The apples tumble down the tree
We swim in the green sea.
That idyllic place
where the camera lens reflects
the sunlight against your eyes.
And doesn't predict our demise.
Or any little fights in between.
No arguments
about the shirt on your back
or the ***** you lack
or the picking up of the slack.
Who wants to hear that?
I want to be back on that picnic day.
No way.
No way anyone this perfect could love me.
No one so free.
No eyes as clear as the sea.
And that one time you pretended to be Ashley.
(How fun was that night?
You got us into bars,
played guitars,
and brought me to Mars?
****, what was in that?)
Don't ask me again,
why you think it isn't worth it.
The touch of her nose
some witty verbose
her hips like a rose
and that little way that she hiccups if she's had a little too much to drink and she starts to laugh really, really hard and it just kind of comes out and then you laugh harder and it just gets worse.
(I can't make this stuff up.)
I'd like to think of all of those things.
And I think you would too.
If love wasn't what we are fighting for,
then do we even have anything to lose?
Some green bills,
some overpriced pills,
a trophy for us today,
a sense of narcissism to stay.
So just try to love.
Because despite anything above,
We have this.
A dauntless, morning kiss.
a star upon which to wish,
a euphoria close to bliss.
Something to always miss.
And the pancakes at that place
and that look on your face.
Erase.
Erase anything else you need.
Trust me.
When you find her,
it won't matter.
You'll fight, and you'll tire,
there won't be any fuel for the fire.
But man,
those eyes that are clearer than the sea
are clearer than anything to me.

You would think that judging by my demeanor that life was fit, a bit pop, bubbly, all is good, feel good, real good, rainbow, gum drop, sunny side up, clouds never here, lets sit down and enjoy the never fading sunset, cheers.

But no, that's not really me, see, I struggle just like we all do. I fight just like we all do. I cry, I bleed and I try just like we all do. I travel down the beaten path often with the same people who assume I segway my way through life. No, I wish but i don't. I trip some times like you don't. I've been hung up to dry. I've let me tears fly. I've screamed at the top of my lungs **** LIFE like the rest do. Off the top of these concrete mountains but I'm careful not to fall off like some do. I've walked with a limp, asked for change for a change while I wait for my check just like some do. I look happy not because I want to hide, to put up a front and sell my good pickings. I have no shame in who I am and how I came about. I have no shame in the ladder I'm climbing or the shoes that I wear though when it comes to the latter it's not really a choice, I swear. I'm not a liar or a fake what you see is what you get.

I'm up front and what I said is what I meant, I'm up front. I dwell but I don't set up camp that's why im happy. I dislike but I don't hate that's why I'm happy. I sulk but I keep my back straight that's why I'm happy. I examine but I put the magnifying glass away that's why I'm happy. I'm happy but I'm not ignorant I know my place. I'm happy because life is amazing just look around. I'm happy because of the things we have. Check out this site, look what I found. You don't have to go far to find something amazing in this world. Just open your eyes. This is why I'm happy.

i killed
a man
so long
ago
and now
his blood
rolls down
my wrists
i don't
have holes
biting through
my hands
but there's holes
inside
my heart
and through
my thoughts.

*(e.f.)

It all began with a ‘he’
he who said I was pretty
  when my face turns sideways and
  the right amount of sunlight casts shadows
  on the planes of my cheeks
he who kissed me in 6th grade
  in front of my best friend – whom he used to date,
  his lips were cool and moist
  moist – it didn’t feel anything.
he who requested love songs during our high school intramurals
  when all of my friends and all of his friends
  cheer us up like we were the sweetest thing they’ve seen.
he who danced with me the whole night of our junior prom,
  my shoes dangling behind him, my arms and his arms were sweating
  he whispers now, “You look beautiful.”
he who gave me wilting flowers on the 15th of February
  because I skipped school – too scared to face the truth
  that no one would do what he just did. He proved me wrong.
he who said “I love you” too late.
he who said “I love you” too early.
He who made me believe that fate, destiny, sparks, forever, and all that *******
  were real, written in His holy book. Should I still believe in you?
he who said would wait – the next month telling me he realized
  it wasn’t me he was waiting for.
he who told me to stay.
he who left. he who never went back.
and oh – he
he who was never here in the first place.

it all began with a “she”
she who danced in front of the class
  with all her sass, snaps, and we laugh.
she whose hair used to be straight
  swaying down her waist, flows smoothly when she walks,
  falls perfectly down her collarbones. Let’s not start with collarbones.
she whose eyelids flutter like butterfly wings
  making the ones inside my stomach dance like hummingbird’s wings
  her eyelashes are thick, outlining her brown eyes – her perfect brown eyes.
she who throws he head back when she laughs
  not knowing I drift and crash back to the sea
  like a wave thrown back by her chuckles and laughter
she who reads and reads tons of books
  when she could write about her day
  and that’ll still be the greatest stories I could read
she who held me close when she stumbles towards the bus station
  when she’s drunk
she who wanted nothing between us – worried it will not work.
but she made the raindrops of yesterday meaningful
  so it could wash off all the hurt from everything, from everyone.
she who changed me. – no.
she who made me face the mirrors I’ve been running away from
  all those lies I’ve been hiding alone
  all those pain, all those bad memories
she washed them all away, like a hurricane
   she dragged my whole town with her
she who made me forget.
she who makes me ache at times but it’s the kind of ache
  you’d gladly take – a suffering worth all the suffering
she who outshined all of – in the best possible way I could imagine
she who made the stars insignificant.

It doesn’t end with a ‘he’
It doesn’t end with a ‘she’
it all ends up with a simple ‘who’
that person who will always come through
for you

I learned that love sometimes doesn’t last that long
sometimes it doesn’t even start at all.
But I know one thing, you cannot fight it.
I don’t know where – maybe in his hands
or in her eyes. It will make you move like you
have no choice at all – like a puppet stuck
******* and down nylon strings
by the puppeteer
dictating your life
like you have no choice, at all.

Ive never been much until You touched the crutch is gone and now im singing a brand new song You came along and took me from the grave You saved me!......
AND NOW I'M SO MUCH MORE! HOW CAN I AFFORD TO BE ANYTHING LESS THAN WHAT THE LORD HAS CALLED ME TO BE I AM FREE NO MORE SLAVERY BECAUSE OF HIS BRAVERY HE REACHED DOWN AND PLACED A CROWN UPON THIS HEAD I ONCE WAS DEAD BUT NOW I AM ALIVE IN CHRIST EVERY NIGHT I FIGHT THESE DEMONS THAT TRY TO PUSH ME DOWN SIX FEET UNDER THE GROUND SO I TURN AROUND, AND HEAR THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SOUND
I Love you more than you could ever understand you don't know what is going to happen but you know that I have a plan understand that my hand holds molds into the kind of man that can withstand the greatest attack, I GOT YOUR BACK I say to you there's nothing you lack
and how can I resist the love of a God who knows my deepest insides knows all my sin but tells me I can win in this competi-shin' for my soul I give You control and so, I'll never lose because I choose to follow You in all that I do...
In all that I do....
                             *in all that. I do.

It's too often in this life when we pretend
that every deep-end is a wading pool
and every fool with a dream
is a philosopher in disguise;
because we weave lies into silk and grieve
every time a tree falls with no-one around to hear
but we still appear to fear our past paths
more than our futures.

We live in a world built with false pretenses
and barbed wire fences,
but we still make wire cutters for every time
he mutters of freedom reached our ear.
We make the road ahead clear
with a You Shall Not Pass mentality,
swapping between dreams and reality so fluidly
it seems that we will never truly wake again.
If I could make amends for everything I've done,
I'd take a pass,
because sometimes you'll only be sorry
if in the process you look like an ***.
But everyday, in the looking glass,
I see a man just a little older than the day before
with the worst day behind him
and a new one in store
and a future no bright, no-one could even try to ignore.

My poetry is hardly crowd control,
but I'd like to think that winter night's stroll
through my mind wouldn't be hard but it would.
Because even the urge to do right and do good
gets lost in translation
and each radio station is broadcasting spells
and each songs just a hermit crab in an already used shell.
Am I expected to enjoy that?
I'm not better, but anyone better would crush them flat.

I digress, I suppose what I'm trying to say
is that this sorry mess of a love story
has gotten to a gory conclusion
and I can still make magnetic fusion with the ashes left.
It's hard to carry on when each footstep leaves behind
a memory people can use to find you,
but my heart can still beat black and blue
and I know that I'll have a place
no matter where my road takes me to.

I wasn't very good at poetry when I was young.
I would stumble over the concept of rhymes
and at times couldn't hold an idea in my head.
I'm still young,
but somewhere along the way
my mind evolved and my heart
found it's voice.
I guess you could say
I grew up...

But I was never planted in the soil
of complete certainty.
I was watered by aqueducts dripping
misfortune and misdevelopment,
as if gripping reality had become a chore
and at some point I guess
I grew bored of it.

I didn't come here to cry.
I didn't come here to spin tales
of how my childhood was worse than most.
But I think we are all somewhat haunted
by our juvenile years,
as if each playground became a ghost town
and each classroom became a lost-and-found
for what we should know by now but don't.

I wasn't very good at poetry when I was young,
but somewhere between now and then
I grew up.
But only candles grow shorter as they grow older
and I will never again find sanctuary
among the monkey bars and tire swings.
I never felt welcome
but I was.
I just wish I knew that then.

We ****** ourselves upon labels,
like an acrotophiliac forcing his legs in a beartrap
that just won't close.
As if this world could ever be as generous
as tales and fables.
For every time we let ourselves feel,
we are allowing ourselves to be peeled apart
by those that think themselves better.
For every heart bleeding,
paper cut on a love letter,
we can find enough pain to store away for later.
Pain to share.

Every time I walk out in the world,
I feel pins set on every inch of my skin.
Every time I let someone in,
I'm rarely exposing myself to anything other
than a bull in a china shop.
But still, every time I drop to the ground,
I can make myself believe I've found
a reason to get back up.
Even now, I've got pain.
Pain to share.

In a world built on lies, oil
and the sweat brought from toil
of people overseas,
we can still somehow see an enemy
in who once we called a friend.
Till' the bitter end,
we cry tears like rain,
condensation on the window frame,
but it won't be over any time soon.
We shoot for the moon,
with the hope of landing among stars,
but we find ourselves frozen husks
within an hour of our departure.
Because, I fear,
there was always a reason we had an atmosphere.
But it's not perfect
and these 'exceptions' are starting to fall near to me.
But whether I die right here,
or there,
or anywhere,
I do and always will have pain.
Pain to Share.