Tears weren't enough of a release for me.
They told me to cry, to get it out,
that it would heal me, but it only worsened
the state of melancholy I had found myself
to be drowning in.

A state that I had thought I wouldn't reach
once more, but that revelation had
soon shifted into a paradoxical
entity of truth.

Tears were simply an expression of
what I couldn't hold back.
They were droplets of guilt,
embarrassment, and inadequacy.
They were my tears, and I had felt
them trickle down my reddened and
sensitive flesh; they felt like home.

They were my physical rationale
for pain; a liquid that only
made an appearance when I
was weak enough to let it fall.

Pain was normal, but not this type of pain.
This pain was desolation.
It was alienation.
It was abandonment.
It was forlorn.
It was tenebrous,
and it was mine to bare.

It was on full display just as the
crucifixion of my emotions were.
The nails tore into the soft
rivets of my trust,
the wood planked against
my frame of my affection,
and the crown of thorns twisted
and entrapped my head of
kindness and docility.

Your touch lingers on me, it burns my skin in a way the heavens could never heal.

   Even the divine impunity of the whitest rays couldn't cool the blistering touch you left, for they weren't strong enough to win the battle.

   Your touch was that of darkness, but it had its own light of onyx, one so abrupt and real that it held me captive, for no one's touch could suffice to yours.

Gravitational forces
towards something better
as if it exists
buried beneath
some distant desert

what is it
that strains to convey
itself
in this broken poetry
as if truth were at
the tip of its tongue

perhaps it's to feel real
for only a moment
to escape the routine
of making a living
which only yields
a skeleton
compacted in dirt

Take my writing
let it fly upon the wind
let it touch the four corners
of Earth's spiritless surface
Take it farther!
upon the wings of doves
and sound waves of conversation
to red and gaseous planets
let even the martian men
attempt to
translate

I'm flipping through the vinyl at the vintage record store even though I haven't a penny in my pocket to spend.

The owner doesn't ever seem to mind that I am all the time hanging out there browsing.

All the music of my life is there.

Sometimes it makes me sad;
Sometimes it makes me happy.
It always makes me feel something,
But it never fails to quiver my eyes.

I knew the band was touring.
I heard they were coming soon,
That classic rock salvation
Is the only thing that sooths.

I could have fell
Right to the floor,
When rock and roll
Came through the door.

Have you ever seen an idol?
I mean, shining like a god
In glistening southern heat?
I pray to God our eyes don't meet.

He had a flowing tunic,
And a top hat on his fluffy mane.
A small entourage was with him.
His eyes were above his darkened shades.

I gasped and said a swear word that I could not keep inside.
Over stacked of dingy cardboard boxes he saw me,
I tried to beg apology but could not speak;
My legs were petrified.

In my chest my heart was pounding,
Sounding like the beating of a drum that timed each step that he took, as he walked around the musical maze to the spot where I was frozen.

Have you ever met an idol?
Someone who is more than just a man?
Someone who has the message of a poet,
And seems to understand like no-one can?

I forced myself to look away,
Looking down to the floor.
I hate that in this moment
I am so vulnerable,
And I love that my nerves are open raw.

I cannot believe all I can do is panic
And I know he must see that I am pathetic.
My soul is naked in his sight.

I know there is no possible way
I can recover from my shame.
I tremble when he puts his hand upon my shoulder
And tell me he understands, that it's alright,
Tells me him in the eye.

I am so close I can see the pores between the stubble on his face.

He asks me how I'm doing, now.
I tell him that my brother should be the one he is meeting.
He is older, and better and more steady in his grip. My brother loved him first because my mother used to play his songs. That's how I came to love him, too.
My brother is more a man than I.

He tells me that my brother isn't here.
That this is just the way it's meant to be,
This charity, serendipity.

He tells me he is honored I'm a fan
Of his music, and he's glad I like the band.

He ask me if I'm coming to the show.
I change my gaze to see the band behind him.
I tell him that I tried, I really tried.
I wanted to so bad. I had no money.
I've been out here on the streets for quite a while.
And, God, I cannot feel this moment.
Everything seems like it's going.
I cannot help but give my life to him.

Take a breath, he calmy tells me.
He holds his hand out to the side.
He signals with his beautiful *******.
What is happening?

And I ask him

"Have you ever met an idol
Someone you wish maybe you could be?
Or were you always beautiful,
Never just a runaway like me?"

He put the tickets in my hand and
Folds his over mine
And takes my hand as if we were praying.
Nobody is a nobody,
His eyes said to mine.
I can see he knows I understand.

He told me that he looked forward to seeing me in the front row.

i can’t remember how many times i’ve been told
that the language of love is all i speak.
i laugh and say that
“i am a poet,
young love and
dead love and
to-the-grave love,
i sing of them as i sleep
and dream of them once i wake.”

we as poets surely know that
no amount of unsent letters
will bring her back to bed.
we know that we cannot charm our ways
into the hearts of anyone worthwhile
with our words alone.
and we know that cigarettes aren’t cute and
that pregnant women never drink alone
and that tripping on acid is not poetic,
it’s just really freaking stupid.

let me know why no one writes poetry
to commend the humble playground swing
who hardly even creaks in dissent as
another parent plops another screaming baby onto it.
and it pains this poor swing that
Daddy gets to be so blissfully unaware
of the very full and angry diaper,
and that they are the one to stare it in the face
because that’s just what swings do.
we could spin this tale into a revolution
if we cared a little less about our next first kiss.

when the pen meets the paper,
we find it easy to forget about
the girl gazing deep into her soup
because instead of boy-watching,
she is wishing death on her mother
for adding the lentils but forgetting the peas.

the great poets of ages past and present
make every bathroom trip a journey.
panicked sprints to catch the bus
are part of God’s plan, no doubt.
and she only hated the sweater you bought her
to celebrate her summer birthday because
“it was the very same shade of gray
that painted the sky when her boyfriend
traded her in for a broad with thicker thighs
or maybe even for a guy with socks twice as high”.

dear poets, for the love of love,
please don’t drown in her eyes anymore
because i won’t be there to rescue you again.
quit searching her freckles
for constellations in the dark
and just relax for once.
enjoy how naked she is.
and don’t say that the moon
is your old friend from high school
unless the yearbook photos can prove it.

these mountains in our minds
have every right to be molehills,
and sometimes it’s okay to
let the ocean just be the ocean.

Don't you dare give me the cold shoulder, because I've told you, I don't like it when you hold it all in.
Information's my key, so don't keep it from me, cause honestly, I want to know what's in your head.
And are you aching, constantly breaking, faking, and I don't know what I'm supposed to believe.
The truth is in your eyes, I don't want to see you cry, simply lies to cover up your privacy.

But baby don't you wish that we....

Could talk.

Something with origin, or something without?
Mad screaming atoms amassing together?
Or multiplying genders that rain in the weather?
Righteous knights armed back at the heretics?
Evolution gone wrong by genes you inherited?
***** to be. ***** not to be. I want s'mores.

I've had more than my share of news.
My pocket watch doesn't have a snooze.
I tried to get by the right way,
But the world's a society.
Somebody's getting burned
But it won't be me.

The slickest part of the granite is mine.
Stay on your side of the line,
Unless you get a clear invite.
No chance of that except in dead of night.
Somebody's getting burned
But it won't be me.

I don't want to take the blame
Of being foolish to your game.
I have heard it all before
And there's no use coming back for more.
Somebody's getting burned
But it won't be me.

The fragile nature of your face
Needs to look elsewhere for grace.
I am not the savior of souls
Though I've collected many tolls.
Somebody's getting burned
But it won't be me.

Are my lines straight as a curve
Or do I need to write more words?
I don't need to cease the day.
I just lock my heart away.
Somebody's getting burned
But it won't be me.

I've been lit by the candle's light
Buy the late night love of Mr. Right.
As solid as the moment was,
It wasn't even really love.
Somebody's getting burned
But it won't be me.

I go to where from angels flee
In their fits of jealousy.
I do whatev' I **** well please;
I'm stormy waters of the sea.
Somebody's getting burned
But it won't be me.

One day the one that set the course
Of my hardened tour de force
Will write me of a wedding day,
Some good came of sending me away.
Somebody's getting burned
But it won't be me.