Today I walked into Barnes and Noble to buy my summer reading book which just so happens to be super thick and its boring (**** me now!) Anyways, while we're there, out of curiosity, I asked if they had any John Green books (because everywhere else, they're either sold out or on hold) and they did. The lady brought me to a table. A few of my friends had recommended his works. Scanning the table of books, unsure of what to chose, a guy walks up to me. He looks about my age, maybe a year or so older. He's pretty cute, which is quite the pleasant surprise because usually guys don't talk to me. He says, pointing to The Fault in Our Stars, "I couldn't help but kind of overhear you talking, but I read this and it was amazing." He points at Looking for Alaska. "My girlfriend read this... said it was pretty good." So I say thanks and something awkward like 'I'll have to check it out,' and get The Fault in Our Stars. This small gesture has restored my hope in our generation. The guys in my school are mostly arrogant airheads with no taste in music, in my opinion, anyway. In addition to this experience with a stranger, today, while at a shopping center, I saw a girl wearing a 5 Seconds of Summer shirt, as I had mine on, too. I complimented her and she smiled and said, "Thanks, you too." This small gesture has also restored my hope in our generation. Today I learned that not everyone ***** and that makes me really happy. I guess that if you put yourself out there, ever so slightly, in the right places, you might learn things or make new friends.  What if I'd talked to the girl about 5SOS? Or asked the guy about other books he's read? There are so many opportunities every single day to improve the quality of our lives and we pass them up, because they're things that are thought of as small, but can have huge impacts. I believe that if each and everyone of us tried, just a little bit, to talk to  strangers, the world would be a better place. Not everyone wants to hurt you. I'm not saying to invite some random person  into your house, but to talk to people with common interests, or compliment someone on their shirt. Little things like that, as they did to me, can make someone's day. I walk to my mom with a pile of books. She turns to me and says, "Since when did cute boys talk to you at bookstores?"

And we showered in prison sized cells,
white tiled and PVC clad,
the B&Q; recommends it!-
hells.

And we died in those showers
that were prison sized cells,
white tiled and PVC clad,
doors-are-broken-again-
hells.

And we were saved by the
eat again yellow doors,
peering through blind black windows
into the clear streets at dawn.

And they yelled with a siren mouth
***** blue profanity and
you left your mark with a ****** white tee,
wet with the water that
hurtled down from the
shower head, unclean and *****.

I've decided to write a novel because that's what Father John sings about
(my only reality is a vicarious one)
I shall sing the words through a pine tree, caterwauling
(social media passes for inspiration in my wilted mind)
But Kerouac's stream of conscious prose appeals too
(plans often deteriorate so freewheeling seems apt)
My biggest problem though, is my inherent inability to write anything of substance
(and my poetry leaves little to desire)
Cognitive dissonance can be a brutal *****
(my warring mind never ceases to distract me)
I'm tired of forcing words from my brain
(i'm going to lay down and read)

- From the trees, from the trees
I hear the solemn breeze
(A soft whisper, loving, sage)
Enough to bring me to my knees
It's a precious thing to have
(In this lonely age) -

I hope you gaze  
Over, over breakfast
Tired mind in overcast, morning haze
It's raining in June
When your eyes attain their loving glaze

They could catch your smile
With a cardboard box, and a stick
*****, painted on your face a while
You're looking over what I wrote last night
For that smile,  I would limp every mile

This morning you begin to read my musing
English Muffin and Orange Juice
Is poetic perusing the least bit amusing?
Graft script, sweet nothings onto yourself
In conviction I made you my choosing

This is the Wednesday's one am.

A song I don't know and eyes I
have yet to look into.

---
you missed the first curve, she said,
you see all the good girls are already
getting married at your age.
you're just going to have to wait
for the second. when the divorces start up.
when the bisexuals calm down.
---

It rains and rains.
Day after day.
Night after night.
Water falling from the sky.
Soaking the floor below.
Washing up the dirt.
Confining people to their shelters,
Giving them time to think.
Are there thoughts meaningful or not?
They are in fact theirs to own,
But do they bore themselves?
And the rain suggests this meditation.
As the sky leaks,
Covering the plants,
Giving them life,
While the birds bathe,
And the mushrooms flourish.
Yet, people still think only of themselves.
They dont wonder abnout the birds,
Or the mushrooms.
They worry about vanity.
They worry about relationships,
Retirement, family, health, sports.
They do nothing but worry.
But few can appreciate the rain
Few can let their mind at ease
Listen to the droplets,
And not worry.

Down the hatch!
A harmonious cheer comes from our group.
A dubious dedication to social excitement
Reverberates throughout the club.
Back to back, we sink ourselves into inebriation.
As we loosen up, the entertainment gets better.
The music means something now.
The people you meet seem more interesting.
Secrets come out.
Stories arn't just told, but made.
And our lives are at a stand still
This is our time! Our place!
And we musn't waste it.

I take a cigarette break to the beach at 2AM every time i'm on the graveyard shift. The whole atmosphere of being at the edge of a continent with an endless body of water living and breathing in front of you is emotional. When the sea is calm and the tide is low it feel like you can relax, listen to the tide rippling off the rocks and it soothes the soul. When the tide is high and the sea is rough you realize the pure power of the ocean. I imagine the lives previously taken by the merciless sea, engulfing ships and crashing into mountains and piers, cities, lighthouses, residences, and boat yards. Unforgiving, and yet, majestic she is responsible for more life than we can fathom. A whole different part of our world we have such minimal access to. I look out into her endless brilliance as the wind warns me of her presence. Blasting the smell of salt onto my skin, as i take long breathes with ease. The ocean is wise, she has been here much longer then i have and has experienced loss, life, tragedy, war, ******, and survival. Nobody's around at 2AM, just me and her. Every night she gives me the same feeling, like a women you love but cant control, a free spirit, wild for her own pleasure, thirsty for love and affection but resilient to the idea of being confined. For you can not control the one who manipulates you. I am being manipulated by the sea. As i exhale my last puff i walk back inside to work. "Ill see you tomorrow".