You said there would be a next time
and in that moment I wondered if there wouldn't be
and there wasn't
is that my doing
or was it all inevitable
did there have to be a next time
that wouldn't occur
it was never going to end easily
so what if it just never ended
what if by next time
you didn't mean next week
or next year
but sometime down the road
if there's always a next time
then nothings truly over right?
It's amazing the lack of finality in it all
I just can't let it end
I'm obsessed with writing story book endings
with characters I know all to well
Happily ever after isn't an ending
it's a cop out
nothing ever ends well
that doesn't make sense
if something was so great why should it end
which leaves two possibilites
A it was never that great to begin with
or
B it hasn't truly ended yet
My heart wishes it was B
but my mind knows it's A
which *****
it does
do you think the eiffel tower was the first thing the french came up with
there must have been other suggestions right?
other options
that didn't allude to that great big beautiful tower
i'm getting drawn into the abstract
but the point stands
the eiffel tower is an iconic message
but at a time it was nothing
just an idea behind an idea
maybe nothing is what we want it to be
maybe we build our own diorama's and view life how we see fit
it would make sense
you see what you want
but if you turn around you'll see the world for what it is
not the candy coated box where you dwell
but an open room where objects lay where they lay
for no other reason than that they lay
I'll never be perfect
I know that
but I think I'll always try to perfect my world
make it better... for me of course but the nobility is just in it's own right
you're too random
you don't fit the script
so maybe you should have never read lines
in the first place

At this point

we haven't talked in a while
and maybe that's for the best
I don't love you anymore
perhaps that's for the best too
I hate to romanticize the past
a beneficiary of history like socrates
I'll never be

even so

At this point

we are two completely different people
indistinguishable
not only from each other
but from past versions of ourselves
we are stationary bayonets
placed dutifully and lazily
on top of the guns
we used to be
Always the second choice

At this point

We are strangers to each other
not that we would not recognize each other
but in the sense
that if I waved to you
or you to me
the other would not know what to do

At this point

I don't feel like checking in
because I know the past was better
and I assume the future will be too
its the middle of the story
the part you don't really need
but where you're still unsure
where it might lead
so how am i?

cautiously optimistic

At this point

Hello's
from you to me
seem like a distant memory
I can't look into your eyes
partly because
I'd break down
but also because
you won't let me see you again
and I care about you
more than a father
and his first son
and in return
you toss me out the nest
like a mother bird
throwing her baby
to it's a eventual death
maybe you just expect me to fly
I guess it doesn't matter now
fool me once...
and so the story goes
"That's life"
you said when you left me
but does it have to be?
does life have to be anything we don't want
we have enough money
enough wisdom
enough anything to do what we want
why must I live through strife
why can't I write my own book
which mind you
if I was the protagonist
you'd be the love interest
and the antagonist
you're the only one
outside of me
that has a pull on me
you drag me to the dirt
like a lasso to a cow
and only pull harder
when I scream ow
you don't love me
although you say you do
that's life I guess
and from now on mine's without you

There were ten boys in a room
numbered one through ten
they all lived peacefully
until the moment when
number ten took a liking to
number seven's suede shoes
three defended ten while
six and seven made a truce

ten shot a rocket
with questionable aim
after which we find
number two had been slain
eight and nine shot back
with a sling shot blast
while ten used four
to cover his ***

four perished, as one
came to his aid
spraying blindly
over where four laid
when it was over
only seven and ten remained
while one fell over exhausted
his resources drained

seven looked down at his shoes
which after the fighting were no longer new
he took them off one by one
and handed them to ten
deciding the war was no longer needed
ten thanked seven and walked away
to the corner and turned around
he'd fight again another day

A bandage can only do so much
it's the body that heals
don't cover up your problems
solve them

Dada
Dada why is that man yelling?
that man on the corner
with the shirt that says "Jesus Hates You!"
why is he yelling Dada
he is there everyday
does he sleep Dada?
does he do puzzles like me Dada?

And why does he yell louder at you Dada?
Did you do something wrong,
did I do something wrong?
Do I need to say sorry?
Why does he hate your rainbow shirt Dada?
I always thought it was really pretty
Why does he tell you to die Dada?
What is death? Is it fun?

He must get lonely on that corner Dada
I get lonely in my room sometimes
he must have nobody to play with
Can I be his friend Dada?
Can I stand on that corner with him?
I'll meet so many different people Dada
And maybe just maybe
that man will tell me why he is yelling

Coffee stained sweaters
swollen bit lips
mistakes that stayed forever
wounds that never healed
apologies told
relationships mended
now that I have you
I'm reminded by how it ended

I search for tones in your speech
quivers in your voice
hints in your texts
movements in your body
I can't forget how we failed
how we might make it this time
and why either is
just as likely as the other

Do I love you?
Or am I just used to you?

How did you get here?

I drove, don’t really see how that’s relevant.

That’s not what I mean. I mean what led you to come in here today?

I was thinking about Balloons.

Balloons?

Yes.

Would you like to expand on that.

Should I? Sorry, I’m new to this…

Feel free to.

Ok. Balloons. I was thinking about how you never see a balloon in a bad place. Whether it’s a birthday or a celebration or whatever, if there are balloons around people are happy. They’re fun too, you can knock them around in the air, or **** in the helium and your voice gets all funny. But I uh was thinking about how they’ve come to sort of symbolize happiness for us. Like they’re just bits of latex and nylon filled with helium or air, nothing special. Why not lamps? Or wine glasses, or some other inanimate object. But no we settled on balloons and somehow everyone agreed that if balloons are around you should be smiling. So I guess sort of the inverse is true, like if you’re around a bunch of balloons and you’re not happy you must really be depressed. So I’m standing there at my niece’s third birthday and she’s a great kid by the way, really ******* smart too in a way that you just know she’s gonna be something some day. So I’m standing there ya know surrounded by balloons and my wonderful niece and I’m ******* miserable, like I’m telling you I wanted to ******* blow my brains out. And I’m thinking, ****, I should  probably go to therapy. Does that answer the question?

Yes. yes it does.

Two men sat knee to knee in a bar
One troubled one not
the second turned to the first and said
hit me man what do you got
the first was slow to speak
he pushed around his drink
and finally recounted the memory
that pushed him to his mental brink

the first recalled
he was driving down a road
and a woman began walking at his car
slow as a toad
she pranced in the middle of the lane
like she owned it or something
like a 40 mile an hour speed limit
was all she needed for protection

the first explained
why he couldn’t shake it
no matter how loud he honked to end her trance
he simply couldn’t break it
did she mean to die?
is that why she greeted oncoming traffic with a smile?
does she know how quickly it could end
that life is not a trial

the second calmed the first
maybe she was lost
maybe she was simply crossing
maybe she’s a daredevil
the second poured out two shots
and the two took them together
the night would progress
they’d forget the incident for forever

as the second drove home
he noticed something flickering in his headlight
stopping short he rammed his horn
as a woman skipped away in fright
he had almost killed her
she had almost died
the second man got home and collapsed
dialed the first then cried

It's 2 am and i'm expecting you to call
but why should you
we haven't talked in ages
it shouldn't change now

I wonder if you miss me
which is stupid
I know you don't
you told me you wouldn't

you said you had to forget about me
that you had to move on
either find someone else
or some thing else

maybe you didn't mean that
but what's the point of thinking that
if you didn't mean it you would have called
before 2 am rolled around

I can't write vivid poetry anymore
I think so logically now
I see every shade of black and white
but i see no color

I'm broken
I'll admit to myself
I'd never tell anybody else
but i'll admit it to myself

is that what you want to hear?
that I'm broken
that you broke me
I think you'd like that

maybe I should just tell you
but if I did that then you'd know
(Wow you're a genius)
I can't let you know

It's possible you have the same thoughts
that you won't tell me I broke you
you're stubborn like me
that's why you shouldn't call

When the strings stop strumming
Where does the music go?

here is an anniversary letter
addressed to you
I think ours was last week
chances are this is past due
consider this my vow of affection
for what I write in these next 30 lines
will be my most sincere of words
even if I spoke a billion times

you are not the last thing on my mind
before I go to sleep
or the first thing
when I awake
I do not lust for you like Juliet
your Romeo I'll never be
but Romeo is dead
and I'm as happy as can be

I've loved before
and trust me it's no fun
constant musing about the future
how this one is really "the one"
it's a trial as old as
the woman who's teeth no longer function
love is love is love is...
love is much to do about nothing

and then I found you
with brown eyes and brown hair
simple as the letter k
eyes that looked but didn't stare
maybe you love me
although I hope you don't
maybe you'll think of marriage
although I hope you won't

In Conclusion
I'll bid you adieu
I am not in love with you
and that's what I love most about you

I don't like to think about it
I hate it
I try not to think about it
But do you think trees try to fall down
things happen
regardless of whether they're planned
so last night I thought about it
even though I didn't want to

it kills me
I didn't want it to
I assumed it wouldn't
but trees spend all their lives above the grass
that doesn't mean they think they'll ever touch
I thought about it
and I hate that
and I hate that I hate that I thought about it

I hate that I love you
I hate that I don't fully believe that sentence
I hate that you can feel something
but not be aware that you feel it
I wonder if trees know they'll grow
they always do
but I wonder if they know they will
Is it possible to not know the inevitable?

I wish I could unthink the thought I thought
it kills me
how the thought of you with another man
makes my stomach turn
but the thought of me with another woman
doesn't carry the weight to lift a scale
were trees previously just one branch
until they realized they had other options

I'm using a tree as a metaphor
because I don't want to talk about myself
because I don't want to make this about me
I want the world to cause my problems
but if i'm being honest
which I will be
I am the root of my pain
I just don't want to think about it

There's a man on the bus
who I had never really noticed much
except for knowing that I hadn't noticed him much
I think we all have those people
he always had sunglasses and a coat on
even when it was hot out he'd be all covered up
he intrigued me
and I wasn't sure why he just did

one day I stayed on the bus route
yet the man remained on the bus
I thought nothing of it until I did it again
the man never moved
so I tested him
each day waiting longer and longer
never once did the man
leave his seat and walk off the bus

it intrigued me
where could he be going
where could he be coming from
did he have a wife?
any kids? a job? a life?
I had to ask him before I began to crack
it turns out he was just
the bus drivers coat rack

When you left silently
it reminded me
why it seems to be
I don't revise my poetry

It's crazy ya know
how everything I own
can just be wrapped up in boxes
trophies and awards
pictures and accomplishments
all tucked neatly away
my favorite pens and pencils
stuffed into burlap sacks

it's almost like it wasn't real
the first 18 years of my life
like it was all a game
that no matter what I did
I'd end up here
the only difference being
how many trophies
were neatly tucked away

like my whole life has been a checklist
like I was nothing extraordinary
there is nothing more dehumanizing
than being able to put everything you love in a box
it's just weird that it's over
it was always going to end
but I never thought it would be OVER
that's all

I'm done
I'm tired of it
I'm tired of chasing you
I'm tired of acting like having you would mean I have everything
50% of marriages end in divorce
and people might use that to describe a decaying nation
or use it as irony in a gay marriage debate
but that's not what I see
I see 50% and I think that love is a myth
I see 50% and I think about all the " I do's"
that were supposed to mean forever
but only meant right now
50%
50 ******* percent
that's a coin flip

I killed a butterfly today  
then tried to write a poem  
I don’t know why I did it  
It died without a home  
It struck me as compelling  
as I recalled what my parents used to say  
be mindful of your surroundings  
a flap of butterfly wings can change a day  


I thought little of it then  
yet now I obsess as I reminisce  
if a butterfly flap can change so much  
what of the absence of it?  
Have I sealed my fate to infamy  
or paved my way to riches  
but maybe if I **** another?  
my unforeseeable fate switches  


But what’s a butterfly to me?  
it wasn’t much before  
now you expect me to believe  
it holds the key to what’s in store?  
Free will must exist  
at least as long as I believe it to  
foolish of me to think my dead butterfly  
could have some affect on you  


Yet I sit here thinking  
of thoughts I’ve never had  
a liar I would be to tell you  
that I haven’t changed a tad  
It did not have a name  
and I did not have a reason  
yet as I blankly stared down  
I felt as if I had committed treason  


So I sweep away the body  
and leave the room to clear my head  
if my hand’s never clapped  
this butterfly would not be dead  
so be wary of the change you bring  
the waves you choose to make  
that butterfly could have changed a day  
and not believing that was my mistake

Sometimes I have to remind myself
that just because the years have changed
it doesn't mean
the person has

I am not a number
I am not 2200
or 3.3
I am not this these things you claim me to be

I am not a number
I am not Candidate #15392701
or Profile 235
I am real... I am alive

I am not a number
I am not 8/10 on a good day
or a 5/10 when I don't care
There's a mind and soul where you believe is bare

I am not a number
I am not what you need me to be
I am everything you wish to be
I am ... infinity

The poison needle dances around my skin
like a cobra taunting its prey
it makes slight contact then drifts away
but I know it will return
I close my eyes
and wait for it to strike
I can't bear to watch
as my body falls under its spell

your lips dare to touch mine
while your eyes avoid the same
you want to touch me
not feel me
we're wrong for each other
we've agreed as such
but lets forget about the past and the future
if just for tonight

A man placed a rose over a mass grave
and said to me
take all the Evil in the world
and make Art out of it

A mom said wait until your dad comes home
to the army kid silently waiting in calculated anticipation

A mom said wait until your dad comes home
to the bad kid waiting nervously on the couch

A mom said wait until your dad comes home
to the outgoing kid that had never met his father

A mom said wait until your dad comes home
to the baseball enthusiast who couldn't wait for tonight's catch

A mom said wait until your dad comes home
to the kid who only saw him when the law allowed

A mom said wait until your dad comes home
to a 21 year old man who was about to meet him for the first time

A mom said wait until your dad comes home
to the kid wondering if he'd get at least a comment tonight

A mom said wait until your dad comes home
and someone cared

And if a picture was worth
a thousand words
then my actions
should speak a thousand verbs

And if actions speak
louder than words
then let my speech
rise loud like a thousand birds

And if birds prove
it's possible to fly
then I can tell you
how I love you and why

And if a broken clock
is right twice a day
then maybe there's a chance
I can find the words to make you stay

I would value you
I know you must have hard that a lot
and have grown accustomed
to it not being true

I know that trust is like a spotter
at the bottom of a ladder
and that you've been climbing Everest
and not the wall to a roof
so the comparison isn't apt
No I don't know anything you
and so my words ring hollower
than an Oak tree on a dry summers day

I would value you
not as price on a tag
but as a bird on a nest
because your presence makes being here
worthwhile
and when you're keen to fly away
please heed my plea that's true
I Promise I would value you

She was the type of girl that read books no one had assigned to her
She refused to take the sidewalk if the quickest path went through the grass
Her eyes were the color of mud saturated with rain from the night before
I loved her and that was the biggest mistake I'd ever make

This isn't a poem about how girls are evil
or how the world is rigged
it's just that when I saw you I believed in love at first sight
and maybe that was wrong of me

Please keep your protests peaceful.
Please keep your lives separate,
Feel free to make them equal.
Please remember that although you believe you are the same as me,
That you will always be three fifths.
Please forget about slavery,  
Shame on us for being so upfront.
Please make your way towards the free seat at the back of the bus.
Please drink from your specified fountain.
Please marry your own.
Please work twice as hard to receive half as much.
By all means fight for what you believe is right but,
Please keep your protests peaceful.

I find my calm not at the finish line, looking back at the distance I've traveled, but in the moment, on the run, out of breath, looking forward. I don't know where I'm going, and I guess I hope to God I never get there—I'm happy as I am: Chasing something eternal and ethereal. The world is not—will never be—enough for me and that's just the way I like it.

If you don't reply
you don't exist
if you do reply
you're not who they say you are

Hi.
I’m a starving artist.
But not for what you’re hungry for.
I want... more.
Fame and money is not for me
but neither is the
one big happy family
I'm a starving artist
and not because my belly's empty
although it is
and not because you don't know my name
although you don't
I'm starving because my body burns
happiness like my metabolism burnt fat
which caused the other girls to hate me
because I looked like what they wanted to look like
even though I didn't like what I looked like
so I'd starve myself or binge myself to fill a void that wasn't there.
I'm a starving artist
not because I'm not someone better
but because it's been so long
oh so long
since I've been
me.

I do not want to be a poet
it is too hard because
it is too easy
excuse the confusion
what I mean to say is
anyone can write poetry
good poetry is provocative
but think about it

thoughts are provocative
words are provocative
living a prerequisite for both of these things
IS PROVOCATIVE
to live is to experience
to experience is to have stories
and to share those stories
is to be a poet

the saying goes
if you put a team of monkeys in a room
for an infinite amount of time
you will eventually acquire all of Shakespeare's writings
but then again
keep the monkeys in the room for just a minute
and you'll leave with something
that at least resembles poetry

So why write?
why put pen to paper,
finger to key,
or even thought to mind?
Because if I don't no one will
I mean they "will" but not like I can
because although everyone is a poet
I am the only me

The father knew it as soon
as his son walked in
it was his first broken heart
and it had been torn thin

so the father followed after
stomping feet and slamming doors
this was the big one the one
that shakes young men to their cores

The father entered
and dropped to his knees
it's time I tell you son
about the birds and the bees

Heart break like this is normal
but a love like yours was pure
even though you will have many
of this one's meaning I know you're sure

love, real love, is everything
it is a cataclysmic spastic
smattering of everything you held true
suffocating as if you were asthmatic

It's not that love is hard
it shouldn't be
in fact that's how I knew
your mother was the one for me

but somethings aren't meant to be
so when it came time for the power's that be
that took her away from me
the falsehood of love was clear to me

love as if you'll die tomorrow
because you might as well should
because a life without love is silly
stupid, and no good

You remind me of my eyelids
because when I close my eyes
all I see is
You

A team of black doctors
working to save the life
of a KKK member

That's a feeling

A man shot dead
attempting to stop
the **** of a woman he didn't know

That's a feeling

A man not getting a job
because "He Was Mexican"
even though he grew up in Maine

That's a feeling

A Muslim teacher
stabbed by a student
who didn't want to be taught by a "terrorist"

That's a feeling

I came to a fork in the road
I took it
for a few steps
then wandered back to where the road split
I wondered about the repercussions
how each affected life
finally I took the first
which lead me to my wife