I can't change.
I can only rearrange
These wayward thoughts
In my brain
To seem
A little less insane.

Playing mind games
In my brain waves,
I'm a slave
To the way I misbehave.

I forgave,
But those memories stay
To haunt me and taunt me
Both night and day.
I think I'm stuck this way.

Bottled rage
Gravity's cage
My daily stage.


I won't engage.

**** this plague
Let it fade.

I drift away.

C.eM. 5.11.14

There's something inexplicable
about the way
they make you feel




nothing.

Happiness is fleeting
but
you are your own mistake
you keep repeating.

one of these nights
might turn out right
if you keep your mouth shut
like the door you're always
finding yourself behind
with your back against the wood,
muscles tensing
as you knew they would.


Nose bleeding-
when is the last time you ate?
It took you an hour to get ready but
no one can see all your hard work
in the shade.

"baby, you look great"
is all you wanted to grace you ears
but you've got too much on your plate
and there are only couples here.

They will pay you no mind
and you will begin to feel
you might have been left behind.

you pretend you aren't hungry
because it seems more grungy.
cigarettes will stain your teeth
and smoke will spin circles at your feet
as you sway alone;

always hanging in the wings
you're looking for another drink
another triple shot
and you sink deeper into
the half-assed hope
that this will be a night
you forgot.

Just more meaningless crumbs
of these evening hours
accumulating into an unusable mass
of dried out nights

exaggerate another fight
you had with your mind-
what will you do when they call you out
for being lower than the grout
in the bathroom
baby face like you just came out of the womb
your knife is duller than
your conversation topic
you're a fake-
From a mile away can you be spotted.

Drained of inspiration
plagued by perpetual consternation
what will you sample next
on your way to a falsified elation.

Spending weeks away dragon chasing-
How long will you be on mental vacation?
They're growing impatient.

C.e.M. 12.21.2014

For once, I would like to pretend
that my hair looks fine and my thighs are slim.
For once, I want to feel as if I could walk outside
without regretting my taste in clothes.
For once, even if it'll only last for a single, fleeting moment,
is it too much to ask to feel pretty and presentable?

Teen sits in his room
reflecting on the walls and tables
Sometimes this place is a cafe
and is a little bit unstable
Crosses his legs,
forgets the dread,
self-hood brings him back
from the troubles inside his head
Take his hand, lead him out the door,
stoke his fire a little bit more

Adolescence,
Adolescence be free
Sweet adolescent boy, come back to me

Rests his head
upon the floor,
even the most grotesque things
won't bug him anymore
Young man doesn't watch them dance,
he knows he must grow his own steps before
they slip through his fingertips

Adolescence,
Adolescence be free
Sweet adolescent boy, come back to me

Young man, be your own man
You're halfway there, so don't disappear
again
The cafe is crowded,
yet you're not alone, not stuck in one place
like a drone
You move across the room, bright and tall,
and never again going to fall
Like you did the day before
your soul returned to just being a kid

Adolescence...

you are adolescent.

I'm chained to this system,
To these rules and regulations,
A constant spiral of the same sights,
Forced artificial happiness,
Recycled reinvented pleasures.

These comforts can only numb the aches,
Until dark skies and cold weather,
Expose my wounds to the wind.

Lack of materials, lack of all,
Keep me trapped in dizzy frustrations,
Fantasising new sensations and places,
Knowing the happy, coloured blurs will sharpen their lens,
And reveal their familiar, colourless forms.

Sitting on my fixed space of land,
Still rooting for the next month to win me over,
For the next week to triumph against the last,
I tug at my tired chains,
Hoping to God there's that there more than this.

I am lost in my own germination.
I miss the innocence of adolescence,
I miss the days of being a seed.

Nostalgia stemming from maltreatment,
roots of disdain running deeper and deeper
as they absorb the negativity of my surroundings.

The sadistic nature of being
has instilled terror in my heart, a terror of the future—
for I’m not ready for my contempt of existence to flower.

I preferred being a seed.

As I blossom, I grow consumed by feelings of self-doubt,
tears falling, like petals in the springtime,
Will I survive the winter?

I preferred being a seed.

The strong winds of life rip me up by the roots.
I am slowly wilting and withering away as days pass,
unaware of when I will be trampled underfoot.


I remember the days of being a seed.
For remaining a seed would have been easier
than blossoming in a world slowly and aggressively plucking my petals.

I am nearly barren.

Whisper, wolf
Cry as you first open your eyes
As you see the world for the very first time
The world breathes to you
It welcomes you in
Whisper, baby wolf

Whisper, wolf
Fumble and fall through your youth
Shoot for the stars with your eyes
Energy as of the stars
A soul made of sunlight
Whisper, young wolf

Whisper, wolf
Changes are coming for your world
Feel your paws start to ache and grow
Confusion of the world around you
It seems to breathe a different way
Whisper, growing wolf

Whisper, wolf
You've grown through your troubles
Though their echoes torment you so
She looks at you differently now
And you are so misunderstood
Whisper, adolescent wolf

Whisper, wolf
Walk through the chapters
Howl softly to the night
Lay your head beside her
As you dream and wander ever still
Whisper, lost wolf

Whisper, wolf
Trust was not always there
Some wolves were made to run
More beautiful things await you
Though the pain blinds you so
Whisper, heartbroken wolf

Whisper, wolf
Speak softly to the world
You see a familiar face today
Though it is not your own
You look to their soul
Whisper, father wolf

Whisper, wolf
They grow as they follow
As they are led through the night
Guidance is provided where it once was empty
The pack is stronger now
Whisper, proud wolf

Whisper, wolf
For today is the day of farewells
You wonder if your efforts were enough
The moon seems to look to you
And it looks to say that it loves you
Whisper, sad, sad wolf

Whisper, wolf
That old pain comes back again
She's in a better place now
You feel lost in the woods again
Though you know you are not alone
Whisper, crying wolf

Whisper, wolf
Your pack gathers around you
For today is the day of your final goodbye
Though it is not you crying this day
You rejoice for the opportunity
Whisper, dying wolf

Whisper, wolf
For you are home now
Your troubles are finally behind you
You are with her again
The cubs grow in the steps of your paws
Whisper, sleeping wolf

I can't say for sure at what age you
suddenly start to really
take the world in,
but I have these
specific memories of being
an angsty fourteen-year-old
running laps around the reservoir
at swim practice.

I was so young,
but old enough that I really thought
I knew what love was,
and maybe I did,
maybe I knew love in a certain kinda way,
a certain kinda love I'm too old
to understand now.

I ran laps.
I remember noticing my breathing,
the one-two-three huff-huff-huff
rhythmically circulating oxygen as I
went numb from the waist down.
I remember thinking about this
boy that I loved in
some way or another.
I remember noticing the water's
gentle splashing,
the way the high, hot sun reflected off its splishing.
I remember the sound of runners
passing me by,
the sight of those I passed doubled over
from a "cramp" or maybe just
laziness.
I remember the way my coach yelled and yelled,
pushed and pushed.
I remember feeling and thinking so
many
different
thoughts,
noticing so
many
different
things.

I remember the first time that
I just took in so much
I had to go home and write some
love poems,
spilling my guts onto college-ruled paper
in some various-colored
gel pen.

I can't say for sure at what age you
suddenly start to really
take the world in;
I can't say for sure at what age a poet
suddenly becomes a
poet;
but I have these
specific memories of the first time
I took the world in,
and I decided to write
about it.

When you come from nothing
and you manage to float along
without encouragement or loving,
just basic sad songs.

You grow into something troubling,
and it doesn't take long
before you're only shrugging
when someone who used to be a friend
asks you what's wrong.

I'm only saying this because I was that something
after living without love for so long,
I was broken and struggling
and there was no proper way to get on.

Because this world owes you nothing,
not even a dad and a mom
I accepted that and gave up trusting
Maybe that's where I went wrong?