It seems the walls that block my vision
were once my wishes, my decisions.
Lives seem built upon themselves and where
we are, who knows—which floor? How high above,
how far below how many more?
And every ceiling thwarts ascent—
each one a floor auparavant.
Auparavant: a French word meaning "previously".
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
My poems are not me
My poems are not how I feel
My poems are just a simple constellation of words that my brain created, and my fingers wrote down for the reading pleasure of others
A poem every day.
I am so glad you were born
So happy you're alive
Today is the day
You turn twenty-five!
For one of my best friends in the whole world Jessica for her birthday card. Short and sweet.
Enough with questions
I don’t give heart
I challenged myself to make a poem with only few words that would be indirect but straight to the point. This is about how I never had a desire and never felt the need to love anybody.
I never believed
that a little care could heal the wounds
when I almost wrote to you
I thought about the first scar
I've ever gotten
As you take off
and strip your worry
and then slide into the aisle
the clothes rack.
Your forehead bleeding
but she holds you
You do not cry.
I almost hoped that you were doing okay
You fall into your grandfather's lap
He makes you laugh
and says the pump was
for lighting the firework
and that your head must be about to burst
I almost missed you
but then I thought back
to the fireworks bursting from my skin
leaving burns in its wake
No I gathered myself up and cared
for the love of leaving heart behind
in the form of scars
When you were a kid you thought that you would be married by now
Have it all figured out
Now you're here and *******...
Do we ever really figure it out?
Adulting is hard
Your Facebook feed is filling up with engagements and baby announcements
but your reading the newsfeed in the liquor isle of Safeway
Beer or wine tonight? Hmm maybe *****?
"Psh who wants to be a boring married couple"
That's what you think to yourself
Trying to convince yourself that it's okay
Drown out that little voice in your head saying "you're gonna be alone forever"
It's like walking on a tightrope
One side you have it together and the other side you still might as well be that 21 year old college student ordering shots at the bar
If someone has this figured out- hit a homie up
Until then, I'm just doing me and I guess I'm doing fine
A burning sensation is building up in my chest
I feel my heart burning as it pumps as fast as the fastest train.
My body is ready to blow and make the night glow.
This is an illness I acquired ten years ago,
I went to see the smartest doctors and not even them can let it go.
As time pass this feeling is somehow disappearing
or so I think
When I saw you in another woman's arms, when I see you go
I feel my soul being burn in the pit of hell,
My body ready to die and my mind realize.
You are the poison which caused my illness
But you're also my cure.
I am alright now. Such lies I said to everyone but they know that I still am suffering from the pain that my first love brought.
Should I be working?
University at 25 seems
so redundant when I stare
at the soft skinned babes,
who skirt the car park
in drunken bliss.
Should I quit?
Get a job? Maybe retail or
Some say I could seek stability
between the pages of spreadsheets,
sipping coffee with Susan on the
Should I marry?
Set a date? They're all engaged.
Stones glaring back at me
like Polydectes eyes
from Facebook pages.
25 is the 'right age',
or so I've been told.
I suppose I could.
Maybe I should. Or I could
just do something else.
25 daydreams and nightmares i've lived
25 trees i climbed and fell from
25 poems i wrote and then destroyed
25 cherries i stole from Death's lips
25 times i danced in rain trying to forget the pain
25 hopes i found and hopes i lost
25 cigarettes i smoked until suffocation
i died a little more 25 times.
25 years seem sometimes like they went in a blink;
sometimes like it's been an eternity.
i'm looking in the mirror trying to find
a sign of peace
a trace of light
but i can only see
the ugliness building up
the heavy rain in my eyes
the craks in my skin
the 25 wringles life has put all over my face,
25 years and i feel too old, too tired, too weak
these 25 walls
birthday ****** mood