I'm lost
Lost in the parts of my mind I never knew existed
Lost in the words I've never heard before
How do you know something
You've never heard before?
Something that sounds so clear
But you can't even imagine

How can I live in the present
When all I do is think in the past?

Someone needs to be a dreamer
In a world filled with wishers

I need to get out of the inner workings of my mind
Escape the reality
That is my own flesh and blood
Take my mind
And stretch it out
From coast to coast
Let it soak up the sadness
That is America
The world may still be moving to the beat
But with each breath
Smokes comes pouring out
Trying to make sense of the madness
That covers my mind
So crumble it back up
Learn a lesson
and GO!!

To a young boy growing up there is nothing greater than getting up, eating cereal, and watching cartoons.  But as a young boy becomes a man, he sees that his priorities change.  Music  seems to take full charge, and with music comes an even bigger challenge, the female mind.  Things that seem important are put to the side and room is made for a girl.  But to me she is not just some girl, she is the perfect girl, a princess to some sort.  But what I love the most is that my priorities aren't put to the side, everything coexists.  So even as I sit here, I realize I'm still a young boy who gets up, eats cereal, and watches cartoons, but now I know I can so all of this with the perfect girl sitting right by my side.

Of all the stereotypical artists
Why did I have to pick the
Struggling writer?
Armed with a pen
And my mystic thoughts.
I could have been a great musician
Or a famous painter
But no!
I chose to let my words drive my creativity.
Into battle I go
With my .50-cent pen
And I let that be my battle weapon
It’s an extension of my body,
But it doesn’t protect me
Like I wish.
Plan B
My words,
Flow from my mind
But even that doesn’t protect me.
I let my heroes guide me,
Like Greek Gods.
But who protects me,
On the verge of defeat?
I’m a demi-god
But is that enough to prevail?
No!!
I must fight for myself,
My creativity,
And my voice?
HELP ME JACK KEROUAC!

Insomnia is a woman to keep you company
While the rest of the world is sleeping
She lets you do whatever you want
And never judges you
You can look her in the eyes
And she will never say a word
Her curly hair flies around
While you watch her dance
Are you going crazy?
Do you really see her?
Yes, she is there right beside you
And when you are ready to leave  her
She will tuck you into bed
Kiss you on the forehead
And wait for you to return the next night
But while you enter dreamland, does insomnia follow?
Or does she have a man waiting for her?

Can the reader tell the difference
Between a poem that is
Forced, or
One that naturally flows
From mind, to pen, to paper.
A challenge to the reader,
Which is this?
A well constructed masterpiece,
Or a ****** attempt to get back
Into my lost craft?
For all you know
This is my third draft.
Writers are the clowns of the written word.
Can you assume everything that's written is true,
Or do you, the reader, need to be skeptical?
Where did all the trust go?
Was there any trust to begin with?
So reader,
Do you trust me?