One thousand shoes on the ground around me,
Filled by strange creatures,
All on their own mission.
Success?
Failure?
Up to them.
Just breath.
One more day.
One more day.
On more year.
On more year...

As the center splits
A chasm, wind and water...
God ******, again!?

A meet
in hills
with locust
swam her
strain in
a frost
froze bosh
laid wish
went nil
and trail
aside her
was nothing
more than
my escape
in afternoons
of dust
bearing gravel

Hi

It seems like you no longer need me

That's okay, I know I no longer fit. You've outgrown me, worn me out, and I do look tired.

We've gone on many adventures you see, to places we thought we'd never reach, heights we'd never climb, views that were only sublime

Were you tired along the way? I bet you were. Tell me, don't be shy. We've come a very long way, you and I

But don't worry about me if you'd like a change. Another may carry you longer, and even farther, you may even feel you've grown stronger.

You'd go many paths and crossroads, rivers and seas, upon many paths right through the trees

And that's okay, because I've served my purpose after all, when you jumped and stomped and walked and ran, i took the fall

But if you want to go on adventures again, I'll be there, in all the places you'd expect me to be. They won't be the same, you may not feel the originality

You may feel bored with it,
And all it would be is familiar
Never feeling the same kind of free

But look, see, I have no holes in me,
I look tired but there's still durability
If you fuss and twitch, i may still mold to your feet

Because you were meant to go the distance
And i was meant to adjust
But that's just the way it is
And can never be the way it was.

There are two types of people in the world.
People who don’t have enough shoes
and people who…

There is one type of people in the world.
People who don’t have enough shoes.

The poorest people dream
of one pair of shoes-
a right and a left,
a pride to possess.
The not-so-poor-people dream
of two pair of shoes –
one pair for casual,
one pair for dress.

The not-so-poor-
but-not-so-rich people dream
of four pair of shoes-
one black and one brown,
one to walk and one for play.
The not-rich-but-better-off-
than-the-not-poor people dream
of multiple matching shoes-
one for each outfit,
a new pair each day.

The richest people dream
of endless lots of shoes-
two for every outfit
winter, spring, summer and fall,
some that match their pets
and some match nothing at all.

Yes, there is one kind of people in the world.
The kind who love shoes,
and that makes us the same
black, white, yellow or blue.
So, let’s love all people,
people with shoes.
And give shoes to the shoeless
so they can be loved, too.

Ode to my depression.
Applause to you, my friend.
Lightning strike,
Grey plaid,
Everything oh so bad,
To you,
Depression.
Sharp knife,
Locked door,
No, mom,
I'm not taking nudes.
There was a time when I was 15 and my younger sister joked I was going to become an addict of some sorts,
And I joked back with,
"As an alcoholic."
The look of appeasement trying to joke with me wiped off her face,
Whether I could tell I was joking or not made me question my entire existence.
An avid life of a drinker was not full of red solo cups and parties,
It was full of lonely nights clutching a bottle closely to my chest,
Afraid that it will grow legs and leave me,
Tired of the way my lips caressed the opening to drink the poison that I hoped would succumb me into nothingness.
Much like you,
My darling,
Growing tired and ever weary of the way my grey plaid shirt resembled so much like your heart,
The way lightning struck the ground like your eyes struck me in awe.
I spend my days binge watching shows with endings I have already seen a thousand times,
But what do I do when checking my phone every two minutes becomes routine,
When refreshing my messages becomes apart of my subconsciousness,
When I've drank black coffee so strong that I no longer feel the rush of alertness.
Subway trains echo with the tired grumbles of those stuck in one-frame lives,
Too tired to move forward,
Too stuck to look away from the past.
I know I mean nothing to you just like the dirt beneath the shoes I bought you,
The phone I changed my wallpaper on because it never felt right,
The google browsers cluttered with things like,
"******* yourself without actually dying."
I've become so easily submerged in mundane society,
Routine,
Routine,
Routine.
Wake up,
Drink coffee,
Forget to shower,
Walk out the door,
Hoping my world ends.
Taking that locked door to my bathroom at two in the morning,
Holding a knife with a not-so-ever gentle hand,
My mother knocking on the door I have collapsed upon.
Mother,
I am tired,
But you do not get when I say I am tired.
You do not notice my window covered,
My lights turned off,
My settings on the lowest possible in hopes that heartbreak will never find me,
But the bright light from my phone screen is still too bright and the picture of you while I'm scrolling though my feed on Instagram stops my heart.
My lungs no longer work,
My body goes numb,
Tears that I thought I had run out of the night before have returned.
All I feel is the chest splitting pain that seems to resonate through my body,
Trailing down into my fingertips,
Hands tingling from the absence of your hand in mine.
So I roll over,
Turn off my phone,
I whisper a goodnight.

today i was tying my shoes
and i was thinking that we're oil drops
on the surface of the reality