My adoptive father
(A week younger than I)
Who once dated my adoptive mother
(4 months younger than I)
Took us out to a posh joint in New Town
Where both of us took turns in being the clown
Taking the jester's, drama queen's crown
And taking down
Our Spanish waiter
Not sure if we did cater
More to them than they to us.
The racket, the drama, the jokes, the fuss,
My Instagram, and A.'s.
I remember his attempts to chase
Us, to gain to our level, to chat me up - make me leave trails
Of mirth tears, too, not just vinaigrette. "If the lady would give me her details...
Have my heart..."
(Serving four of a chicken on my plate)
"You broke my heart."
(Agreeing to and pulling off staging a "stage kiss" with my mate)
And they both admired my guns - He knew not to cross
Us. We're a dream team, my school-dad and I, no loss
For us, though we take Ls with smiles on our faces:
We'll keep on joking, laughing, irreverently, untying your laces,
Tripping up on our own but still making the trip;
And when the bill finally came, it was more than worth it, even the tip.

how do I leave a memory behind?
How can I be remembered by future generations to come?
This life, like an action series,
without bullets and a good plot,
A protagonist of a selfless drama
consisting of bad luck as an excuse
And love as a silver lining of hope
for a life that's worth not being remembered.

but alas it hit me
A way to mark your life story
a fallen man to be remembered
So, how?
"Be kind to those who deserve ,
be wise to apply a lesson and
provide wisdom for those who listen
and guard your trust not theirs."
A crowd can only notice a glance of your presence
but a small circle appreciates every bit of action
that will forever be put to heart every intentions
and that
can let them remember
not only your name
but a story of how you've risen
to become a good man

Let me breathe again
Make me calm and steady
These thoughts are heavy
Weighing me endlessly

My heart feels hollow
Im here drowning in sorrow
Waiting for myself to burrow
My past self demeanor

On the edge of sanity
Trying to be steady
I am falling from reality
This is driving me crazy

Make me breathe again
Hold me like there's no tomorrow
Let days pass and be over
Just you and me, together

But I am in pieces
Can't bring you down in the process
Dont be so reckless
Leave me and end this madness

This is the curse Im living
Regretting every single thing
Blaming my faults unto anything
Leave everything, breaking

I want to breathe again
Hoping this was all just a dream
But this is just a wishful thinking
When all I want is to be free

The subject of a painting
whether oil or watercolor or tempera
does not know she is in a painting.

She knows her past, whatever of it
her artist gave her when he brought her to life,
though (unbeknownst to her) she did not experience
any of it herself.

She was conceived a fully-grown woman,
so when the painting is one of hurt,
the subject sits in it from first brushstroke into infancy
(or until the work is burned in a **** fire--
though who knows if flames can destroy
consciousness given to an idea as
ephemeral as a painted girl?)

So forever she will lie in her sick bed,
languor in her grief,
swoon from the heat of the sun,
or cry at a grave site under the cover of darkness,
stand beside her husband stoically surveying her fields,
or weep at the feet of her son
as he dies nailed upon a tree, or
cry in pain as her womb expels an unborn babe.

But I-- one day I wake in another bed
or the same bed, on a different day
My injury, my pain that felt interminable,
is gone (or at least, eased) and I have
no gaps in my teeth.
I have left the painting
I have less pain,
a new life. A new day.

For me, the wheel keeps turning, for
I am not
the subject of a painting.
So, this too
I know, shall pass.
And for me the sun will rise again tomorrow.

Brother, your narcissism is mine inverted
I too almost started speaking with "I" or "My"
but I stayed quiet for a few seconds
I rolled those grindstones in my mind
wondering how much the other knows my faults
"Are they judging me now for my pauses
and speaking a bit out of one side of my mouth?"
So to seem like I'm in the moment
I focused on you first

You're the other way around though, aren't you?
It takes a lot out of you to stay quiet
but even more to act the part
cause you still think that everyone's out to judge
so you brag a strong case for yourself
amid the external world
You ask about others naturally
measure their power over you
Who can be your patsy
and who can you never ask for money?