my life is a rollercoaster
point blank period
I always know what fearlessness is
I always understand the rush of belief
but sometimes I want everything to stop
to exist in a pocket of time, to do whatever I like
not be pushed and pulled
hauled and trawled
stalled and enthralled
if I had a penny for every scream
I would be able to relish in greed
I am so envious, what would it be like not to live like this
but this is me and I am incomplete without the rollercoaster
so I guess I have to enjoy my sh*t

it's your arms.. and your face
it's your body... and your warm embrace
it's your lips... and the heart I trace

Fatal position but not the same
Somehow different, but consistent
The ying to my yang, opposition
Usually tame but feeling open
Nuclear Nectarine; our bodies are fluent
In speech beyond movements eat into my aura
Love beyond emotion dive into my pandora
The love conceiving anew, the bloom of flora

So scary but so sweet, so foreign to me
The bomb discreet, explode onto me
Grip my body as you reaching the peak
Don't let your ego control you let your soul speak
Nuclear Nectarine

Attendees at the game of the gods,
come in three
Pythogorean sorts:
First kinds are the lovers of wisdom,
the second are the lovers of honor and
the third are the lovers of gains. 
----------------
Ah, now, now

There is a demon
of the old kind attempting me
to lashout
my flagella and wipe my competitors from the stream
in this
only race that counts,

first and only, no second place in this race
to pass
through
into the egg, where life, as we know it begins.

All I brought, my entire being
as a cellulate entity with a will to win, is absorbed into
her.

Here, she perfects that which concerns me,
my will is done. I won.

Or did the others fail? Should I have slowed and let
another pierce this egg

and marvel at its works, while I am left useless forever?

Nay, or why would I retain this will to win?
Or this will to
calmly carry on, knowing now, this final phase in the course
of compleat being becoming,

slow and steady sets the pace,

right

up to now, k-pow, push meets shove and I win again,
recalling the joy when
I, the wiggly carrier of all that made me possible,

pass through your attentive staring, sorting egg-eye
maybe,

osmotical magical silliness wells up in me.

I was chosen. Or formed to fit, this
complex knot
lock meet for me, the key
ingredi-ant,

in ever stories provoking old men to grow on.
----------
Strange though it be, true,
Isaac Bashevis Singer inspires me, with words he left behind
for just this reason.

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/IsaacBashevisSinger>

Jerusalem, will of Man, of Ishmael, and not Isaac
Dome of the Rock and not House of God
A constant thorn and not peace of the Earth
We weep as those who wept at the Second Temple

Jerusalem, a lure, a trap, a stumbling block, a sieve
******* to false prophets and worldly kings
As Ishmael sent away, so shall Jerusalem be exiled
For One greater than the Temple is here: Immanuel

Jerusalem, Bride of God, shall descend from above
Trumpet blasts in skies, the world shall see and mourn
All Israel gathered and her enemies judged
The kingdom of the world becomes the kingdom of God

Why Newton would tell you not to wear a seat belt

Going two miles-per-hour you’ll hurt yourself casually,
But if you add a zero to that you will be hurt incredibly.
Fine day we’re having, sure but the roads do look nasty.
No i’m sure it’ll be fine. But little did they know
their brains are soon to look like,
Well, dead brains.

Speeding two-zero-miles-per-hour,
Then in a flash, hearing scorn from Simon Cowl.
They’re in hell now,
Feeling very dead now.
This poem is deteriorating.
But it still rhymes.
So entertaining.

Until I lose my voice
and no one listens
the unsaid words of love
will accumulate
inside me,
and will appear on my face
like the flashes
from an electronic sign
whose bulbs have all blown
except for two or three
intermittently appearing
like a code
that no one but you
understands.

Until I lose my mind
with no one's help
the unthought thoughts
will accumulate
and be sacrificed
like my greatgrandfather,
an Isaac who wasn't spared.
And I, an Isaac who was,
was born under the sign of the ram,
to be sacrificed in other ways.

While Abraham was binding Isaac
to Mount Moriah he was interrupted by
a knock at the door.
         "Who could this be?" he thought.
         "We don't even own a door," he cried.
So he continued binding Isaac to the
altar. Again, a knock that could make
the deaf hear. Abraham had to stop
and look for the door.
          He yelled, "Leave me alone, I'm doing
God's work!" and returned to continue
the akedah. And again a knock interrupted
him, and again, and again---Abraham
did not know what to do, whether to laugh
or to cry.
           And then he thought: "This will be
the history of my children. When we will
be doing our work or God's work there will
always come a knock at the door to interrupt
us...whether we own a door or not." And
it came to pass that the history of the Jews
is a history of interruptions.

I keep planning conversations in my head
About pointless things or serious things
Ideas and planning
I always end up talking to you
I play a movie in my head of the scenes that might happen with every move I make
I think about what I would say and do if I got married to you " **** them all we did it!"
Or the conversation I would have if I met your dad and I was telling him what I liked to do "well that's a tough question I have a lot of angles to me"
Or the tougher conversations
Like having the conversation about us being official " this would be easier if we were ACTUALLY dating"
Most of these conversations never work out as planned, they never say the right things to set up my whole internal monologue and relinquish it all at once in a rehearsed flood.
I care about having the conversation that I think most about
"Can you stop being so mean?" "Can you stop lying to me?" "Tell me how you feel" "what do you want from me?" "Why do you even like me?" "Why did you come back into my life?" "Why can't you tell me how much you love me all the time?" "Why don't you ever tell me you're sorry?"
But I never get an answer in my head or in my life
It's just another one-sided conversation that I will have in my head

your a god
but my legs will always be better

I'm Isaac
I'm 6'6
I'm what you call well built
I can lift and throw well, 300+ pounds
I have dark hair and bright blue eyes
I'm bad at poetry..... :P