I gave her my hand  .  .  .
Our time spent on dirt roads,                                                                  
  .  .  .  Empty souls riding.

You hold your deepest darkest secrets
You tuck them deep within
They hold your insecurities
They hold your guilts
Your sins
You tuck away the little things
Although they're small and trite
Because they are embarrassing
And others may not like
You hide away those thoughts you have that question your ideals
You drop them in that secret hole
To forget the way it feels
Those fragments of your fragile mind
Unorthodox and curious
You joke about it with your friends
When underneath you're serious
The road of introspection winds
with "stop" and "yield" and "caution" signs
To trust is to be vulnerable
To unveil the inconspicuous

What does one do when so compelled?
When that dark hole succumbs and swells?
When it begins to manifest itself
In snide remarks
In violent yells?
And what of the peculiar sort?
That only you yourself may hurt
If driven from that deep down hole
Might shake your world

Your very soul?

No wherewithal
How would you fare?
You can see the judgement
You feel the stares
Your mouth is dry as you're standing there
Undressed but fully clothed?
its possible that we share this fear
An outpouring of whats been repressed for years
To fall on uncompassionate ears?

My whole world would unfold.

some of these thoughts  
Some of these feelings
Sneak up on us without revealing
An answer or a premonition
And we need those
...Because we're human...
So its scary to come face to face
With that which feels so out of place
And try to figure out all on our own
If this feels right, if this feels wrong
But I digress to finally say
Hopefully you're able to one day
Dislodge some secrets from that pit
Before it swells

Just empty it

You have to find a caring ear
That's empathetic to what they'll hear
That can handle the grey, the fog and confusion
And help clear the waves of disillusion
To get some things from off your chest
And give your mind some well due rest
It's such a relief
Such comfort
a wealth
To for a moment
be fully
your unadulterated
Self.

Could’ve would’ve should’ve…
Didn’t…wouldn’t…couldn’t…
Ultimately…will you, won’t you?

My thoughts are in a state of anarchy
And they crash into your words.
And remember.
And forget.
And do not know what's worse.

Remembering is bitter sweet-
Never to be, always been.
To forget is to cut out all the words
etched into my skin.

And I fall into this silence,
Indecision is my curse.
I remember.
And forget.
And do not know what's worse.

What do I want now?
Desires come knocking,
door to door
vacuum-cleaner salesmen
pondering if I could
spend a dime of
my time deciding
whether or not to
allow my miles of
scroll and scripture to
get tangled together
with those of another
(again)
as I switch between playing
the role of the
consumer and the
mother
(again)

What do I want now?
Can I look to the stars
or consult the seeing cards?
I can't help but
sprint down the
slippery summer streets,
calling out the songs of
Renaissance bards when the
universe is singing our praises and
we're singing them back, oh
cut me some slack and
I'll cut you a track of
my latest attack on
society's lack of wanting to
wait and see what blooms in
the forest of discarded facts,
figures, and old slacks worn
by the dead while they
bury my head underground with
feet dangling in the air.

What do I want now?
Will the willpower to
state with a proud (and
preferably legs-spread-
shoulders-back-
neck-straight) stance that
just maybe I might be
better off with bug bites and
a bitter taste in my mouth when-
ever I see couples kissing than a
stinking fascination with the
feeling of fingertips on femurs and
eyelids fluttering in
metronome timed fervor.

What do I want now?
For lady luck to walk in
disguised as a molten lava
poltergeist with electric sides
pulling me in, my
north to her south,
to whisper, "Don't forget:
permission permanently granted to
project that voice and
protect that mouth."

What do I want now?

It's frustrating when myself is never to be found.
When I look so diligently
and my passions make the slightest intonation

I look in obsessions that I call a benefit
I enshrine myself alive
I submerge my passions
I am underground
I am drowning above expectations

I am everywhere when I am alone
and when I am alone I am everywhere
Or atleast that is how the antithesis goes
Frankly, I must be lost.

What had found me before has fled to hide
And the doors that have opened
have had broken hinges for far too long
What doors that have closed
I wish to nudge open once more but only for a moment.
Driven by a mad curiousity; anxious.

With a moment I will come and go
with a moment I will remember
and with a moment I will forget and let it be.

I am blinded by what I see too often
What I never see I wish to leave as is

It should not be with me
it should be finding where it belongs

I will recapture myself gloriously
I will dig myself out of my own life
I will put this shovel to the heal these glory days
Nothing is reborn, but transformed.

What was old is never new
and what was said and done
will never rise up
unless given a shovel.