Feed the pure,
As they come to your door.
You feel the need,
To sow the seeds,
To see golden corn sprout from bald heads.
They turn to you, with silent open hands,
Offering you nothing in return but the purity you have longed for forever,
You will wash their robes and days old socks.
Homemade meals in a lunch box,
Pasta to microwave for you still don’t trust them, not to live off junk under cosy rags.
On trains, back to the houses of wisdom.
That use your gold to uphold their roofs.
For Marx and ideals that exist just as dreams, they burn with sin when such tongues leave the gate.
You look on, because you think it’s too late.

Leading chance perchance to get
I try to find what's forward set
And all for those who created me
On the road I go and seemed to be
I easily stumble and lose my whit,
And I doubt myself, but I can do it.

Creating a path with leaps and bounds
Now hense I go forth, no turning around
But if I could I would look back
Upon the choices which I am set
I easily stumble and lose my whit,
And I doubt myself, but I can do it.

And if I try I might just take
A moment to think, or stop and break
Break from a path which I pushed forth
Upon those supportive of my chosen course
I easily stumble and lose my whit,
And I doubt myself, but I can do it.

I look back with stupor at how I got away
But I must treck on like any other day
The more I wonder, the more I trip
The further I question my kinship
I easily stumble and lose my whit,
I doubt myself, can I do it?

I got drunk with your ghost last night.
Our demons were in attendance,
and we played stupid games
like Edward 40-hands
and cheers to the governor.
We stuffed our faces
with your namesake and
I tripped over your shoes
and fell face-first into the concrete
that lines the bottom of your garage.
I put a nice ****
in my right knee,
just like our college days.
I watched the blood poor out
as they all laughed
at my clumsy tendencies.

But you cleaned me up
that oozing cut,
and you told me everyone around you
was a sham
and wouldn't care if you drove
yourself off the road
but what you didn't know
was that when I woke up
and you weren't there
I was screaming out
that I could have
done something.

The other day I looked at some photos,
Memories played before me as if they were live.
How funny the way time moves and the way life goes,
What feels like a day was really 365.

So much can change in a year.
What you want, who you love, what you fear,
365 days can either give or take away all you hold dear.

For me, a year has brought me plenty,
New hair, new friends, another year in my 20s.

But what a year hasn't changed,
Is the way that I feel.
Between you and I, no words have been exchanged,
A year has done nothing, no wounds have been able to heal.

Some nights I'll look again at those photos and still shed a tear.
In time things will get better, check back again this time next year.

Don’t expect me to say “I’m okay,”
because I started to go to therapy.

Don’t expect me to smile
because I stopped hurting myself.

Don’t expect me to heal
when I can’t go a day without the thought.

Don’t expect anything from me,
you’ll be greatly disappointed.

And don’t expect me to say thank you
when you stay,
I’m too selfish to say anything.

Or maybe I can’t talk, move my lips to form words,
haven’t you noticed?

And now that I’m here,
I can’t even cry without fear cradled next to the tears.
No, no crying for me. Not again.

Don’t expect me to leave my dorm,
When out there, I can’t hear their voices,
because somehow those who don’t know anything about me
make me the most comfortable.

Don’t expect me to say the truth “I’m empty and lost and emotionless and apathetic and so full of nothing, I don’t know how to break,”
because I go out from my dorm
or go to class or any of the clubs.

And expect me to say “I’m fine.”

Someone told me in English 254
"We don't give anything value without disaster"
and I found it to be true.
In American Society we label disaster
with monuments of metal and stone.
and then forget about the spaces between
trees
            and the wild open ranges.
And in class,
                         we moved on,
to talking about                                     fish and enjambment.

If I knew, maybe I’d say something,
Why I miss my cats more than my parents
Why I miss the teal walls of my room and the full sized bed
more than I miss my family.
Why I miss the green trees and ravine behind my house,
all I hear is a withering beeping outside my five story window.

This room is so small
and I have to bear it with another
and although she and I get along,
Alone is weighted with wondering when she’ll be back.

Home is more an empty house than a room full of family.
Home is less talk and more birdsong in the background.
Home is…

Not these tight corners and partying bellowing music down in room 809,
not the concrete walls painted white, or the lofted beds I can’t sit up straight.

Getting away from my family was easy,
and my friends hard.
Leaving was easy.
And wishing hard.

I feel, less independent,
there’s only so many places to walk.
No car to escape, nor a room either.

The closest I get is headphones and online friends.
And yet they are so far away.

My first memory,
Our dog, Maxine
Trying to jump up on to my changing table.
She couldn’t breathe,
She was laughing so hard.

It was Take your daughter to work day.
She got to peer from the side of a Skyscraper
And imagine what all the people were doing
And imagine Herself grown up
And doing important things too.

Her parents were split up
But when She turned eight they spent the day together.
They went to the restaurant She liked and
Visited the Smithsonian.
They all laughed at dumb jokes
And She went to bed feeling warm.

When She was in Middle School
She didn’t like her parents anymore.
She went to a sleepover with strangers
And watched Titanic and made a friend.
It felt like how the teenagers must have felt
In the movies.

Before She left She felt like a kid again.
Not the same, but with the same potential,
Peering ahead at life’s possibilities.
She got drunk with Her friends and
Laughed and recounted all of the
Beautiful nights.

I sit and I try to remember
All of the times I was happy.
Then I feel all of the weight
Of my entire history
The past that is gone
And the future I can’t achieve
Plundering like sand through my hands.

How dare she be allowed to laugh?

my education has turned into a
competition i never agreed to enter.
i don't hate learning, but i hate
being taught by teachers who don't
care who really just work here
so they can coach.
everyone says, its preparing
you for the real world.
so the first 13 years of my education
is just a trial run?
i don't know what day of the week
or month it is, i think in test dates
and deadlines.
they say you need a good ACT/SAT
score to get into a good college.
fun fact: only 21% of people work
in the area that they majored in.
they make it seem like everything
is depending on this test.
i don't know how much
longer i can handle this weight
and pressure to perform.
i used to be gifted way back when
but now i'm not because i wan't
continually challenged.
i just need to make it through
this semester, then it'll be over for
a couple months, then the cycle
will start again...