how unlucky
Some people's cells are made of life
but they're not blessed to live
And some of us,
are forced to talk and smile
and shine and walk
and appear
-I want to disappear-
and dance and pretend
and again
and again
and-

All we want to do is fly
or die
It's pretty much the same thing
How unfair

a rise
Irondale as
home fries
are those
building law
in let
your love
of leaping
volt that
inquiry is
now our
world with
substance the
insistence only
flat with
an arc
of love

And so this is what it is
To want something so badly
I wish it never existed
To want something so badly
It is all that exists

Start existing outside of yourself,
Take a breath until the stress melts
You can't change the world in a single rotation
But you can change someone's life today,
I get a lot of nodding in affirmation
But when the train comes, they still sit at the station.
I understand the comfort zone, the bubble,
The look the other way from trouble
Billions of super hero fans standing,
I'm writing in hopes of a vigilante.

Start loving the person you are,
Forget the money, the job, the constant distraction.
Remember the kid you were, in a blur,
Now an adult being, trapped with morals
A fraction of the child you think back on.
You're never too far gone to retrace steps
All the amazing things you once thought,
They never disappeared, you just left,
Wondering if you've come back yet.

Start being.
Whatever you are or aren't
Aspire for greatness in whatever,
Even if that greatness is smiling for a minute,
Be in that minute and make it real,
Live to feel happiness and sorrow
And continue that existence into tomorrow.
I'm not looking to preach or teach
I just miss seeing emotion as I walk down the street
With a face in a phone and text in a speech.

you lay still and stretched out
in your backyard,
stars thriving leagues above you.

can you feel it?
the pulsing of the earth,
beneath your hands, your heels?
the feeling of drifting,
anchored firm but drowsily drifting:
this is how it feels to exist.

It is amazing, the life of a wave.
It takes forever to build up
and then once it finds its way to the beach,
is alive for only a couple seconds.
As beautiful as this sounds,
the act of the surfer is even more.
The wave exists momentarily
but while it does,
the surfer carves smooth silky lines into it
creating a form of art seen only by few.
After that, that single wave is gone forever;
It is not coming back.
The surfer will never surf that same wave again.
The life of the wave now only exists in memory.

Personally, I find nothing more beautiful than that.

B.K.