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.
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.
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.
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.