I've got the scars from countless paper cuts
and calluses from the pressure to write.
Maybe instead of letting my eyes shut,
I should just let it become the cool night.
Who says I need to rest my weary head?
When I could stay awake and ponder life,
on my shaky desk where my hands have bled.
Who says I shall become a foolish wife!
I don't spit on those who are now happy.
Their stories do not flow from my heart's dark.
I can't relate to feelings as sappy
as trees when we strike and peel back their bark.

Such unions made are blessings and curses.
Together we stress over the verses.

I bound my hands to my strange illusions.
I hope it brings far better conclusions.

Lungs sprout seeds I can't breathe
flowers grow like weeds
each breath that leaves me
smells of drought-dry daisies
I quite like the idea of blossoms
blooming in my skull
so at least the pressure builds something beautiful
and the migraine will be eased
by rain upon my face
lace my fingers together
and pray that the flames wait one more day.

Flames wait for the earth to dry
heat evaporates tears that I cry
we will have time to burn the past alive
before the rain before the flames
say goodbye
my heart skips beats like stones in a lake
what hurt from the past will I forsake?
and no longer hold as a keepsake of a time
where crime was fine as long as it was mine.

Fire, strike a match to my ire
I apologize to the flames
I let go of the blame.
Fire, light a match to my desire
to let go of my mistakes
and change, I want to change.

When I'm nothing but ash
I will create a new path
of fire
I'm fire
I'm alive
and full of life

I keep hoping to strike it rich
with a pickaxe to a poetry vein
but all I end up doing
is swinging that pickaxe into my brain.

The tick of the clock is violent.
I don't want to exist,
but I will if I have to.

My mind is a threatening place.
It hurts me, yet keeps me safe.
How did I create such a disgrace?

The pendulum swings at me.
My heart speeds up the beat,
and it beats me too, can't you see?

With distorted perception
I can't get my feet to run.
I'm trapped in my depressed reality.

My mind won't leave me be
my voice is screaming at me
Telling me to move, but I can't breathe.

I know there's oxygen
tell that to my anxious lungs.
When they panic, my thinking is manic.

If society didn't judge,
me.
I wouldn't judge,
society.
So don't place the blame on,
me.
When the only one to blame is,
society.

You cut off one head.
.
Then two!
..
Then three!
...
Then four!
....
So many more!
...........................
And you wonder why
they're still standing?

BECAUSE THEY HAVE SUPPORT.

And I'm so scared.
...............................................
Do those heads belong to my enemies?
Or do they belong to my friends?

I'M NOT SURE.

One down
.
two more to gore
..
but we can't ignore!
The possibility of our heads
..
Getting the same treatment

IN THE END.

It's easier to solve your problems
when there's a figurehead
.
So take them to the guillotine
So you can all eat your bread.

And have the cake offered
by your headless queen.

It's been awhile
since I've heard from you.
We kept in touch often
as lost souls are driven to do.

Hey, captain, can you hear me
or even someone from your crew?
The silence makes me uneasy
I'm worried about you.

And in the distance, I see a ship
anchored by an island.
Yet our cheerful cries soured in our throats
when we saw it all go up in smoke.

Up in smoke.

I don't know if I could go through,
what they went through,
during their time,
in war.

They fought to protect our freedom we enjoy today,
even if that meant they were on the front,
right in the line of fire,
where some died.

Why do many people not know what today is,
I find that rather disrespectful,
they fought for our future,
and we don't care.

What on earth is wrong with some young people today,
today is a day to remember what happened,
and what others did for us, this country,
when they had their own lives to live.

Many gave up chances to be husbands, fathers, and grandfathers,
they gave up their normal lives when they went to war,
and when they came back from war,
they didn't come back whole.

Just for anyone who truly cares about our Veterans,
please at anytime you see someone who served,
show them your appreciation and say,
"Thank you."

The leaves fall off the vine
crinkled and brown
and so very dry
that they crunch under footsteps
of strangers walking together.

Those trees over there are thin
the branches are so brittle
and the grass beneath has died off
for there's no shade
and the sun is too hot.

And the crater in the ground
was once a lake
but those streams dried up
leaving stones and debris
to rest in the dust.

Those strangers' bodies scream for water
that no longer exists
with trembling hands
they grab hold
as the wasteland claims another.

With one less person
they walk away from the sun
that beats on their heads
that hang so low
from this wicked, cruel, abuse.

I don't know exactly when
the water became my friend,
but I feel so much safer
surrounded by it.
I don't know exactly when
the water became my friend,
so I let go of my mind's stability
to flow with my emotions.

We don't speak
not a word
not a sound
can't let them know
how insane we feel
as we do our rounds
We take our medicine
as we do our rounds
We hand their heads to them
as we do our rounds
We do ourselves in again
as we do our rounds
We don't speak
not a word
not a sound
can't let them know
how we're liars now
We take our medicine
as we do our rounds
We hand their heads to them
as we do our rounds
We do ourselves in again
as we do our rounds
We don't speak
not a word
not a sound
We don't speak
not a word
not a sound
Don't speak!
We don't speak-
Don't speak they'll hear!

We don't...
We don't...
We don't...

We scream

"Welcome Home."
...
Now just imagine what those words could mean.
Can you picture yourself as a returning war Veteran,
stepping into your house that you haven't seen in years.
Picture it.
The overwhelming sense of home
makes you want to break down and cry
cause you knew you missed home,
but once you got there you realized just how much you missed it.
...
Now picture this instead.
You're a runaway teenager
about 17 years old.
Could you imagine that you were gone for a year.
You left because you felt misunderstood,
and throughout your travels
you realized just how much you needed your home,
because there was nothing wrong with it in the first place.
Sitting on your front steps crying
not being able to knock on the door
not thinking you'll be welcomed
and then your parents open the door
and all they say is
"Welcome Home"
...
Can you feel the emotions behind those words,
and not just the speaker's emotions,
but who is being spoken too.
Could you think of their story?
If they were wearing a nice suit,
and taking a long deep breath.
Would you think that person has been distant for some time due to their job,
and is trying to make up for it?
Or, if it was a teenager whose clothes were in tatters
and they seemed to be in bad shape
just sitting on the steps crying.
Could you imagine his story?
Would you think about him being a runaway,
and not thinking he would be accepted home again.
Now imagine that,
the pain of being shut out of your home,
how you could be so close,
or you could live in a house,
and it's just not a home.
What makes a home a home anyways?
...
What makes a home,
are the people who will always say
"Welcome home,"
no matter how long you were away,
no matter what you have done.
...
*Welcome Home.

When you look to the sky
on one of the darkest nights
what are your thoughts?
How do you feel on the inside?

You can't even imagine the destruction that's around you.

Houses are destroyed,
by strong winds that never stop,
by rain that continued to pour,
all through the day,
and all through the night.
Thunder had crashed,
and lightning struck the earth,
burning it on contact
and setting fire to the trees.

It was a whirlwind of devastation,
and it tore everything apart.
Now you're separated from everyone.
You're laying on a tree
that is burnt black,
and is decaying on the ground.

You only want to look at the sky,
the only thing that appears untouched.
It's beautiful,
it's at peace.
And you find yourself wanting to speak.

At first it is soft,
an isolated sound of innocence
in the corrupted world around you.
We

Then it becomes louder
filled with pain and experience,
the evidence surrounds you.
Live

Then you scream it to the sky,
full of rage,
pain,
and regret.
The emotions you feel have drowned you.
Here!

And then once more
you're voice quiets down.
The storm has passed on
and you will as well.
You take a breath as the world goes dark.
*We lived here

Never to forget.
*9/11

Many years ago,
you met the love of your life.
You didn't ever think,
that your lives would come to strife.
When you both had a child,
the tension could be cut with a knife.
But you told yourself several times,
that things would be alright.

What do you love most about your love right before you?
Are they your comfort
when everything falls apart?
What do you love most,
about the people you know?

Still many years ago,
you had a very best friend.
Together, you guys had everything
and you thought it would never end.
You said your friendship was unbreakable,
it would never bend.
When high school finally ended,
you spoke of the letters you will send.

What do you love most about the happy person before you?
Will you miss them terribly
when you both leave?
What do you love most,
about the people you know?

An empty glass is placed
on the table with a clink.
The person who was drinking
is too drunk to reach the sink.
It's been going on like this
for much longer than you think.
Do you see the color of their cheeks?
You would almost say they're pink.

What do you love most about this drunkard right before you?
Are they some sort of anchor
that you can hold on to?
What do you love most,
about the people you know?

The next morning they wake up,
and the doorbell makes a loud ding.
They yell at you to answer it,
and you're too choked up to sing.
You get your child ready,
you don't want them to feel the sting.
As you pass by the drunkard on the couch,
you decide to take off your ring.

What do you love most about their spiteful yelling before you?
Do you find it endearing
that they always pick on you?
What do you love most,
about the people you know?

A friend you haven't seen,
since they walked out the high school doors.
Has their head held high,
and they look down at you on the floor.
You say hello to them,
and their look shakes your very core.
You both were once good friends,
but do they even know you anymore?

What do you love most about the arrogant expression before you?
Are they still your happiness
even though they don't know you?
What do you love most,
about the people you know?

A little hand comes from behind you,
and it grips you so tightly.
It squeezes you for comfort,
and you smile slightly.
For your sending off your small child,
whose eyes shine brightly.
You let go of their hand,
and they danced on tiptoes, so lightly.

What do you love most about the dancing child before you?
Does it make you laugh
when they shyly hold your hand too?
What do you love most,
about the people you know?

When the long day is over,
and you and your child arrive at home.
You discover they are not there,
there's another ring sitting on a small dome.
You no longer wish to see,
where your friend and drunkard went to roam.
You're just so happy that once upon a time,
they were friends you welcomed in your zone.

What did you love most about those people no longer before you?
Were they once happy
when they were with you?
What did you love most,
about the people that you knew?

What happened to my heart
that I now pick every poem apart?
It all feels so manufactured,
words are a glued-together fracture.
I'll be judged at the poetic rapture,
because my heart refuses to capture
the same passion I had at the start.

Myself unseen, I see in white defined
different shapes. Forming into real things.
A car goes by,
and then another.
Something moves across the street,
it hesitates, then goes.
"Too late!" I yell.
"You're too late!"
A crash, a scream.
I'm frozen.
A sickening thud
as the car speeds away.
Leaving the body on the ground,
to bleed its life away.

I wander the trodden path
As little flowers push through the earth
The sun beats down without any wrath
It settles around me like a warm bath.

There is a slight mist
That clogs my vision
But i'm sure it won't persist
If I keep moving and resist.

The grass here is much thicker
And taller, it has grown
And now I am left to bicker
With how I can't move any quicker.

I think I might have lost my way
Because I am no longer on the path
Fighting through this grassy fray
Where I am now, I can not say.

But i'm sure i'll find the trodden trail
That so many have walked before
But creating a new path could not fail
For I don't have a place to sail.

The grass isn't rough
It is soft and warm
I can relax and remove my bluff
Of one who always looks so tough.

I have never felt such tranquility
In being in an unfamiliar place
It's as if all I needed was some stability
To clear up the misty visibility.

So now I lay down and I close one eye
Thinking about how tomorrow will be
I hum briefly a little lullaby
As I wonder to myself, where am I?

We fought for so long
it destroyed my own song.
And people want to know
where did the music notes go?

I let the birds go
so they could sing out in the open.
But you came in with your gun
and shot down the turtledoves.

I saw the feathers explode
they fell down like soft snow.
Splattered with red
from careless paint brush strokes.

You left me in the field
surrounded by red snow.
It's partly my fault
since I was the one who let them go.

I turn my head towards you
and you're pointing your finger.
But I'm not the one
holding the gun.

I took one feather in my hand
and lamented the loss.
The sky is grey with no hope
but I know where the music has gone.

*I know where the music has gone

Who controls the rain?
I'd really like to know
Because it always seems to rain
when someone has to go.

sometimes I ask myself,
why am I doing this?
and every time,
my answer,
is,
I don't know,
and I don't think I ever
will.

I agree to things i'd rather not do
because i'd rather die than have to lie to you.
Yet what I do for you, I don't agree.
Why the **** can't I just be me?

I just want to be appreciated,
but it seems my value is depreciating.
With every decision I make to fall in line.
Every decision I make to just seem fine.

I play these bad decisions off like they're jokes
because if I don't then I will choke.
On the shame of it all, I can't stand tall.
I deserve the greatest of falls.

These thoughts can't linger anymore
and though it's difficult, I will endure.
The pain inside will no longer hide
and i'll get some help this time.

Hear all the voices that won't let me leave
whether or not they are real or perceived
to be in my own head suffocating
my heart is heavy, thorns stab where I breathe

My sorrow is just like another day
I now feel pain that surrounds where I lay
my veins ache as blood pounds inside my skin
but with friends I can take the pain okay

My mother tried to help prevent my fall
she told me that I couldn't save them all
I guess that also means myself as well
for I one day will hit the ground and crawl

But how depressing am I to say this
It won't be fixed with a handshake or kiss
but with the determination to live
that is something I had that I do miss

Maybe my mother was right all this time
that I can't save them all with this small rhyme
but I could most definitely try to
reach out so others and myself can climb

I'm a cycle of happiness and pain
I think I can see through the pouring rain
Look! There is shelter not too far ahead
There is the place which will help me stay sane

Now that I realize that we all regress
into our shells when we are in distress
but we can always come back out and try again
because all of us are works in progress

You make me want to tell stories.

With such fluidity,
such grace,
my words are dancers
spinning in space.
They're airy
and light
floating on by.
No weight to them
at all.
Follow the path
I lead you on
and don't ever stray.
My words are
pretty
and
meant
to
distract
you from pain.

You make me want to tell stories.

Control your pace,
so you don't lose this race.
Your pace is strong,
then it slows.
And then it grows to
a height of speed,
that no one can reach.
You're ten steps ahead,
of those behind you.

You stop and stare,
at the finish line.
You're ten steps ahead,
of those behind.
You want to win,
but you're frozen.
The steps get closer,
and you hear them calling.

Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
You hope to God
that you'll go to heaven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
They're breaking down your door.
Three.
Two.
Run.

Run through those doors,
like the ribbon at the end.
Finish the race,
so you'll go.
And then you run very far away,
so you will be safe.
You're ten steps ahead,
of those behind,
you.

.
Mark my life on the list
.
.
of those you wish you didn't miss
.
.
With the bullet
.