A sound.
crr crrraa
Not unlike that of an egg hatching.
But there is no egg,
There is only my skin...
And it's cracking.

Slowly at first,
with no hurry or hesitance,
cracking.
My epidermis is no longer flesh,
it is a resin.
A coating made to contain.
To mask.
To shroud.
But the clouds upon the surface
are waning enough to almost
see inside.

I crack.
Emerges pure hatred,
A spirit of vengeance.
I am no longer human,
if indeed, I ever was.
I am not NOT me.
I am more me than ever.

In seeing your horror,
your fear at what I am,
I retreat back inside my shell.
Ready to visit upon you visions of hell
when next I crack.

That ******* the corner,
she used to have dreams.
Now she only has deadlines.

I will hone my skills
to the peak of my potential
and whittle the most beautiful thing
that mortal eyes have seen...
**Only to destroy it
and set fire to it's ashes
because even though it was rooted
from my own fingertips
it was flawed
in my eyes...

There are some that live with their lives,
walking around with their heads bowed
to keep tears hidden.
Bed-ridden from the sound
of their own steady heartbeat.
With little thought to spare,
some turn to religion just so they can feel
like they have a prayer.
When every dream is a nightmare
And they tear open every morning
to reveal reality,
just to remind you it is still there.
Despite all our best hopes,
there will be no escape from our binds.
For everyone who finds the rope
instead of support,
let this be the rapport by which
your memory still will echo within us.
To lift an entire heavenly choir to your name
and your legacy.
We will not forget you.
Until there is no one left to pass your torch.
The children you never had are echoes
bouncing off flesh and bone,
finding no way out amongst your corpse.
They will die with you,
as much as your memory eventually will follow suit.
The mute will one day find the voice
to cry out for the horrors done to you,
but until then, you must fight on
so you can live to see that day.
When every exit looks like another highway to hell,
you must find it within you to dwell
only in the light places
, to turn to friendly faces
no matter the pain,
to make all the slings and arrows hurled against you
thrown in vain.
We will not forget you,
but only if you are willing to echo
in our ears just a while longer.
. Flow like a river and
blow open this world like a volcano.
Leave your torments behind you on the bus home,
they will never reach you again.

Too often now, I see your face,
it's all it's mournful glory.
Denied are you, a sacred place
within the pages of our story.
Alas, fair maid, we are far gone.
The breeze no longer sings for you.
To live is to shine and we have shone
and our stories will begin anew.
I ask you not for empathy,
for that would make my logic flawed.
Your eyes no longer imprison me
nor anyone else behind false facade.
Our paths will one day cross again, I fear.
When my heart beats quicker, I'll know your near.

Your eyes say everything that you're too embarrassed to say.
They tell me that today is nothing but a fleeting moment
and that every second spent thinking but not acting
will tally up to a waste of time until we have nothing left.
That every tick-tock of the clock
makes up the lock that shackles all the things we could be
we could be in love, you and me.

And this isn't the first time I've felt myself falling
without my consent, but you've made a dent
in my heart where you hit me.
I won't flee from the truth,
I've had other lovers in the past.
But right now my heart is beating so fast
and it crosses itself when it swears that this
feels like first love.
That each breath I breathe is taken by your beauty
and every time you kiss me it leaves stars behind my eyelids.

Your gaze roots me to the spot
when you look at me the way you do.
You say everything without making a sound
and I fall right through what I had believed to be the ground
but was just keeping me from falling for you.
And I gotta say it one more time,
I'm falling for you.
I hope I never hit the ground.
Never have to hear missed opportunities
resound through the air,
I don't give a care if it'll hurt me in the end.
The end is far ahead and we're right here,
don't doubt me, love me instead.
Come here, I'll hold you in my arms and
make you believe I'm never letting you go.
So even though I will eventually, it won't be because I wanted to.

If I ever have wanted to go slowly in my life,
it would be now because I want time to stand still for us.
I don't normally go slow and I know that we shouldn't now
because we both know we don't have forever.
I don't want a wake-up call because
I don't want to be awakened from the freefall
that is this bliss - I've been waiting for this
ever since I landed last and
I'm letting the past be past me,
so I can enjoy that I've found the needle in the haystack at last.
Turns out it's always in the last place you look.

Maybe they've been there all along.
Maybe you'll be wrong about who it is
the first couple of times but when you are right,
you know it and let me tell you, I was right when I saw you.
I never made the decision to fall in love with you,
assuming thats what this is,
but you never should make the decision.
Love should fall upon you like a hail of arrows.
Because when push comes to shove I realize that it was
never my choice to begin with.

When I look at you
and I do that a lot ,
I'm always trying to paint your picture in my mind.
I can do this pretty well normally, but for you,
I don't stop at just one.
I paint your picture a hundred times because
I never want to forget you.
I want to be the glue that holds you together
when **** gets tough,
I want to be the wind in your sails
when the seas get rough
and I want to be there to act,
when words aren't enough.

So here we are, falling together.
Who knows when we'll hit the ground
but until then let's just let gravity do it's work and..
see how this goes.

I don't know how I can relate this to all of you,
but you guys have really been pulling me through.
Yeah, you. The one reading this.
You're support, to me, is like water over scorched earth.
My hearth can be without fire, but your praise keeps me warm.
This is what I want to do with my life.
I want to make you smile
and if I know that I've done that
than I can find an extra mile within myself.
Thank you, my friends.
All 15 of you.
I know, I know...
Behind the keyboards and computer screens
you could easily be mexican jumping beans
that grew arms, legs and an appreciation for literature.
But it is always a treasure seeing someone leaving me
any small measure of their day
just to stop and say
"This poem didn't make me *****."
It means a lot, guys and girls.
I don't know if I'll ever be famous
like Shane Koyczan or Sarah Kay,
but if I just manage to get this far...
this is good enough for me.

I feel like going back to those days,
when I could feel and not fear it.
When I didn't know the world's ways
and I didn't yet need my fighting spirit.
When I could simply have a romance,
nothing complicated or categorized,
that would come up by happenstance
with no limits needing to be devised.

I miss those days, I could awaken
find another body next to mine,
and not even be mistaken
in thinking this won't be the only time.

I miss those days with a passion,
too often I feel like I'm crashin'
straight through the mud and the dirt
all the pain and the hurt.
I render my poems inert,
when I stare in the mirror,
see myself crying and dying,
insanity getting nearer.
I one day hope to rise from it all,
stand from the ash, proud and tall,
but I know that after I do
I'll eventually once again fall.

I miss those days
in more than a million ways.
Watching my eyes glaze over
thinking about days over
again.
I flow my heart into this pen
put my soul into what I write
now and then.
I know I'll be that happy once more,
I've got that joy kept in store,
for a future when I suture
this wounded pride and mind.
I've got a stride in mind,
for when I return.
See the surprise in their faces,
I bet they thought I would burn
up in the anger like butane.
I'm just too hard to contain
and I walk through cold rain,
thinking about once upon a time,
through sweat and grime,
You were mine, I was yours,
now it's vice versa.

We are not judged by how we die,
but how we choose to live
and I don't quite know why
but I feel just about ten seconds shy
of becoming a hero.
I feel like Nero, fiddling
while I watch my passions burn.
With no stones left to turn,
I find myself taking the time it takes
to leave myself alone.
With a heart encased in stone,
I watch angels give their wings away
for a moment of staying on the ground
and I see cacophonies jeer, shout and cheer
without ever making a sound.

If I could shoot lasers
out of my eyes,
I'd use them to carve your name
into the moon.
Just so I could remind you
Every night,
You're beautiful.

Heavy clanging of funeral bells greet
newer, bleaker days in the same turmoil.
Men and Women alike run fast to meet
greener grass sprouting out the same black soil.
I cut laugh lines into my pallid face
and throw my head 'neath freight trains each new morn'
I find little solace or change of pace
in carving the page to express my scorn.
My dark fantasies of death and sorrow
plague my night and cast shadow over day.
The other souls are simple, vain and weak
that shuffle on wires with little to say
and no fighting spirit of which to speak.
For each smile, there runs a bitter tear.
Just let me sleep, wake me when Death comes near.

How could you?
I hate you.
Please never leave me.

It's all nameless splendours
and 'return to sender's.
Without the clarity to make sense
and the rarity to be heard,
we are blurred together
like colors on the canvas.
Where I settle in and make my home,
it's insanity and ****** sea foam.
        Straight lines where everything careens
               into smokescreens and blackened eyes.
                       Cruelty in disguise.
                              Lonely demise.
                                Unheard cries
                                   Dark skies.
                                       Lies...
                                          It is here... I make my home.

Once upon a time, a man once said aloud for all to hear:
"There is no need for poetry."
Once upon a time, he was right.
When the darkest nights fall upon us
like a barrage of arrows
we would rather just survive.
We strive to one day have a future
where there is no doubt, but
until that last creative ember in our souls is
snuffed out, we will have a need for poetry.

Because what are these words if not
just scrap paper floating on the breeze?
What is this idea if not
just one seed among a million trees?
What is this level of depth
when measured to the deepest seas?
We live in a society where wit is defined
by how well you can put someone down...
A society where smiles/frowns,
whichever it is, they are just masks.
Hiding who we truly are.
Each one of us is a star,
some brighter than others,
but each of us beautiful and powerful in our own right
and in spite of our differences.

On many a night
I would have extinguished my own flame
just to be able to name myself a martyr.
A martyr who died fighting his demons
and whether or not I will ever win,
I'll always be aware of it's futility.
But, you see, it's never like I ever had false visions
of putting this to rest.
It never was a battle between 'good' and 'bad'...
only shades of better or worse.

And yet we would stuff our one hope
against this darkness into a funeral hearse
and wave it on it's way.
With not even a hint of dismay,
I ask you all,
is there any need for poetry?

Up here, I feel like I can open up my soul to you.
Show you who I really am.
Through each word and pause
I have encurred the awes of people
I never thought could appreciate me.
So let us let this tragedy unfold.
Who knows what the future could hold...
or what it could let go.

We ****** ourselves upon labels,
like an acrotophiliac forcing his legs in a beartrap
that just won't close.
As if this world could ever be as generous
as tales and fables.
For every time we let ourselves feel,
we are allowing ourselves to be peeled apart
by those that think themselves better.
For every heart bleeding,
paper cut on a love letter,
we can find enough pain to store away for later.
Pain to share.

Every time I walk out in the world,
I feel pins set on every inch of my skin.
Every time I let someone in,
I'm rarely exposing myself to anything other
than a bull in a china shop.
But still, every time I drop to the ground,
I can make myself believe I've found
a reason to get back up.
Even now, I've got pain.
Pain to share.

In a world built on lies, oil
and the sweat brought from toil
of people overseas,
we can still somehow see an enemy
in who once we called a friend.
Till' the bitter end,
we cry tears like rain,
condensation on the window frame,
but it won't be over any time soon.
We shoot for the moon,
with the hope of landing among stars,
but we find ourselves frozen husks
within an hour of our departure.
Because, I fear,
there was always a reason we had an atmosphere.
But it's not perfect
and these 'exceptions' are starting to fall near to me.
But whether I die right here,
or there,
or anywhere,
I do and always will have pain.
Pain to Share.

I have so much more
to offer
than just tears.

You.
Who ARE you?
You, who I have dreamed of many a night,
who has always given flight to my imaginations
and fancies.
My aspirations of an angel...
but you are lost down the wishing well.

Evanescent in form,
but always representing the same thing.
What are you?
You
are perfect.
The woman in/of my dreams,
who it seems I have never met
(...and never will).

Still... You haunt me
and taunt me with what I can never have.
So haunt me,
for I will never complain
about seeing your visage,
seared in boiled tears,
behind the lid of this eye...
...and the other.

I wasn't very good at poetry when I was young.
I would stumble over the concept of rhymes
and at times couldn't hold an idea in my head.
I'm still young,
but somewhere along the way
my mind evolved and my heart
found it's voice.
I guess you could say
I grew up...

But I was never planted in the soil
of complete certainty.
I was watered by aqueducts dripping
misfortune and misdevelopment,
as if gripping reality had become a chore
and at some point I guess
I grew bored of it.

I didn't come here to cry.
I didn't come here to spin tales
of how my childhood was worse than most.
But I think we are all somewhat haunted
by our juvenile years,
as if each playground became a ghost town
and each classroom became a lost-and-found
for what we should know by now but don't.

I wasn't very good at poetry when I was young,
but somewhere between now and then
I grew up.
But only candles grow shorter as they grow older
and I will never again find sanctuary
among the monkey bars and tire swings.
I never felt welcome
but I was.
I just wish I knew that then.