You weave words into soft warmth
Better than most
But which parts are real
Which words do you mean?

My body is a work of art.
But is that because it was convenient
Or were you really in awe.

I am coming to the end of a road many have travelled upon
Hardly beginning to fathom the magnitude of what’s to come
It feels like I’m waking up at the brink of dawn
Unsure of the day which has yet to arrive.

The final semester of a twelve-year journey
I remember a time when I didn’t want to think of the future
But now with the future close enough to see
I realize that my confidence is not as pure

It’s easy to think of what you’re going to do when you graduate
Talking is easy
What about when it actually happens?
Most people like to talk about being a daredevil, but hardly ever do it.

Graduation is like my daredevil moment
It’s like I’m jumping out of a plane without a parachute
And I don’t know where I’m going to land or what I’m going to do when I land
And all I have to guide me is my head and my own two hands.

I’ve always had a plan in life
I’ve always known what I wanted to be
But why is it when the opportunity is in my face
That I am cowering under the idea?

Why is it that the boldness I once had
Has turned into fear?
Why is it that the person I wanted to be come
No longer feels achievable in my head?

Maybe I’m just in shock
Graduation is nearly here
All I can do now is watch the clock
As the time grows near.

Unsure how to respond,
Unsure what to say.
Try putting my mind into words.
See if you are pulled up and down,
Twisted left and right every night;
See if you still sound
Like a perfect movie then.
Will you still be sure?

snapshot memories
lay scattered in silence.
An abundance of unclean
and hazy lives interconnect
before me, dodging and weaving
in disarray
some overlap
and others steer far apart,
but all are destined to be something.
And far apart from these, my life;
a torn edged, blurry photograph
lies in the middle,
moon light burns its edges
and sunlight fades its image
wind and rain thin its paper
but still it remains;
with possibilities beyond
what i or anyone else can imagine,
and so i sit from afar
gazing at this wonderland..
this ancient ritual of connections
that we call life,
teary eyed at its condition
and in this
try to find comfort in my
constant confusions.

Am I among those they write
deep in the threads of contempt?
For no one truly can be
a hero to all.

We all imagine the songs
powerful and triumphant
will someday be our own.

But what is desire?
What is the facade we wear
day in and day out
to power the most illusive masquerade?

What if the turn from my childhood
was never a turn at all?
Is it so strange, is it too far
of a line to draw
that I may be the villain?

Perhaps we're all simply searching
in desire for an adversary.
The call to arise, the call to spur us forth
from the pit too many have found as solace.

Now what if I am
not even a pawn
and barely a sheep
in life's great puzzle,
or is it a mystery
never to be solved?

I long for the moment
I'm desperate for change
I've bit the blind eye
And now I wish my own would remain shut.

So who or what is to say
that I won't snap like the thinning rope
caught in a chokehold?
My dear is the victim
and the fall is too far
to survive.

Where shall I be when
my final spin has spun?
Will I drag to a halt or
careen face-forward?
A gradual decay
or a shot to crack the wall,
either way I may merely be
the villain.

Feeling brave.
Feeling scared.
Do I, Don't I.
Am I prepared.

Does He, Does She.
Will I ever know.
What will happen.
Which way should I go.

Swaying between thoughts.
Feeling all at sea.
Whatever road I take,
it must lead to me.