I was happy and healthy and then you left me
I tried to move on I tried to do better
but whatever I did I could not
forget your smile or touch
I haven't eaten much
but I will be ok
hopefully

I Paint.


Not on a canvas of course
My hand shakes much too much for that
No
I paint in my head.

Masterpieces

Shimmerring towers of impunity
Castles of future conquests and quests.  
I paint everything.

I paint you

You're a lot nicer in my paintings
Maybe I'm just a good painter.

Anyway
These paintings are so realistic
So vivid.
So lifelike.

I see no reason why they should not exist

Because for one I am a great printer.
And for two I am realist.

So I set forth with my brush
Set upon bringing my art to life.

And I am always so close
The broad strokes each stringing together in a cohesive tone.

But still
If you approach it like a Monet
And examine it dutifully
You see it does not match my original masterpiece.

But how is this possible?

I am a great painter

This I know.

Shouldn't I be able to bring my simplest machinations into fruition?

I am a painter sure

If you belive that an architect is a construction worker

I am a painter

But I only build frames
Not Buildings

Three kids sat side by side on an airplane
First was Jerry
he was six and loved coloring books
he loved how he could make anything
any color he desired
next was his sister Lisa
she was 9 and loved the way music sounded
when she put on headphones
and listened to each note
Lastly was Clara
she was 17 and hardened by the world
she loved her brother and her sister
and not much else

I wanted to end this poem sadly
but the family i've imagined is now so real to me
that I must let the plane land

You are not the roses' thorn
an overused trope in poetry
a metaphor beaten so close to death
that I'd be shocked to see it walk

You are not the sun's rays
beating down on me
constantly reminding me
of their presence

You are beyond words
You are beyond definition
How am I supposed to say with 26 letters
that which I couldn't say with a thousand

You are ethereal
You grace is unmistakeable
You are not of this world
therefore we could never be

I am fascinated with language
with the architecture of words
the way they shift their shape
how a single switch can swing a tone

I am obsessed with possibilities
and those within language are bountiful
this all leads back to my reservoir
the place to which these words flow

that of course is my brain
a non-consenting center of my musings
tasked with taking on
my desires that lie within

the alphabet shocks and disturbs me
26 letters should not be all we need
to script our thoughts
because let it be known

I have searched


rolled every rock in my mind




and I am yet to find any iteration of those 26 letters







that properly describes the feeling of waking up next to you








again

I wonder about the rain
A good deal more than any sane person should

The way it falls
the inevitably of it
down
down
down
and then
crash
And just like that
It's as if it never existed

What if we're all just raindrops
falling for what mistakably
seems like forever
and then
boom
nothing
the only thing left
being the size of our splash

Memories become
molecules we happen pick up along the way

It must be hard
when you're falling
to think of anything but the ground
who cares about where you fell from
or the places you've transversed
when the only thing in front
is solid asphalt

What I'm saying is
What if we're just raindrops
inevitably falling
and if that's a fact that will never change
what good does it do
to overthink
to stress
to doubt yourself

When in the end
we're all just a splash on the pavement

I lost myself in you
and that's okay

when does the rain
become the ocean?
or the bread become
the ****?

it's all semantics isn't it really
isn't "myself" just my minds interpretation
of its known realities
balanced against my own fantasies
and furthermore if myself does not exist
then it wouldn't be able to be lost

clever

A mind is a beautiful thing
and it's great at convincing itself of things
it knows to be untrue
I lost myself in you
of that much I am sure

How did I lose grip?
when did I let myself get comfortable
why did I
it always ends the same way
in as much in that it ends
but you were supposed to be different
and even though I knew that to be untrue
my mind convinced itself of that

and that's okay

A lot of people jump
I've seen it
they climb up on the railing

and they jump

they fall forever
in reality it's only a few seconds

but in their heads

it must feel like forever

do you think any of them regret it?

Answer

When the water is washing over them
and the tides engulf their lungs
and the salt stains their skin
and the pressure bursts their eye ***** open inside of their head

do you think they regret it then?

We all die William.

there's no sugar coating that
no amount of my preaching will make that ok
I get that
I can live with that

But if my belief in religion
and in turn my belief in you
keeps one person away from this railing

that would jump over it otherwise

well then that makes it all


seem real to me.

I wonder about the rain
A good deal more than any sane person should

The way it falls
the inevitably of it
down
down
down
and then
crash
And just like that
It's as if it never existed

What if we're all just raindrops
falling for what mistakably
seems like forever
and then
boom
nothing
the only thing left
being the size of our splash

Memories become
molecules we happen pick up along the way

It must be hard
when you're falling
to think of anything but the ground
who cares about where you fell from
or the places you've transversed
when the only thing in front
is solid asphalt

What I'm saying is
What if we're just raindrops
inevitably falling
and if that's a fact that will never change
what good does it do
to overthink
to stress
to doubt yourself

When in the end
we're all just a splash on the pavement

Roosters would be crowing if any were around

Instead


Car horns blare in their place

Stop it.

Just stop it.

Stop it with your philosophy.
Your answers
your higher meanings.
Just stop it.

All you talk about is Socrates
you praise his ideology.
Place him on a pedestal of greatness
a shining example of a life lived right.

Where was that ideology
when he hung from the gallows.
What good are one's thoughts
when one's neck fails to connect with itself?

What say you?
Plato is no better.
nonono he is not
the man tasked with carrying on his mentors ideals.
This genius
this beacon of hope.
Spent over 10 pages of his book
explaining why older men should not have *** with younger boys
as if he was trying to convince himself.

Not the reader.

Just stop with it all.

I am not struggling to find myself
I am struggling to find rent money.
My problems are not in my head.
They are in my bank account.

You pine over a greater purpose
like it's some piece of salvation.
You talk of the high pleasures.
You tell me that I have more to gain from sitting and watching an opera
than from ******* a *****.
I don't want to discuss semantics
but I'll talk logistics.
I'll take the latter
not because I love ******
but because I hate the opera.

Pleasure cannot be defined or quantified
My pleasure is solely to see tomorrow.
Something I'm not too confident in right now.
Philosophy is the activity of the man with free time.
But time is not free.
It is expensive and costly.
Those with time don't understand.
Those without it understand it too well.

Love is not my end goal.
A family is not my dream.
A house on a hill would be nice.
But only because of the house.

Not the hill.

So spare me.

Please.

When you tell me about the wonders of the world.
Realize all I have seen lately are alleyways.
Don't tell me about different cuisines.
When I can only afford the dollar menu.
Don't tell me I can be anything I want
when I can't seem to be able to be anything I need.

Life is not limitless.
The soul is not infinite.
Everything has an expiration date.

I just hope mine isn't tomorrow.

Paint over every wall.
Turn every nuke into jungle gym.
Parody every dictator.
Fill every gun with flowers.

Take all the evil in the world and make art out of it.