Center of the corridor
Sits a seat
One for those with immeasurable feats
It sits above the third floor

It is old and rusty
Wrinkled and dusty
He who rules from his Iron throne
Shall forever hear the ominous drone
Accompanied by sleepless nights
And dastardly fights

A king must be strong
Mentally ready to bear
Burdens of the chair
Must be able to right the wrong

He must Love, be feared
If these requirements have been cleared
He may sit in this throne
And call this place his home

As we float completely inept of our bodies and consciousness
we find a different, altered state of being, more pure, true, and free.
.
.
.
Free of judgement, free of harm.
Our souls at ease because of inebriation. Fear of hurt fear of pain.
Yet, that all seems meaningless and quite mortal.
For now we feel free, immortal and unchained from despair,
from life,
from disappointment
and also disappointing,
the ones we love,
the ones we hate
and even the ones we’re still meant to love
and those who love us.




For this universe is vast.
Greater than we could ever imagine.
For the love we have,
have lost
and are still to gain
is miniscule in comparison
to the history and future of our civilization and what we stand for.

According to Darwin we aren’t meant to live
yet according to Aristotle and Kant too
we are a species bread to survive.
To help one another for the greater good
and also to help one another for ourselves….
With pardon of course.
For what’s right to some
is foul to others and vice versa too.
We see the good in man
but the worst in women
and why can’t that be flipped.
For a man’s world
should be a banned world
and honestly a burned script.

right now would be a great time to write poetry
it’s past midnight, everyone is asleep
there is a pale blue light coming from the hallway bathroom
my thoughts are lingering in distant, buried places
recalling nightmares as dreams
drawing halos over the heads of humans
but i don’t want to
i am tired
and bored
and afraid my words will smell like stale clichés
maybe i can just dip my toes in reflective black holes
feel the coolness, the deadness
the other world i’m too afraid to fall into
like quicksand or riptides or working nine to five
maybe i can lean in, just enough, to get a glimpse
of what i do not want

i promise i don’t think of you.

I found out during class one day
That there’s no way to satisfy everyone
No matter what you say
Talk too much
Sullen eyes turned your way
Tucking away agreivement to mutter about later
Talk too little
They barely notice your presence
And eventually,
Slowly but surely
You’re gradually disincluded
No longer the one they think of
When they have nothing to think of you by
So where is the balance,
How do you satisfy everyone?
One can’t go about their life being apologetic
Although I’ve certainly tried
So isn’t it about time we stopped determining our self worth on what others think of us?