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Aaron Feb 28
Guess you're gone again
Watched you walk away;
You always said breathe out then in;
Know you'll be back someday.

Same seeks same to find its home
Not meant to chase the vogue
Some souls are surely made to roam
Rebel always chooses Rogue.

And rebels need a reason
We can’t abide bad laws; yet
Against the heart there is no treason
When standing for a Cause.

Always loved unspoken things
Like the thrill of open sky
Every bird must find its wings
To let go of fear and finally fly.

Beneath your chest there beats a fire
A powerful creature that needs to be free
Weave these words into the pyre
This is who you’re meant to be.


And I refuse to be your cage,
Won’t bind your feet or blind your soul
Won’t consign you to dance on broken stage, ‘cos
You’re meant for more than that role.

Can’t hide a sky of stars in a box
Can’t bottle a boundless tide,
Can’t block nature behind black locks,
Though I’m ashamed to say I’ve tried.

If you must fade to find your grace
Because you’re made of art,
Just know you always have a place
Wherever waits this heart.

So,
You’re always free to go, and
Seek each untraveled road;
Build your dream abode.

Just please hear this song
That I’ve been singing all along:
I’ll always prove your fears were wrong, for
Some things will not erode.
Aaron Feb 23
I won't play by the rules of the game; hate will not become me. If you ever go into that darkest spiral where you feel you are a grenade and so you push everyone away and then feel that next wave of despair that is utter loneliness at the seeming-realization that you have cut out everyone you love in your life - if that ever happens to you and you reach that stage of existential loneliness in a vacuum of infinity - you're not alone. You're not abandoned. It will not push me away. If you ever feel like you're unreal, come find me. I'll always listen.
Aaron Feb 21
Is anyone real out there?
What a horrible question to tear
Apart this life,
Which always rhymes with strife
Because there's a limited number of ways
To say we're running short of plays
To fill these broken days

I don't think I'm better than anyone
I don't think I'm magically The One
But I also don't feel real
And here's the whole spiel

Maybe these bones are made to rust
At the intersection of fear and trust
'Cos all this pain is just reflection
Every fear is just projection
Insanity - I cannot condone
If we want to be free, do we have to be alone?

Whatever else is true, whatever ways I'll rot -
I truly love you; words are all I've got
The 4's attachment is being broken;
All that's expressed is just a token
I can only show the 2d shell
And so I Truly wish you well
But I'd sooner save you from this spell

Hey broken one: are you reading yet?
This is for you, so don't forget
The rhythm doesn't matter
All words will fade, left in tatters

And though this path we can't condone
I swear to you: you're not alone.
You're somewhere amidst the thought and ****;
I bid to you: please stop and look

The slightest difference between we:
I'm a permutation of thee
I know the things you cannot say
I, too, seek each shattered Way
Combing The NeverNever every day
For another reason to stay.

I know you fear you've fallen wrong,
But there's meaning in your song;
Long past the end of time,
What's true will shine through every rhyme.
Because I know you'll stalk me someday; the curiosity won't let you stay at bay.
Aaron Feb 21
So this is what inspiration feels like:
When it's come time to take a hike,
And every fork is a new road to take
Every choice is another path to make
Every word is another leaf to rake
Every thought is free -
What a wonderful gift for me.

The mind is strong, so
No thoughts are wrong
Or out of place;
Fear bites no grace.

To those who choose just love:
Your light outshines the dove;
'Cos for all that you may know,
You still make room for worlds to grow.
Aaron Feb 19
I could sit and stare,
And bide my time;
Thoughts rip and tear,
And try to rhyme.

Somehow it seems so strange
That though we poets,
Filled with strands of gold or gray,
Can rarely find a way to say
What's truly on our minds;
We're too caught up in the blinds.

Perfection is a savage curse,
But self-rejection's even worse.

Maybe it's okay to be afraid;
You can't pick and choose what to feel;
Know your soul's not being weighed, so
Put pen to page and just be real.
Aaron Feb 19
I wanna write in the bath
Just to prove I can,
So I am;
No clue what I'll say,
But that's okay;
I don't need an in to win;
I just gotta play.

Language conquers mind;
Maybe we're all too blind
From the search for a metaphor,
A greater meaning, a Something More;
I wonder what we might be
Without the concept of you vs me?
I give up on titles
Aaron Feb 18
I won't write a story of perfect love,
Where we sing our praise to the heavens above;
Where blue skies fill every day,
And there's no such thing as gray.

I won't write a story with only white,
For there's equal meaning in the night;
Perhaps the point of a plight,
Is to prove you're prepared to fight.

I won't write a story where there's no dark;
For though each moment leaves its mark,
It merely makes the light matter more,
And instills an essence never seen before.

I won't write a story without dejection,
For it could never be true;
But what need have I of perfection,
As long as I have you?
Aaron Feb 18
Perhaps I struggle to find the phrase
To set the strands of your soul ablaze
Because when I look at you, I gaze
Into something so much more

How could any worldly rhythm
Though surely bright and strong
Dare dream define such a prism?
You are more than form; you’re song

You are the sound of the galaxy
Dancing through the sky
I dreamed of such a fantasy
And yet you dreamed of I.

No words, no song, no rhyme
Nor thought, nor dream, nor time
Could ever be enough.

You are my beautiful impossibility,
My miracle, my spiritual key;
You are my partner and my very best friend,
And I walk with you without end.
Aaron Feb 18
How to Be a Poet
(After Wendell Berry)

To be a poet is not just to write poetry. To be a poet is not to refuse to look at a computer screen. To be a poet is not to find some structured, patterned language in which to fit a thought.
To be a poet: accept. Qualia is a term that defines the unique experience of how our senses manifest. We may both agree that this text is black, but how can we know that I see the same shade of black as you do? To be a poet: accept that all perspectives have value.
To be a poet: listen. Listen to the unbalanced grating of the washer machine thrown slightly off its axis; listen to the blanket of sounds caressing your skin as you sit on the bus. Listen to the sounds and dreams of the world around you.
To be a poet: think. Think of the way the tap of fingers feel against your jeans; think of all those little projects you never quite managed to follow. Think of all those thoughts you were scared to acknowledge.
To be a poet: feel. Feel for the smiles and the averted eyes; feel for the lost souls and the newlyweds. Feel sunshine on your face, feel wind brushing against your jacket. Just feel.
To be a poet: dream. Dream and don’t stop. Dream about dreaming. Dream about running away. Dream about getting more sleep. Dream with such reverence that others start to dream again too.  
Some days you may not have a pen. Some days you may not have a computer. Some days may be bright and warm, others dark and cold. Being a poet is not about meeting certain conditions; being a poet is about finding meaning in what exists.
This was a school assignment~
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