I remember when I was at the concert.
I could feel the tsunami of the crowd
As the headliner started.
Nothing to hear but screaming and music.
Electricity shot through the veins of all,
Some intoxicated, some not
we all feel the same musical passion.
The time of excitement was now.

Pit after pit of swarms engulf the crowd.
******* in the unexpected but willing.
But to protect a friend,
I was a fortress against the mob.
Listening to the music, the lights flashed.
and from nowhere known,
A natural weapon struck my face.
Turning around, feeling no pain,
But assured of the severity
by the river of blood I unwillingly donated.

Into the washroom, I stumbled.
Blood mixing with the nectar of life.
Outside to the medic I casually waltzed.
Swollen eyes, nose, and disappointment.
Hearing the music from outside the hall,
my heart dropped, I blew the plans of fun.
But never fear, new friends are made.
The blood stops its own current,
and memories are established.
Stories to tell in the future.

Reds, blues, greens, and yellows.
Some of the colors permanent,
Engraved on this temple.
Stories, memories, bonds,
Treasures, happiness, and sorrows.
Just more to accompany
The eternal collection on the canvas.
Draw  the lines, fill them in.
Don’t mind the tears, the blood,
The tension, and pain.
It will be worth it in the end,
When this infinite masterpiece is done.
Some will question the story,
Others will admire the similar refractions,
Is it worth the pain? Of course it is.
It is the passion of the artist and the canvas.
The beauty is more than skin deep.
With passion, commitment, and addiction.

The body is perfect,                                
Skin so soft, eyes so bright.                        
Why would anyone ruin this?                                  
This absolutely perfect creation?                          
No need for useless additions.              
Ink, needles, metal, colors,                                  
All so ruining to this precious gift.          
This delusion of God and ****** temples,              
keeping me modest and naive,                    
What more could I want?                                          
This ignorant bliss keeping my skin clean.          
The parents are proud,                      
This “God” is pleased with my ways.                
Dreaming of celestial ignorance.    
My body is a temple,                              
My mind is set straight.                  
Who could ever try to change that?
The plainness is beautiful.

You can’t have it all,
But you can have friends.
Who will love you for you,
And share with you great memories.
Through the years together,
As brothers or sisters.

You can’t have it all,
But you can have art.
Visually displaying your emotions,
On a formerly blank canvas.
Whether a piece of paper or your body.
You can always have art.

You can’t have it all,
But you can have music.
Swaying you with sweet melodies,
Resolving with perfect harmony.
It will always be your guide.
Music is a sweet thing to possess.


You can’t have it all,
But you can have some.
Make something big out of it,
create yourself and your image.
Some of everything is better
Than everything of something.

There is room in my heart for the sweet,
Poetic night spent with friends by the fire.
When our ideas and dreams come together,
forming as one and bonding us even closer.
There is room in my heart for my passions,
Such as personally drawing a permanent picture
on the flesh of my fellow man.
Or for the sweet melody of jazz music
On a chilled winter day.
There is room in my heart for learning.
Being a universe only becoming self aware.
Attaining knowledge from the farest,
Reaches of the human mind.
And teaching each other as family.
There is room in my heart for many things.
Some personal, not to share.
Others for other people, who may not know.
The room in my heart is unlimited,
For it is always open.

I step out the back door, the cold rushes to my face.
Bringing with it the memories of the year’s recent past;
The winter stings my eyes, much like mace.
Oh how the memories return so fast.

The chill penetrates my bones,
bringing upon me an internal tremble.
The wind gusting likened to cyclones,
The chimes clash like a cymbal.

The precious gems burning overhead,
With nothing but a small ember for internal warmth,
I gaze upward, the sky as my bed,
Blowing the smoke north.

I sit in this lone room.

Full of others but still no joy.

These lessons being beaten into my mind.

I don't want to learn this, these requirements.

I want to learn of my passions,

My life goals, my loves.

The teacher continues, not knowing,

The thoughts blocking out their words.

"You can do better than this" they say.

I am doing better,

This mind is more complex than anything.

You've never seen a mind this bright.

But you can't test a fish's intellect,

By asking it to climb a tree.

I am the fish,

This school is the tree.

The class is a prsion,

my mind wants to be free.