today,
i passed by a stranger.

she looked worried,
eyebrows bunched together forming little lines in between.

today,
i passed by the same stranger.

she look tired,
skin pale and lips peeling.

today,
i passed by the stranger once again.

she looked happy,
eyes as bright as the sun and teeth baring its refreshing white.

today,
i realized time does wonders for everyone.

the gray, dull me a few days ago was replaced by the shocking yellow i am and will forever be.

I am too many different people for you to ever comprehend
each turn I take, each time I wake, a different voice is in my head.
I think I'm  here, beneath it all, but I can't really tell.
I am an unreliable narrator even to myself.

A peg of person
Hanging on my word
Show'd itself to me
Wooden, carved roughly
Surfaced on linen, varnish
Shallowed man.

He felt nothing to me, at me
He told me riddle body *****
I ignored, bored hated words of worry
But felt them myself, little
Anti-anti-anticipations
And trembling lumps of merryweather met us

But we came to a pond, and drank the green green wealth
We spun a little, splashed like ripples do
Onto a blank canvas of a conversation
Muddy murky words came out
'*** *** ***' little bee, buzz for pollen, buzz for me
I couldn't. I'm not.

I'm not another, you're different, distinto
I'm feeling nothing, angsty man,
Through rides and fairgrounds together
I found a lost child, and he set me
I told you who I am and I found me.

Roughly cut, varnished wooden man
Burned in envy, dusted away
I felt nothing, watched his anguish
And figured, hammered, rutted out
A sense of self-belonging,
I guess we don't belong, I guess we make our own self-pity,
But at least we know.

I said goodbye, he did not, I left the day before yesterday
I wrote a confusing poem to figure it out
And people read it
Quietly I confined myself to words and Bibles written for me
For a bitter version of myself
I burned away, burned away,
Burned my, burned my burned away.

being
a good person
when you don't want to be
good
is easier
than being mean
even though
your blood is
boiling

I want to speak French, and read more, and wear suits more often but in a casual way, and also wear a watch, and design book covers as a side job, while working for and helping children who don’t have great homes.
I want to be a morally better person, and live life to its fullest potential, and stay in shape because I want to live long, and not because I want to look good. I want to be able to have a great time and remember it, I want to remember to take my meds every day for so long that it becomes part of me and I am finally better, I want to be in a triathlon.
I want to create art that makes you feel so alone that you don’t care what happens next, but make music that makes you want to live forever because there will never be enough time to experience everything you want to feel. I want to share moments with strangers that make us life long friends. I want to feel things I’ve never even thought were possible, and fall in love with people that I didn’t even think exist.

That one perfect person
When you lock eyes for the first time
When she smiles and you blush
When she has a boyfriend but you know the truth
That one perfect person

When Christianity can't hold you back
When you long for your skin to touch
Her lips on yours yet it's on someone else's
A man when you know she isn't into it
That one perfect person

When you hang with her and she to he's your hand
When you find each other's eyes and intertwine fingers
When the last second before you can't breathe is masked with her sent
That one perfect person

When you wake up beside her and all you can say is I love you but she is in a rush to get home
When you know her boyfriend is not a friend at all
Yeah, that one perfect person isn't so perfect after all.

those who like to clean and scrub,
are you really cleaning?
are you really scrubbing?

Did you find something worth scrubbing?
Was it a love letter, a ******, an incriminating photo, was it drugs? was it nothing to you but the world to someone else?
Did you clean the love letter by shredding it or throwing it in the trash? Did you save the ****** in a plastic bag?
Wonders of what you did with the photo
And the drugs, well we all know what that you smoked-- i mean cleaned

When you were finished, did you tell the person what you did? Or let them come home to a place where everything was rearranged and scrubbed.

Did you notice when they ignored you and didn't thank you for your cleaning services?

I wonder often what satisfies a scrubber. Is it the control you get from knowing all you can know about a person? Is it the feeling you get when you've finished scrubbing all the dirt off?
I wonder often what satisfies a cleaner. Is it the notion that you're bettering someones life when you've just erased the whole of them? Is it the thought that when you put them in new clothes, they shine.

Do you think you are making them the image of what you've scrubbed?

those who clean and scrub,
are you really cleaning and are you really scrubbing?
I think that you are.

When you're in attention
We learn how to do the same
When you on stage gives speech
We are hearing from the best
Your contribution, your building
Teach yours, your donation
We accept all done
Gurudev, we love you