i can't understand the tug at my lips when i see gore,
when pain happens,
when i think of a painful memory,
yet my heart still squeezes,
still wheezes,
still sputters,
still hurt,
but because i carry on while the storm that is against me,
and the only weapon i wield is my smile,
because they will never know how broken i am

[ kind of a part two ]

i laugh when my eyes rain,
when raindrops trickle down my cheek,
have you ever realized that sobbing and laughing sound so similar?
when someone laughs they can be crying in the inside,
when someone sobs they can be happy,
i think its a way of laughing off the pain,
just so you won't give in,
because then you lost,
and we don't want that.

They can be dark
They can be bright
Reflecting all the brilliant colors from the
morning light

They can seem empty
They can seem full
Expressing the constant ebb and flow of
society's pull

Some will remain open
Some will remain forever closed
Waiting for that moment when it's OK to be
exposed

Some will invite rigidity
Some will invite change
Hanging on to the notion that "what is"
doesn't always have to remain

It's all about perception
Eyes come in many different sizes, hues, and
clarity
So, those windows to nowhere may also be the
windows to everywhere for me

Truly blessed am I for so
Might people think of me and so
I am, walking April days on springsteps
With pockets of passion sewn about

What heather bears thine poppy seed
What bee might chance into your scent
Aligned with lights that beckon away
Swallowed poles of north or south

Tunnels gape and gnash stalactites
And eyes bear the brunt of the dark
But I feel not with sight, not where I reap real bounty
With twig and hair I feel my way

And paint what promise I need to survive

As I sit here in my easy chair
Watching life pass me by
There are people in the world
Who do greater things than I.
There are great minds at work
Studying the world and space.
Not me, I’m afraid, I just sit,
Watch TV, a calm look on my face.

I have not written an opera
Or an awesome symphony.
I have not written great poems
To be read by more than me.
I have not waxed political
With rhetoric that will astound.
I have not created grand products
To be taken from the ground.

I did not engineer a vehicle
That will run on just ***** air.
And, yes, I painted for a while
But found few who would care.
All I seem to be able to do
Is to survive my horrendous past,
And I thank all the gods that be
That the horror did not last.

I answered, as a young fellow,
When people asked to my face,
“What do you want out of life?”
I quickly answered, “My own place.”
Now that I am adult and that
Has finally come to be a reality,
I can’t seem be anxious to comply
When life demands more of me.

They stay vigil, ever waiting the new design of sigils.
Kinda simple, keep their fingers pressed to pimples,
The pus a pit of petered parts,
Perceived by the reckoning of depleted hearts.
I rushed the doors at the sound of a great escape,
The process a repeat coordination of hurry up and wait.
Ever balking at the atrocities of cost,
Average Joes chasing dreams at the velocity of sloths.
How to be content with immense disparity?
Hands out faking quivers, shaking for some charity.
Forsaken someones somewhere surviving on a sliver,
Watching all the getters, I see myself a giver.

Rarely do I ever get a moment to myself
Everything that I plan sits dusty on the shelf
Staring at me silently each and every day
Poignantly reminding me how much I need to play
One day maybe up ahead in a year or two
Nothing will take precedence over what I'd like to do
So instead I fill my time wearing different masks
Intently doing all the things that the family asks
Bodyguard, Janitor, Chef, Taxi, and Teacher
Indeed are just a very few of my lovely features
Leisure however seems to always elude me
Inconsequential to how ardently I plea
Tomorrow is a whole new day to try it all again
Yearning for those moments I can find my zen

Base feelings are monsters that live in my cage
I always draw second
I unveil
Virginity is a useless sacrifice
So, nobody feels uneasy anymore
Oh they know what self-adoration is
Yet, you are all about the crippling spine that needs to jettison out my back. Crack!
Fear is what fuels your 1962's Colt with stolen gasoline
When I ride it I am on the minute
It drops me off on the line of fire
Flames light up in my lungs
You shout "Here are my reasons, understand, see"
That creeping sensation of the ugliest kid in class watching me behind my ear
Makes me horrified
A basket case of emotion
I cannot stress enough
It's the things I do not want to happen
Like resurrecting insects and then killing them again
Nightmare to my time so I stop moving, like, paralyzed
Fearful is the edge of the knife
Peeling back my ***** as I feel its blade cuts thin
Every slice a feeling creeping in
It abuses my skin
Replaced by a shroud of music that I sing to wheedle out
So you can continue to say I "Live in sin, live in sin"
You needed me afraid, so I became brave
You needed me small, so I became big