bizarre world
it's a bizarre world
for in thailand men go white
they have their *****' lasered
destroying the pigment
so they can look white
while in england
it goes the other way
white men go big and black
getting their tool tattooed
and made three inches longer
with a silicone implant
some want to be white
and others want to be black
as the old saying goes:
china man too small
black man too large
white man just right

Into the halls of unknown
Feelings are depicted on uncertainty
It changes on a whim
As the mind felt threatened

Down the hall is a spiraling staircase
Where the abyssal nightfall resides
Beauty could also be deafening
A spectacular state of shutting everything

Deeper into the unknown,
Is a vast field of dancing stars
The moon is peacefully sleeping
In the cradle of the night

I've seen chastity for eons
And this one is a special place
Like a child longing for a mother
A place that can't be replaced

On the farthest side of the field
Is a forest guided by fireflies
Inside, a child was playing
Who looked at me with those innocent eyes

"It's time to go, you won't feel anything"
I said, void of emotions
Then he extended his little hands and told me
"Thank you for keeping me safe, I had fun"

I slashed a pristine existence
In this dark field full of little lights
And an apathetic creature like me
Found myself crying in this replica of the night.

He was youth-
Undeniably naive in the way he looked at me,
Like I could build skyscrapers with trailer park hands.
His smile was sweet,
Like frosted cupcakes and sugary lips that only spoke sticky words.

He was youth-
In the way he laughed, tossing his head back with ignorant bliss.
In his eyes that lit up with the sight of stars,
And him imagining me as one of those beautiful, perfect stars.
Ignorant in the way he loved so carelessly and so freely.

He was the youthful gust of air that blew straight into me.
So childlike in the way he told me sweet nothings like they were law,
And I was a citizen inside of his arms.
He was the youth I needed at a time when I was too old to fight it.
The youthful facade that only lasted while feeling it.

How soon do the words escape your mouth that you realize-
It's far too late to share words that were communicated in a nod three weeks ago,
Or in a passing by kiss last year.
Now they are a hollow shell of everything you wanted to say but somehow feared.
Instead, they were written on your face of faces and spelled out the truth inside of you.
Your words are just words if they are empty and hollow,
Like bones on a corpse-
Unidentifiable.
And when I finally listened to you speak,
I knew we’d never be.
You lack the necessary element that creates me-
Meaning.

I want to be like Mount Saint Helens,
Strong and firm, quaking every couple years in the faces of the helpless.
I want to make newspaper headlines and magazine articles for being fearless and tall,
Sputtering and spewing at those who've wronged me.
I want to be the conquest men dare try,
Out of fear of being swallowed whole.
The deadly concoction of pure beauty and viciousness,
Threatening those who taunt from below.
Unpredictable and dangerously violent,
They still will want my picture and tell their children of me,
Mount Saint Helens glory will never fade,
For her might is much to strong for the common man.
But I,
I will keep on,
I will conquer and cast my plight willingly
And when they see me, they will tremble because they will know of my unpredictability and daunting grace.
A deadly concoction,
That Mount Saint Helens might find idyllic.

I learned how to write when I could no longer speak,
Time traveled through literature and escaped into a realm of tattered pages and tear soaked ink.
I found my voice inside of forgotten words and unending rhyme schemes.
When I could no longer speak, the ink flowed easily
And the thought flowed even easier.
Releasing my inhibition on to blank pages accompanied by cold coffee and early morning sunshines,
I learned yet again that heroes I regarded sat on top a bookshelf rather than on a screen or in an album.
They gave me voice, comfort, and solace inside of my own head.
The voice I lacked for so many years, came naturally when typing away,
It was then that I finally felt free.

It’s the new year,
Time for resolution, or inevitable revival
The point of this winter season when everything seems…
New and fresh, like anything is possible.
But is it really, if all we will do is make the same resolutions
And live out our consistent, boring lives
Grasping to the idea that change,
Only change,
Will somehow add meaning to the meaningless-
Inspire the uninspired.
We find that so easily our life will pass us by,
And we will cascade into our indifference
For the lives we made for ourselves and the unimportant choices we took
Even though we heard the necessary calling for change,
We ignored it,
Until the year changed and our lives became one year bleaker.
Call me cynical, or pessimistic
But the change we crave, the change we ache,
Is too busy living inside of the dream of a fresh start
Instead of living inside our lives.