I’m not everyone’s
cup of tea
My special blend of
crazy a bit too
bitter to the tongue
for some
But if you can
get beyond
the dark thoughts
and
scarred parts
I could be the
sweetest thing
you
ever tasted

Even though my eyesight would get blurry,
and everything would look like pixels,
I would still recognize you from a far.
The guy who got a camera on his hand,
trying to photograph the world before he's gone.
And I know, you won't be able to recognize me.
Because I was just another stranger you met.
and I was only someone you spent some time with.
But you know what?
Those moments are the memories
I cannot forget.
For you made me feel special,
more than I have ever felt,
in my whole life
And that's pretty something
For a girl who has always been nothing.

breakfast in the afternoon while dancing to a few a songs

from the radio
and the bugs skitter on saliva that sits on the porch,
she
yells.

''TOO LATE''

door slams and a picture falls from the wall and shatters into 17 pieces
leaving other fragments of wood.

I hear cars screeching outside as oil cascades onto the boardwalk.

an old lady is rubbing her thigh
and flicking her neck from the previous hour's injection.

I have yet to watch that show.

some guy wants my number but he has a fiancé and she thinks I look strange in my green overalls.

van gogh was a kind man.

I have got other errands.

my thumb Is protruding and the index still thumps sometimes
from when I sliced a good portion at work--

never compensated.

still walking on hot rocks

and still recycling newspapers.

still eating from tin cans on the dresser that I got for 3 cents in the
1930's.

have yet to read a book I've liked for some time.


still trying to make sense.

still writing.

still breathing and
pretending i'm a messiah.

still awaiting the crucifixion

Life moves on
and things become too real.
A wife. Kids. Career.
It’s too much, I want to run away.

Everything has changed with
my position in the world.
I’ve never fit in
Always the freak who knows no limits,
the one who sits alone and minds his own.

Never understood, never accepted.
Now a husband, a dad, still the same.
Always covering up myself; hiding
behind wit and cruelty.

A shield to disappear into,
Afraid to be me; to send up alone.
I used to know who I was but
now I’m not so sure.

It seems I have my life sorted out,
but am I really happy?

A question I always find myself asking
but can never answer.
I don’t think anyone knows the meaning of happiness,
or if it really exists.

Tonight I found myself holding her close,
and as I rested my head on her chest,
I quietly try not to cry.

It’s hard sometimes to keep it all in,
to hold strong so as not to lose myself,
it’s why I write as I do.

An outlet through a pen is all I have,
only the page wont judge,
won’t declare me a freak,
won’t know that something is wrong with me.

The thoughts I have,
my inability to empathize with other’s pain and loss.
It makes me wonder if I’m right for this world.

I’ve been to two funerals,
one I barely knew, the other I held dear.
And lost a grandfather who meant everything,
yet I never shed a tear.

I used to think that it was because I am strong,
but now maybe that isn’t so.

Who am I really?
I think I need to know.

My faith in you comes     from believing that
what you know is true      and I feel is good.