what have i to do with these grips,
these squared, white knuckles
holding tight to handle bars?
what have i to do with these empty stares,
eyes void of truth?

these "fill-in-the-bubble, A B or C, music only reaches the ears" types of humans
attempting to tell me how to carry out my existence,
attempting to tell me the most efficient
practical
mindless ways to die?
attempting
to tell me
to show me
the most rewarding ways
to die.

what have i to do with these sculptors
who try and quantify the rain,
who try and evaporate
the sun?
what have i to do with these ideas of perfection, of what is best?
these assumptions of false fulfillment,
these preludes to orderly, institutionalized chaos
and contempt?
what have i to do with all of these cardboard boxes
which cannot differentiate between being filled
empty
open
closed
soft
rough
dry
loved?
what have i to do with those who cannot detect their own storms,
their own energy waiting to explode?
what have i to do with one shade of blue?
what have i to do with feet that cannot move,
knees that cannot bend?
what have i to do with white houses
black cars
trimmed bushes
a front porch?
what have i to do with stationary?
what have i to do with these wings
unless they are free to flutter?
what have i to do with structure
with corners
with average
with plain?
what have i to do with boredom
with settling
with insignificant breath?

what have i to do with waste?
what
have i
to do
with waste.

Give me that piercing,
or that tat,
just make sure,
I don't look fat.
Let me puke a fountain like Niagara Falls,
just so I can fit in within these halls.
If I get a disapproving look,
it feels like a thousand knives stabbing me,
let me remain as a closed book,
so I can pique an interest in thee.
I am not me, what can I be?
I will not show you,
for fear of you mocking my plea.
So let me live my life so cold,
without finding myself as I grow old,
just to gain your appreciation,
while unknowingly causing self-deprivation.

If you want to understand where I'm coming from then take your mind to the darkest place it can go, build your wall to keep others out so high that it surpasses the stars and beyond. Closed your mind, lose hope, and let hate engulf your being completely. Then imagine living like this for 10 years. All of the sudden one day, for whatever reason, you consider the fact that maybe your wrong and that there is still good in the world. That your not alone and being happy is a choice not a circumstantial emotion. Realize only in complete darkness can you truly appreciate the light. Realize there is a reason for existence and its to find our way home while loving and aiding others in the same journey. Us humans, we are just billions of pieces of the same puzzle and only when we fit together can we perceive the bigger picture. We may be at different levels but those levels are just different steps on the same staircase. Maybe if you can consider even trying to see me with eyes of understanding, them maybe I can understand you too.

im so tired of ordinary
I need extraordinary
I crave a life filled with magic in the smallest of things
and love riddled with passion and never having to endure boredom
my heart is so closed off
can it open enough to feel a touch of love
it doesn't even have to be love
I just want something more
something extraordinary

Last night I dreamt about you for the first time.
I dreamt you knew but you still asked me.
You asked me what is really your place in my heart.
I told you not to ask me what you didn't want to know.
Even though I knew you knew.
Even though  I know you know.
It is strictly closed awareness context.
And it doesn't matter anyhow.

felt strong and weak
like a paradoxical spirit
walking between the lines of
yes i do and no i don't

felt like a skyscraper
among all the other concrete mountains
blending in, sticking out
windows open, blinds shut
walls untouched by rain, but
the water still falls in through the gaping frames
and onto the floor
seeping into the surface in patterns of
yes i do and no i don't

felt like a city among many
like one among thousands
like the only one with my mind cut open
like the only one thinking
real thoughts

my real thoughts
have not yet been made material
are they still real?
yes they are or no they're not

all i'm really looking for
is an answer

Tying off every sentence
Before formation
You leave so many knots to develop
Forming a physical
Representation
Of deeper ires and darker fears
Than that which crosses
Daily paths

So many rescinds
It begins to feel
Ordinary
To reject and pull out
Of living these
Daily paths

Soon the ache transcends
Mentality, emotional core
Shivers itself down
Strips and tears itself out
Emerging as
A surface twitch
Developing to
Repetitive kinks
Growing cancerous hives, you carry monstrous minds
Hulking demons that force you
From daily paths