Envy tells me a story,
One, he was told by my friends.
He tells me about their happiness,
And how it never seems to end.
How their lives seem to be so perfect,
While I’m crumbling apart.
I wish Envy would leave me,
But he’s adamant to break my heart.

Envy whispers triumphs,
Another crushing defeat.
I should feel happy for them,
Instead, I feel weak.
This world is passing me by,
While I stand frozen in time,
Perhaps my chance to shine,
Passed long ago.

As I look in the mirror,
Envy tells me my inadequacies.
He points to the acne,
And the glasses on my face.
He isn’t kind to me,
And he calls me a disgrace.
I beg him to stop,
But he only laughs at my expense.
Oh, how Envy hurts me,
But, oh, how it makes sense.

The snare of comparison is tight around my neck,
It won’t come loose, it’s like a noose,
Except wrapped inside my head.
Like a rabbit in a trap, I’m trapped,
With no way to break free.
On those days, I feel, oh, so lonely,
I guess I have my good friend Envy.

Am I a horrible person,
To feel this way?
This envy is constantly darkening my sunny days.
I’ll just look at my word search, as I search,
For the words to say,
And how to say them.
While Envy watches and lurks,
With a subtle smirk,
As I break.
Oh, I envy…
I envy them.
My joys seem,
Arbitrary in comparison.

Envy keeps telling me his sweet stories,
As I consistently demean myself for not being so lucky.
He’s a poet, too,
And he knows what to do.
He never feels restrained or contained.
Envy, he’s crazy, but so captivating,
Showing me what I am missing.

A boyfriend,
I hope it goes well,
And doesn’t meet a bitter end,
Like many stories tell.
Junior year,
Only two more left to go.
When our paths veer,
Will I end up alone?
Envy’s torturous words,
Uttered with malice,
Gathered together like herds,
Feeling inadequate.
Like a knife in my back,
A personal attack,
Against myself,
Highlighting what I lack.
He paints me a portrait,
Of things I’ll never have,
Throw it to the fire,
And watch it burn to ash.
Gather all the remnants,
And add it to the stack.

Pain, heartache, isolation,
Stirred to the surface due to one emotion.
Outsiders might say I have no reason,
But this envy is just like an ocean.
Its waters are so frigid,
Not even Posideon could stand it.
Occasionally, there are ripples,
From little tiny drops.
They’re let out,
And it’s hard for them to stop.

Envy’s villainous gaze,
Would turn Medusa to stone.
I’ll be the lonely monarch sitting on his throne.
I’ll watch from my tower,
As people live in the world below.
Envy by my side, all alone,
In my merciless, envious home.

So, I’ll envy…
A fleeting sense of control.
I’ll envy,
The noose taking hold.
Envy,
My sweetest friend.
Envy,
The one who’ll stay till the end.
I can’t help but envy my friends.
He’s whispering again,
His voice overtaking my head.
I envy…
Oh, I envy them.

I am realizing that the times you spent with me,
Were more of a worry than they were any reprieve.
I guess hindsight is twenty-twenty,
I wish I had seen it sooner so that I could leave.
Now I’m questioning,
Did it mean anything?

What defines a friend?
What separates them from an acquaintance?
I don’t know anymore;
The ones I thought were my friends are strangers,
That I’ve never met before.
Perhaps, there were good times,
But they’re clouded in the grey.
Now I’m left with ambiguity,
To haunt me for my days.

Those times that you laughed,
At a joke I didn’t understand.
Dividing us further by our clear differences.
This lone wolf was meant to hunt on his own,
Dancing with solitude in the comfort of his home.
But the lonely monarch grows tired of his throne,
He’s frozen with fear, for he doesn’t know where to go.

So, what’s next?
How does the second chapter open?
Would it be simpler to just forget?
Or act bitter and broken?
I walk the trial-heavy road,
Of finding new friends.
I wish I were a bloodhound,
To sniff out genuine people,
Who could invest in me.
Authenticity is a rarity,
Amidst all of the fallacies,
Filled to the brim with irony,
And patronizing apathy.

It’s a painful search,
That leaves me questioning my worth,
But I won’t stop looking,
Statistics assure me,
That there’s at least one friend out there, somewhere.
I just have to find them wherever they are.
A friend is as rare as a perfect pair,
And they can be covered with fool’s gold.
How is anyone to know?

I went on a jaunt through the park,
And found a man dancing underneath the stars.
Two-step, and he spun around,
His feet were so graceful on the ground.
He looked toward me and,
Extended his hand.
I didn’t know what to do,
Was this too good to be true?
Of his motives, I was unsure,
But he had this strange allure.
So, I swallowed and decided then,
To reach out and take his extended hand.

We danced in tune,
Of a melody no one could hear.
We danced throughout the night,
And though he was a stranger, I had no fear.
We moved together like we’d done this before,
But, I swear to you, this was new.
I didn’t want to go despite my intuition,
Before I knew it, the sun had risen.

We met over the course of the month,
Same spot, same time, and if that wasn’t enough.
We’d dance for hours, starting at the setting sun,
And we’d remain till the next day, when the morning welcomed us.
I never saw his face; he hid behind a mask,
But if he didn’t want to tell me, I decided not to ask.
I asked his name, but he merely shook his head,
At the time, I didn’t bother to question it.

We didn’t care if people watched,
We ignored their remarks as they gawked.
He spun me round, up and down,
Lifted me high and I touched the sky.
I was alone, but I was found,
I felt connected and like I had a crown.
Our waltz was all we focused on,
His hand in mine, things were fine, or so I thought.

One night, I was at our stage, all alone.
I had been waiting since the sun set long ago.
He was gone; all he left was a note on the ground.
I walked over, looked down, and then looked all around.
I picked it up, saw what it said,
And I finally knew who I had been dancing with.
It said a name,
One, I am ashamed to say.
Solitude,
Had left me destitute,
Now I was truly alone.
He had gone,
Left me behind,
All I had was my own.

I stood up, laughed out of spite,
And gazed up into the night.
Had I done something wrong?
Did I step on his foot or dance to another song?
Either way, he ran away,
Solitude had ruined my day.
So, figuring I was at a new low,
And needing a moment of respite,
I decided to continue dancing solo,
Throughout the night.

Everyone’s the hero of their story,
Everyone believes they’re in the right.
Unless they hate themselves,
So they push away everyone else.
See the sights and hear the sounds of sonder,
It’s honestly refreshing if you take a moment to ponder,
How everyone is aware like you,
Though they may not see the world like you do.
How I wonder,
All thanks to sonder.

Today was tomorrow, yesterday.
If that isn’t enough to make you go crazy,
Then, how about a year ago, today felt like forever away,
Yet, by tomorrow, it’ll be gone, nothing left to say.
For nothing gold can stay,
But, isn’t time a tyrannical little thing?

We can’t change it, nor stop it,
We’re purely at its will.
We can’t see it, but its effects,
As our world is encompassed by its silk.
It’s all around us, yet it eludes us.
How can we be so blind,
But, bound by brutes who bellow from the night?

We watch helplessly,
As the world changes constantly.
Partly, by our hands,
Purely by time’s demands.
Puppets on sharpened strings,
Dancing to a tune that someone else sings.
I wish I could sever the strings,
But we’re all dragged along by time, continuously.

It’s heartbreaking to watch such beauty fall apart.
Friendships die, people cry,
Dust yourself off and keep on smiling bright.
Rise up, like a daisy,
Otherwise, the world gets too hazy.
How am I supposed to see?!
Sometimes, it feels like things are crashing down around me.
Time laughs as it claps,
Dust myself off and keep on walking straight,
Suffocating under the weight.

People keep growing older around me,
Meanwhile, I’ve felt the same since I turned fourteen.
Eventually, I’ll have to put on an act,
Like I have any idea what I’m doing.
Pull it all together and keep on moving.
That’s all that we can do.

Oh…I fear the future.
Most may say I’m delusional,
But I like control.
I like my day to be predictable,
No surprises for me.
And when my routines break,
Anxiety takes the helm.
Why wouldn’t I be afraid,
Of something that affects me every day?
Why wouldn’t I be terrified,
Of something that’ll affect the rest of my life?
All based on decisions I make,
What if I make a mistake?
The last thing I need is more pain.
From the tyrant who controls everything.
Tyrannical time,
I don’t understand how people turn a blind eye.
I wish I were ignorant,
Since that seems to be bliss.
Instead, I think, perhaps, too much,
About things I can’t ever touch.
That’s my curse…

Few dared to date Medusa,
For they feared being covered with contusions.
Those who did wore a blindfold to hide their eyes,
A blind date with fate and a disguise.

One of the braver men,
Who thought he could apprehend,
Medusa, his name was Trent.
He didn’t last long,
He took his blindfold off,
And like many before him,
He turned to stone and wasn’t heard from again.
Another challenger’s name was Wren,
Like the bird,
Medusa thought that was the strangest name she’d heard.
So, out of spite,
She reached across the table and exposed Wren’s eyes.
He gasped as his skin turned coarse,
Mouth open wider than a horse.
Medusa pushed him over,
Watched as he shattered,
And smiled to herself,
Even though she was lonelier than anyone else.

Medusa didn’t mean to be so cruel,
It was the consequences of her being used.
By a man to do things she didn’t want to do,
Unspeakable and terrible abuse,
She was the only one to lose.
So, she became a viper,
Her gaze became a noose.
Asphyxiation,
Righteous indignation.
She wouldn’t let herself be used again.

Finally, a man named Hunter arrived,
He tightened the blindfold around his eyes.
He sat across from Medusa, the table lit by candlelight,
She blushed, for he was quite a sight.
He reached across the table and shook her hand,
And he asked her if she had any plans.
She was taken aback, her mind rolling off the tracks,
Lost in a flashback, she babbled about tasks she had to do,
None of which was true.

Hunter laughed, a sound so sweet,
It made Medusa nearly fall out of her seat.
Was this the one she had been searching for?
Or was he just another liar?
Authenticity tends to hide,
Just like the scars Medusa had on her thighs.
One of her snakes whispered in her ear,
Advising her to ignore what she wanted to hear.
The snakes only wanted what was best,
But for whom? What was the purpose of their quest?

Hours passed by like comets,
First date turned into many happy moments.
Before Medusa could catch her breath,
Half a year had passed,
And Hunter had asked,
To see Medusa’s face.
She insisted that he didn’t,
But she knew he wouldn’t listen.
He lowered the blindfold,
As teardrops glistened,
Medusa thought she had just lost,
Her heart…

Hunter had heterochromia,
Left eye green, right eye a shimmering blue.
Medusa’s eyes were both red,
That pulsated in blossoming hues.
To both of their surprise,
Hunter didn’t turn to stone.
He captured her lips in a kiss,
Both of them were alone.
Medusa found the one who could see her,
She no longer had to hide.
Hunter loved Medusa,
It made her cry.

The world is filled with hurt people, like Medusa,
Who may push you away and leave you in contusions.
But underneath that deadly gaze,
Is a mountain of pain…

Two words were all it took for his world to shatter.
Two words said were enough for him to question if anything mattered.
Uttered so thoughtlessly,
A waste of vocabulary.
Two words were all it took for him to shut down,
Two words whispered in his ear, causing him to frown.
No one cared about his feelings,
Or how those two words could carry a darker meaning.
Two words were all he needed to make a mistake,
Two words meant everything and caused him to break.
Said by someone cruel,
But all it takes is one fool.
Two words repeated in his mind.
Two words dictate what he should leave behind.
Two words hurt him, summoning a pain in his side.
Two words…

Occasionally, I feel like,
I’m being buried by a landslide,
So I go into my room and turn off the lights,
Play music to drown out my plights.
Suddenly, I feel a bubbling,
Deep inside my soul.
It’s been bottled up,
My dam isn’t enough,
And I’m about to lose control.

The truth is,
Sometimes I cry.
When I’m tired of bottling it up inside.
A deconstruction of pride,
Fractured fragments left behind.
My dam can’t hold back,
The tsunami that’s on the attack.
Sometimes, it’s overwhelming,
It can feel like I’m drowning,
In a pool of sorrow,
Of my own making.
It’s hard to stop it,
So methodic,
It keeps on coming back.

Pathetic, sympathetic,
It’s difficult to control it.
Cathartic, ironic,
How do people deal with this?
The waterworks are a virus,
That everyone’s contaminated with.
Can’t show weakness,
Got to keep a straight face,
A mask from the pain.
Let the pillow be the bucket for my sorrows.
Let the tears dampen the fabric of the case.
Let my blankets cool me off, calm me down,
And help me change my frown.

Sometimes all we need,
Is an emotional release.
Perhaps, that’s the way,
To inner peace.

Nancy loved Bobby,
And Bobby loved Stacie,
And Stacie was confused since she loved both simultaneously.
What a strange shape we’ve built.

The angles weren’t adding up,
Bobby’s was way too much,
Since he loved Stacie more than she loved Nancy.
How pitifully confusing.
Lines drawn with guilt.

What is one man to do?
Trapped between two girls,
One who’s confused.
These feelings, so deceiving,
It seems like everyone’s destined to lose.
This obtuse love triangle,
Only spells doom.

Nancy found Bobby making out with Stacie,
And ran off crying in a hurry.
Stacie felt guilty, but Bobby was just too lovely.
The hypotenuse forgot the rules.

Nancy and Stacie both vented their heavy hearts.
They destroyed their friendship, and the words left nasty scars.
All the while, Bobby was standing not too far away.
He found Stacie crying because Nancy had called her a heinous name.

But what’s a girl to do,
When she’s emotionally confused?
On the one hand, she has a guy who’s cute,
On the other, a woman who could heal all her wounds.
These feelings, so fleeting,
It seems like everyone’s destined to lose…
Oh, this obtuse love triangle,
Only spells doom.

In the end, none of them remained friends,
They made a pact to never speak to each other again.
They figured it would be the best thing to do.
Bobby, Nancy, and Stacie,
Feeling so blue and so lonely.
I guess they’re lucky,
That there’s always more fish in the sea.
No use to spend all their love,
On someone who didn’t know what they wanted.

But what were they to do?
In the game of love, they were new.
They thought they knew,
Who their heart belonged to.
Fate demanded to be paid his dues,
It seemed they were destined to lose…
Oh, this obtuse love triangle,
Only spells doom…

Whenever my family and I,
Prepare to embark on a fair drive,
I grab my phone with my playlist along with my headphones.
Filled with excitement that nobody knows.
We set out on our excursion,
I put my headphones in,
I turn on my music,
And let the symphonies enter my head.
If I close my eyes,
I can visualize,
An ancient city filled with song and dance,
Amidst a sacred feast with the finest band.
I see the dresses swirl, and I smell the wheat in the fields,
Along with the fresh bread that they created with their yields.
The song changes to a more melancholic melody,
I envision a final stand, one with honor and dignity.
The knight fights its hardest, but is overrun,
The piano’s keys, haunting me, as it dies under the setting sun.
Another change, more upbeat, a comforting, catchy symphony.
I wish to dance, but I am confined to the car seat.
I open my eyes and look to the right,
At the sprawling landscape we’ve been passing by,
But instead of farmland and trees, guess what I see,
The same mind-boggling envisioning!
More songs play, various tones,
From joyous to somber, sacred to monotone,
Threatening to empowering, all on their own.
The drums beat to the piano’s keys,
As a rare mandolin strums in harmony.
A glorious symphony,
An undertone for creativity.
Oh, the power of envisioning!

Sickening,
He found it sickening,
How everyone around him seemed to be in love.
Someone,
They all had someone.
They all had the thing he was dreaming of.
Loverboy was surrounded by love,
He found it excruciating.
Loverboy wished for an angel to come down from above,
To end his misery.

How Loverboy loved,
To hear about everyone’s,
Relationships while he was alone.
Loverboy all on his own.

He went through the motions,
Dancing solo.
Solitude had left him destitute,
Crawling to a new low.
Loverboy watched as,
Lovers and friends,
Intertwined hands.
He envied,
His friend,
And hoped her relationship,
Wouldn’t meet a bitter end.

Circling,
Circling thoughts.
Was Loverboy good enough?
Was it something he lacked?
Loverboy pondered as he turned his back.
He closed himself off from the world,
Too afraid to watch his heart unfurl.

How he loved to listen to,
The gossip of the hearts broken in two.
Some relationships were meant to lose,
Fate demands his dues.
How could he be so unlucky?
Surely, this was the work of irony.
Or, perhaps, was he,
Just unlovable from the beginning?

Loverboy learned not to care,
When his friend spoke about her affairs.
After all, he was alone,
With no opinion to offer besides his own.
His friend was clueless,
Clueless about Loverboy’s mind.
He accepted his fate,
That one day he’d be left behind.

Loverboy’s lack of love,
Led to lies of liable fun.
Just smile and listen to the stories they tell,
His tears overflowed inside his well.
Don’t crack,
Don’t break,
Loverboy can’t afford to make a mistake.
After all, it’s not about you,
It never was,
Loverboy knew this to be true.

Loverboy loved to listen to others’ loves.
A lie to keep him up at night.
Loverboy wished an angel would fall from above,
To show him some love,
Some of that fated love.

Sometimes, when I,
Attempt to talk to others,
It can seem like,
AI is on the rise.
AI,
Artificial interactions,
Superficial,
Never gaining traction.
What’s the point,
Of such forgettable discourse?
Small talk,
Exceptionally bores.
The same simple assortment of questions,
Like I’m being read a script.
I leave the conversation,
My desire to connect stripped.
Yet you have to jump the hurdle,
To have a genuine connection,
But sometimes,
These artificial interactions,
Make me wish that I were,
An AI.

The blood on my hands has begun to dry,
Along with my eyes, no more tears to cry.
I did what I did, I don’t regret their demise,
So why do I feel so conflicted inside?
I go into the bathroom and walk to the sink.
I pour myself a cup and take a small drink.
While deep inside, I’m boiling to the brink.
And if I don’t let it out, I’m destined to sink.
I look in the mirror, and all I see,
Are two eyes freezing cold.
I don’t remember who’s staring back at me,
I’m still not used to this mold.
I used to be a coward,
My will to speak overpowered.
While everyone around spoke so loud,
I’d sit at my desk and not make a sound.
But I made a vow to speak louder,
No longer will I be a coward.
I’ll say what I mean and mean what I say,
I’ll be a good man to my dying days.
I’ll find my hill and make my stand,
Holding on tight with my bloodied hands.
I stare into my two cold eyes,
My guise overwhelming my surprise.
I wash the blood off my hands.
I hope this was worth it in the end.
Since it takes a lot to change an identity,
I gaze in the mirror at the new me.

This summer, I’ve thought a lot,
About how I’m in a liminal standstill.
The crossroads of life,
Childhood to the left, and adulthood to the right.
Which way do I go?
I don’t have a choice.
The only way to go,
Is forward toward the void.
I must go on,
Listening to the songs that spark my envisioning,
Imagination bleeds into reality.
I must accept,
That there’s never enough time,
But that’s okay.
I’ll water her flowers and try not to complain,
Because she means the world to me.
The singer and the lyricist,
Moved on from their precipice,
Perhaps I can do the same.
I’ll rise, like a daisy,
Even when the world is feeling hazy.
I’ll remember what the Wendigo told me,
And what I learned from Dracula’s kidnapping.
It’s humbling to find,
That I’m at the world’s whim as much as it’s at mine.
Just a change in my paradigm.
I’ll make sure I won’t be like Vain,
Or like Russel, used for his brain.
I’ll overcome my fear and drive,
And leave my other fears behind.
Acne won’t entrap me forever,
There’s always another summer,
Though the heatwaves might be a ******.
I’m all in,
Avoiding artificial interactions.
I’ll try to see what they see,
And overcome this anxiety.
Oh, what thoughts can be stirred from a monochromatic shade of grey,
But I’ll fight through the haze.
I’ve seen,
That the last summer of reprieve,
Is as much of an ending,
As it is a beginning.

If I had to think of one phrase to describe me,
It would be: “I feel…deeply.”
Happy to sad,
Melancholy to glad,
The good days feel amazing,
And the bad days feel…bad.
But I feel…deeply.

Sitting in a room full of people I’ve seen,
Talked with, greeted, and shared some things.
Yet, I still feel like a stranger,
Who wandered somewhere I shouldn’t be.
This lonely feeling,
I feel it…deeply.

Friends who’ve moved on,
Without a second thought,
Leaving me to fend for myself.
“Who needs anyone else?”
I’ll say to myself to muffle my grief,
But I still feel it…deeply.

Helplessness, entrapment,
All fueled by anxiety.
I gnaw at the ropes,
Trying desperately to break free,
With what little I control,
I guess I just go with the flow.
As I weep,
Because I feel…deeply.

Perhaps, I’m too different.
Perhaps, I’m not enough.
Perhaps, I’m just forgettable,
Perhaps, that’s all I ever was.
These fictitious thoughts creep into my reality,
As I feel…deeply.

I wish I were normal,
I wish I fit in,
And I wish I wasn’t abnormal,
But a normal bystander instead.
I know there’s only one of me,
And I should be the best me I can be,
But sometimes, it feels like,
I can’t even be me…right.
This, I feel…deeply.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t think,
Sometimes I wish I were less advanced.
Would it be easier,
Or would it be harder then?
Why does everyone around me seem to function like they’re fine,
While I’m struggling and crumbling on the inside?
Life never said it was going to be fair.
I just wish I didn’t care.
But instead, I drown in an ocean, searching for meaning,
This I feel…deeply.

What am I to do?
What am I to say?
“This is who I am.”
And go on with my day?
Sometimes I hate how I am,
My biggest hater is myself,
And no one else.
Though it’s easier to assume they do.
Even if it’s not the truth.
Sometimes I wonder how my life would be,
If I didn’t feel so…deeply.

Voice cracks,
When I feel overwhelmed.
Like a mental attack,
With no hope to defend myself.

Voice cracks,
When I feel nervous,
Because I have a presentation,
And I can’t seem to speak,
And my words slur.

If I were lying on my deathbed,
I ponder,
Would I remember,
When I wondered,
If I would remember,
When I was younger,
And my voice cracked?

Voice cracks,
When I feel anxious,
Wondering if I’m worth it.
Since it feels like I misuse the gifts I’m given.

Voice cracks,
When I feel passionate,
Doesn’t happen often,
But when it does, I struggle to let go.
Even when it hurts my soul,
And I wonder why I didn’t let go.

If I were lying on my deathbed,
Would this matter?
Would I regret,
Not making sure that it mattered?
Would I pray for a chance to turn back the clock,
Back to the days, when all of my worrying came,
From whether or not my voice cracks?

Voice cracks,
When I feel overwhelmed,
And I wonder,
Why do I do this to myself?
My biggest critic,
My greatest asset,
My only friend who’s guaranteed to me till the end.

Voice cracks,
When things just seem a bit too much,
And I want to hide away,
To return another day.

If I were lying on my deathbed,
Would I be satisfied,
That I lived my life,
Instead of watching it pass by?
Though people came and went,
Faces and names smudged by time.
Did I do what I wanted to do?
Or did I disappoint you?
It wouldn’t matter then.
I think I’d find,
Myself longing to go back,
To the times,
Where all I had to worry about,
Were my voice cracks.

Sometimes when I look outside,
And see the Sun drowned by dark clouds,
I can’t help,
But feel my mood being dragged down.
Some days are shrouded in a,
Monochromatic shade of grey,
And at times, while it might not be ideal,
It’s okay.
The Sun will find its time to shine someday.
However,
When that melancholy grey takes over,
I can feel my heart take a dive,
Darker thoughts creep into my mind.
“Are you being proficient at life?
Or are you wasting your time?
Your accomplishments mean slim to none,
In the grand scheme.
It won’t help you run,
From the inevitably closing gap between,
You and responsibility.”
It comes fast,
It lasts,
It doesn’t just come to pass,
One lap.
It stays,
And it won’t ever go away.
Oh, what thoughts can be stirred from a monochromatic shade of grey.

When people compliment me,
I feel a crisis of identity.
Was it I whom they were referring?
Or was it someone more fitting?
If I saw what they see,
Perhaps I wouldn’t be,
So self-deprecating,
Maybe…
If I saw what they see,
I could confidently,
Lower my walls and be me,
So much uncertainty.
I’m not one to accept compliments lightly,
I consistently convince myself that I’m not worthy,
Of their praise or their appreciation.
Cursed self-deprecation.
How could I accept such an honor,
When I look in the mirror,
And see,
Someone other than what they are praising?
If I saw what they see,
Perhaps I wouldn’t be,
Filled with anxiety,
About whether or not I’m being true to me.
And if I believed,
That I was what they see,
Maybe,
I’d feel happy…

I may mistake the modern day for Salem.
We seem to be mirroring the crazy then verbatim.
Back then, the hysterical banter was of witchcraft and bewitchment.
Now it’s plotless allegations with no plausible way to prove it.

Someone accuses another of a devious deed,
No trial, no proof, I guess that’s no longer a need.
Just escort them, with haste, to the center of the stage,
Light the fire and burn them alive,
Leaving the liar to tell another lie.
The only witchcraft that I see,
Is how people, so thoughtlessly,
Get so passionate about events so petty,
That they become a mob, a stormy sea.
It has nothing to do with their lives,
But they see a cause and sharpen their knives.
A primitive desire to antagonize,
What we believe to be bad, but based on lies.

Truth has become subjective,
Despite its definition, objective.
I can spur a web of lies,
Witchcraft in disguise.
No need for evidence, it doesn’t have to be airtight,
Just enough to incite the urge to fight.
Isn’t that a sorry sight?

“Burn the witches!” They’d scream in Salem.
“Cancel them!” Is the modern verbatim.
They don’t deserve to tell their side,
Just shut them down and ostracize.
Guilty until proven innocent,
Dripping with bitterness and discontentment.
It’s a lose-lose for the accused,
At least they don’t meet their end at the end of a noose.

Perhaps the witches we need to burn,
Are the ones who accuse without evidence to confirm.
Why is the burden of proof on the accused,
And not the ones who defame and misuse,
Justice for a few moments in the news?
Burn naivety, which says that people always tell the truth,
And understand that, sometimes, people are just cruel.
Send the liars out into the center of the stage,
State their case, their proof, and who’s to blame.
Due process, not this foolish nonsense,
Based on feelings used against us.
Before we’re all bewitched by passion,
Which overcomes our reason.

I know a girl named Daisy,
She wears a smile on the daily.
Even when the world is feeling hazy,
She sprouts up like a daisy.
I don’t know how she smiles,
And hides all her pain.
I don’t know how she talks,
Like everything’s okay.
I wish I knew her secret,
About feeling bliss,
Despite all the melancholy,
And the darkness.
But nobody knows,
What it’s like at home.
When she’s all alone,
Does she cry into her pillow?
She wakes up the next day,
Puts a smile on her face,
How does she deal with the pain?
She brings joy to every room,
Things feel less like gloom and doom.
Even when morale feels low,
She makes me feel less alone.
If she can smile despite,
The things that occurred in her life,
Then surely I,
Could be a daisy too.

Built-up frustrations and transgressions have come to a head,
You’ve decided that enough is enough.
You carry your newly filled gasoline cans,
Can’t believe that this is how it ends.
You pour the gasoline,
All over the wooden, fractured planks.
And as you douse the bridge with kerosene,
Some of the boards groan and even break.
You light a match and stare at the flame,
Contemplating everything.
How your friends stabbed you in the back and ran away,
How they treated you like dirt, but you took it anyway.
How you were desperate, and it caused you pain.
How you never felt like you belonged with them either way.
So you flick the match,
And listen to the satisfying crackle of the flames.
But don’t feel bad,
Sometimes bridges burn, and that’s okay!

In every field of roses,
There is one that is golden.
It shimmers and glimmers in the light,
From the Sun in the morn, and the Moon at night.
Its petals are glamorous.
Sometimes they reside inside a forest.

There’s always a bee,
For every golden rose.
The hive sees nothing,
Only the chosen bee knows.
A game played since time began,
The game of love, where few seem to win in the end.

He had found his golden rose,
They had grown rather close.
Her golden hair sparkled in the light,
Whether throughout the day or at night.
She was…glamorous,
And they bought a house near a forest.
Life seemed to be going well,
He had her and never thought of anyone else.
But sometimes bees cheat at fate’s game,
And the golden rose was a victim of this plague.

The bee came home one night,
Light emanated from the bedroom.
The bee opened the door,
And he lost everything that he could lose.
His golden rose was with another,
They had been together all night.
Evidence all o’er the floor and the king-sized bed.
They were in the bathroom,
Showering with the new, pristine shower head.

The bee had been played for a fool,
False gold covered the rose he was devoted to.
All at once, her shimmer faded away,
Her petals wilted as they decayed.
The rival bee held onto the rose,
As he kissed her on the nose,
The fool had been planning to propose,
To his supposed…golden rose.

For every bee there is a golden rose,
But there are many fakes, covered in fool’s gold.
They crush the bee, make them lose their wings,
And leave nothing but heartache that stings.

Book smart with no common sense,
Genius with physical labor absent.
Can’t remember strenuous actions since,
Well…I guess there hasn’t been much of it.
They say brains and brawn are a good mix,
But what if you just have one or the other?
Pure brawn is overrated,
But I wouldn’t mind having them both together.
I can remember the lore of Star Wars,
But I couldn’t tell you how to change a tire.
Algebra two’s not that intense,
However, driving just makes me stressed and tired.
Isn’t it ironic that one can have straight A’s,
Yet, feel so incompetent?
Peers far surpass me,
And overlap me,
Still got to expand my toolkit,
And the trial and error that comes with it.
Book smart with no common sense,
But I could give you your change along with all your cents.
There’s a pressing question I need to overcome.
In the real world, is book smarts enough?
In the real world, will I function?
In the real world…can I overcome?

There was a girl who danced in the rain.
No one understood her or cared for her pain.
She danced out in the puddles all alone.
No sun in sight, for it had set long ago.
She used the thunder booms to dampen her screams,
As she pondered through the pitter-patter, what everything means.
Sometimes the others would spray her with a hose,
Knocking her glasses off her nose.
They’d shatter,
Masked by the pitter-patter,
They’d laugh at her,
Since it didn’t matter to them.
She was going through a storm with winds like a hurricane.
All that the others saw was a girl going insane.
All that she wanted was someone to listen to her cries,
But all that anybody did when they looked her way was sigh.
She danced throughout the night,
The lightning lit up the sky.
She would have danced till the end of time,
If he hadn’t stepped into her life.
He took her hand,
Stopped her from spinning around.
The rain fades away from where they stand,
And she finally feels found.
The girl who danced in the rain,
Found a partner for her ballet.

My neighbors to the right,
Every other day I would go to the fence.
So I could gaze at your house,
To see if I could figure out what was going on over there.
It always looked so secluded back in the corner.
It was quite the view.

I remember we would visit,
Once or twice every other week.
Maybe even more often than that.
My memories have begun to blur.
We would talk to you,
And I would listen to your stories.
Of how things were back then,
And I would fantasize about how things were in your time.

I would explore
The mysteries on your property
And my family would fish
In one of two ponds
Holidays were the best
Family all together
The days went flying by
And deep down in my heart
I loved my neighbors on the right

We called you by some nicknames
Couldn’t tell if you liked them or not
But I didn’t care

She would give us doughnuts
Of many different flavors
They were so delicious
That I forgot to savor the time we spent

He would tell us stories and tell us goodbye
Everytime we left he wanted to make sure we were told hi
The little things that made me happy all the time
From my neighbors to the right

Then time ticked on by
And before I knew it years had been left behind
You were getting slower and I was getting older
And we were running out of time

When he was gone I didn’t believe it
Time stood still
Then I began to notice
How empty things felt
And the deafening silence

We kept coming over to see your smiling face
And even though one was gone your joy never ceased
I could tell when we walked into the room it made your day as much as it made mine
But I knew it wouldn’t last forever
And time was running out

And time kept moving on
Things came and went with time
And deep down inside my heart I knew
I was losing my neighbors to the right
Time kept chasing me
And before I knew it years gone by
Middle school was coming to its end very quickly
And all I wanted to do was go back
And talk to my neighbors on the right

You started slowing down even more
And things started to sway far away from normal
To tell the truth it scared me greatly
I didn’t want to believe the worse
But I wasn’t naive enough to believe the best
Things went from bad to worse
Time started to go slower
I enjoyed every little visit
Every tiny conversation
But deep down in my heart
I’d fear that any one of those visits
Would have been the last
And eventually it was

Mom and Dad ran up to see you
But you were gone before they even made it there
But when they left
I felt that something wrong would happen
Turns out I was right
When Mom and Dad delivered the news
I couldn’t even think about what to do
That night was the hardest
Even though I thought I was ready
I was dead wrong
The loss finally hit me
And I fell apart
All the memories flashed over
And all the times that I passed up
Listening to all your stories
And all the times I decided to stay home
Instead of visiting with you two
Guilt was knocking at the back of my brain
All the time I wouldn’t get back
All the time I wasted
All the time I spent doing stupid things
Every little thing
Every Christmas where we would visit you
Would never happen again

Still didn’t believe it weeks later
Sometimes I would be in my room and randomly cry
I assumed the reason was
Because I thought about you again

Dad wanted to buy the house
The place where his memories lied
Mom knew we couldn’t
I never saw my Dad cry before
The family went by and grabbed all the stuff
Until the house was barren inside and out
All I wanted was a windmill
But it was already gone

And time ticked on by
Before you know it nine months have gone by
A new owner for the house you once lived in
My neighbors to the right

My family went fishing one last time
One last chance before it was too late
To enjoy ourselves in what once was
It didn’t work for me
I felt I had to leave
My Mom asked where I was going and I said to think
A lot of thinking I did
In hindsight I should have just stayed
I walked up to the front door and tried to get inside
It was locked so I checked the other doors
No luck so I sat down on the front porch and sighed
I wanted to kick down the door so bad
To see what had happened in the home I so adored
But it was futile I knew
So I just let my brain go of the rails
The memories began to flash back
And I felt a presence to my left and my right
Regret and guilt exploding in my mind as we watched the sun set
Before I knew it, it was time to go
So I said goodbye
The house set so still
As we drove into the night
As I looked back at the house
I felt something inside
A feeling of intense sadness
I think a part of my heart died

My Dad would talk about what he should have done
He should have bought the house
I feel conflicted because deep down in my heart
I feel just fine where I am
All I have ever known is in my house
While his is just to the right
A battle of memories
A fruitless fight
He knows it couldn’t have been done
And that is why I think it hurts him so much
He may think I may never understand
But I do
I envision this scenario every day in my head

Middle school came to a close
You weren’t there to say good job
High school was on the horizon
Before you know it I will be driving
What a scary thought that is

I never told you that I wanted to be a writer
Or that I already was
One of the many regrets
I bet you would have loved what I wrote

Time kept ticking on
As my memories began to blur
I forget the sound of your voices
I thought that I would get used to the pain
Eventually it starts to numb
Until you tear off the band-aid
Many nights in my room
Wishing you were still here
Wishes only get you so far
Especially when what you wish for isn’t real

My family saw a road leading into the property
A road that wasn’t there before
We went to investigate
We should have just drove on by
A bunch of lots eighteen in all
The property cut like a pie
Into a bunch of tiny little pieces
Like a nightmare come to life
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing
How could they do this, it wasn’t fair
But no matter what I thought or I wondered
The deal was already sealed


My neighbors to the right
I sometimes go to the fence
But what I see is not your house
It is a bad dream
I see the lots eighteen in all
As I gaze upon the property
I see construction vehicles sitting by
More like the ruination of precious memories
Not like the driver could care any less
They are clueless and blind to what I see

I miss the different flavored doughnuts
And the stories you’d tell
Oh you don’t know all that I’d give
Just for one more day
To tell you that I love you
MeMaw and PePaw though I bet you already know
Not a day goes by when I don’t think about you
Especially in December.

So my neighbors to the right
When I look over the fence, cover your eyes.
You don’t want to see what I see
Though you already do.
I hope somewhere out there
You're proud of what I have done.
Because no matter what
No matter how long time ticks on
You will always be
My neighbors to the right.

Like yin and yang,
Opposites attract,
The sadist and the *******,
Could attest to that.
Though their relationship was uncertain,
There was one fact,
He’d never raise a hand to her,
No, he’d never hit her back.

She let out all of her pain,
As she relished in his.
She hoped that he would fight back,
That was her one wish.

He cried out in pain,
As he took each of her kicks,
Feeling pleasure,
Though he was embarrassed to admit it.

The ******* had convinced his mind,
That he needed someone inside his life,
To break away his fleeting pride,
To break him down to where he wanted to die.
He never tried to run.
Why would he?
Who would be there to let his wife,
Blow off steam?
He took all of her blows,
Wiped the blood from his broken nose,
And deep down he knows,
He should get away, but he won’t.

She feels triumphant,
Her heart felt filled,
Laughing at the misery,
She never felt any guilt.
He hides his bruises,
Panting with relief,
As he covers his contusions,
Cursing the reprieve.

The sadist convinced her mind
That she just needed someone to hurt in her life,
Someone to satisfy,
Her parasitic urges before they killed her inside.
She never pushed him away.
Why would she?
Where would she let out her pain?
Who would bring her glee by hurting?
She punched and she beat,
Trying to blow off steam,
An attempt to retreat,
From the loss surrounding her feet.

One day, the sadist hit the *******,
After having beaten him around.
There was no scream, there was no cry,
Just a thump as he crashed onto the ground.
The sadist dropped the hammer,
And hid her mouth behind her hands,
Thinking she killed the love of her life.
The previous pleasure,
Faded to more pain,
As she cried and sobbed,
His blood left a nasty stain.

She called the police,
And turned herself in,
They took him away in an ambulance,
As she was in cuffs.
She felt no peace,
Her heart now broken,
Their fractured romance,
Was never enough.

But the ******* wasn’t dead,
And awoke months later in a hospital bed.
Paralyzed down from his neck,
He wouldn’t feel much of anything again.
While the sadist spent the rest of her days,
Locked in a cell, boiling with her pain.
She promised that if she ever got to see the light of day,
She’d go to the ******* and say,
How sorry she was, and she’d try to change.

Yin and yang,
Forever broken apart,
Though opposites may attract,
They can also shatter and leave scars.
The relationship,
Long gone,
But does anybody,
Win in the end?
No,
Nobody does.

A trusted advisor,
A friend,
Someone you can rely on,
Through thick and thin.
Someone to hold out,
A guiding hand,
Someone to cheer you on,
When you reach the end.
There’s something special,
Knowing someone believes in me,
Despite everything.
It gives me hope,
That perhaps one day,
I’ll become something!
All because of a few words said,
From a mentor, a trusted friend.

Sometimes it feels like I’m the only one who’s sane,
And maybe stating this is all in vain.
I look around at my peers, and I swear we aren’t the same.
Completely different faces and completely different names.
It’s not a profound declaration,
Or a shoddy improvisation,
And no amount of medication,
Could treat this impersonation.

Too much noise leads to vice.
That’s not even complicated advice.
If you leave people to their own devices,
You’ll find,
That’d we’d be better off leaving them all behind.
When they’re taken away,
You’re left with the glitchiness that remains,
Spouting the funniest thing,
That they heard in every sentence they say.

Perhaps I’m just an alien,
In an atmosphere I don’t belong.
A tree receiving acid rain,
A singer without a song.
I start questioning.
Does anybody think?
Or do they say whatever thoughts enter their brain?
Or if they do,
How many filters do they put their words through?
Are there harsh words I haven’t heard,
Because someone thought it’d be absurd?

Sometimes, it seems as if I’m the only one who’s sane,
But I know my thoughts, sometimes, can be rather deranged.
From fruitless worrying to self-deprecation without blame,
Perhaps, all of us are a tad insane.

A hero may wear a cape,
But that doesn’t mean they’re Superman,
They all pale in comparison,
Just another human,
Whether a man or a woman,
Their motives hidden behind their ribbons
Trying to make the world a better place.

A hero may preach peace,
But that doesn’t mean they believe it,
Often it’s just about their image.
The war must go on,
Never will everyone be happy,
There’s too much to complain about,
To be ungrateful about,
To not see the beauty of the planet we call home.
The hero may say they are against this complaining,
Yet, you see them in the streets doing the exact same thing.

Never meet your heroes,
You realize how much you inflated their heroics,
When you meet them in person,
You see how, perhaps, they weren’t a hero at all.
They aren’t a villain,
Just not a hero,
Not what you originally believe,
Yet you convinced yourself they were perfect.
Perfection is a losing game.

What makes a hero?
What makes someone noble?
Or have honor?
Or courage?
People love to play these roles,
Put them on like a wolf in sheep’s clothing,
You can always spot a fake,
They just feel disingenuous.
How can you have honor,
And preach your mantra,
Yet cut in the lunch line,
Like you’re better than all of the rest behind you?
That’s not honor!
That’s being a two-faced dishonorable fraud!
Like so many people,
Who wear the “honorable” facade.

I wouldn’t call myself honorable,
I’ve done things I’m not proud of,
Made mistakes I regret,
Have demons in my heart,
Who remind me where I misstep.
I refuse to identify,
As something I’m not,
It makes me feel icky,
Dishonest, and like a fraud.
Who relishes this feeling,
Of lying for qualities they don’t have?
What do you gain?
Recognition?
Fame?
All temporary in the grand scheme of the game.

A hero isn’t pure,
They’ve done things they despise themselves for,
Yet they try their best,
To not make the same mistake again.
They try to make a change,
Instead of complaining!

A hero isn’t good,
Or great,
And certainly not extraordinary,
They’re decent,
Down to earth,
Understanding of their faults,
Yet they push forward anyway.
They try to please people,
Not worth their time,
All in an effort,
To see them smile.
They try to save people,
To far gone to save,
Yet, they try anyway,
For they can’t accept,
That some people can’t be saved,
And are lost in the darkness.

Nobility,
Not kings or queens,
But high standards and ideas,
Yet to be expressed,
They haven’t found the words.
A hero has morals,
One’s that won’t change,
Based on who they talk to,
Their code remains the same.
That’s what takes honor,
That’s what takes strength,
Being yourself despite the gremlins,
And the goblins,
And the orcs,
Being yourself,
No matter who’s watching.
“With integrity and honor,
For people to see.”
Words long forgotten,
In our memories.

Integrity requires honor,
Which requires being noble,
Which goes hand in hand with courage and bravery.
A hero is all of these things,
Combined into a pie,
And though we humans try to replicate the recipe,
We end up exploding the kitchen,
Leaving fallout in our wake.

To me the idea of a hero,
Is more reliable than seeing it in reality,
Someone so honest,
So kind,
Understanding,
And always fighting for what they believe is right.

A villain is a hero,
Just for the other side,
With other motives,
And ways of working things out,
And the hero is the villain to the villain.
Who is right and who is wrong?
The common question.
Often times it’s not so black and white,
Nuances aplenty,
If you open your eyes.
Some are just cruel,
But some have a reason for the heinous actions they do,
Occasionally,
I root for the villain.

We may come close,
But we will never see the perfect hero,
He’s already left.
While we wait,
We can dream,
And aspire to be,
Like Superman.
As the old pledge went,
“When no one else is watching,
It is up to me!”
And so it always will be,
For each of us is the hero in our own story…

The casino owner,
Loved taking money from others.
Just set a million-dollar prize,
And everyone is surprised,
So they flock to the casino,
To ruin their lives.
Not that the owner cares,
Money in his pocket,
To pay for all his affairs.
All of the money,
Anyone could ever want,
So he spent it,
To expand the gambling.
More bills rolled in,
Which he used to pay the bills,
Of the growing establishment.
No amount of money,
Was ever enough,
And eventually,
The casino owner went bankrupt.
The people were tired of being lied to,
So they started a mob,
And robbed the casino.
They burned it to the ground,
No more money to be found.

As we walked through the wood,
I found myself oddly stood,
Amidst my peers and fellow friends,
As we searched to find an end,
For we believed we could.

There was a fork in the road,
Two paths diverged, their end unknown.
My peers and friends took the right,
While I stood, paralyzed in fright,
Not knowing where to go.

As they walked down their trail,
I hoped and prayed that they’d prevail,
But feeling called to look around,
I focused on the ground,
And studied, and eventaully prevailed.

The one to the left,
Had been more unkempt.
The right was more ideal,
Even though they hurt their heels,
They charged forward without regret.

However, deep in my soul,
I felt called, the origin unknown,
To walk the path that no one dared,
Not necessarily because they were scared,
But because the right had been controlled.

So, gathering my wits,
I took a step, with no intention to quit,
And walked down the path to my left,
A warm feeling spreading in my chest,
A sense of pride, I must admit.

The road I travel on,
Not many dare to step upon,
But those who do are,
Chosen by the stars,
To walk the road I travel on.

A tree sits in the middle of a forest,
Hydrophobic,
It fears the rain.
Its bark is coarse,
Its roots withered,
It has no leaves,
And its branches point down,
Toward the ground.

The tree does this by choice,
For it’s afraid of change,
And if not changing is the one thing it can control,
It’ll hold it to the end.
When the rain pours,
The tree refuses the water,
Spits it toward its fellow trees,
Whose leaves dance in the windy breeze.
They always saw the little tree as strange.
Why did it willingly starve itself?
What did it gain?
It always looked so sad,
All alone,
Yet this was the life that it chose.

As the little tree grew older,
It watched as its fellow trees grew tall,
And oh, so green.
Their changing leaves,
Their branches and berries,
That the birds would love to eat.
How it envied,
Oh, it envied.
It uprooted itself,
As its dying roots clung to life,
It walked all on its own,
To find another home.

It started to wonder if the rain was worthy of his fear,
Or if it was overthinking–again.
Was the future a mountain or a molehill?
Only time will tell.
How the little tree wished it could control every detail,
Save itself from suspense,
Always knowing what comes next.
Unfortunately,
Life doesn’t work that way,
A lesson the tree would have to learn,
And accept,
To find brighter days.

The tree planted itself in a garden,
Filled with flowers,
Of many hues,
Reds,
Greens,
Yellows,
And blues.
Even though the nearby birds,
Would chirp and coo,
It did little,
To ease the little tree’s
Lonely blues.
Yet as it gazed,
Amidst the pretty colors,
Of the flowers,
He thought of the fellow trees.
He wondered,
If this was the way life was meant to be.
After all,
These flowers would die come winter,
And grow again come spring,
And they would be just a goregous,
And marvelous,
The second time around.
Eureka!
Purpose and acceptance,
Finally found.

The little tree looked to the sky,
A thunderstorm was on its way.
He could hear the crackle of the lightning,
As a house was set unto a blaze.
The tree tightened down his roots,
He wouldn’t be afraid.
Perhaps if he believed,
He would be okay.
After all,
The other trees thrived off the rain,
It caused their leaves to grow,
And eased their decay.
Perhaps,
He was running from the wrong thing.
Perhaps,
His biggest villain wasn’t change.
Perhaps,
Life would be okay.

The rain came like a hurricane,
And the tree absorbed the water,
Having starved and thirsted for so long,
And as the sky cleared to the sunshine,
He heard the bird’s sweet songs.
His leaves grew majestically,
The berries tasted so sweet,
The birds who ate them,
Devoured even the seeds.
The tree felt fulfilled,
He had found his place,
And though he still feared the future,
And change,
He believed everything would be okay.

The hill I will die on,
Is that most battlefields aren’t worth dying on.
Some people see a mob,
And grab their pitchforks and their torches,
Without even understanding,
What they’re fighting for.
Perhaps they love the bloodshed,
Perhaps they love the gore,
Perhaps they feel righteous indignation,
And are adamant to settle the score.
It could be some primal need to fight,
Or some could be sure that they’re right.
Either way, I don’t see the point,
I understand that sometimes a war is just,
Most times, it feels like a bust.
A waste of money,
A waste of time,
A waste of precious human lives.
All for what? Some measly land?
How greed corrupts the righteous hands.
So the hill I will die on,
Is that some battles aren’t worth fighting,
That they aren’t worth the pain.
The lives they ruin,
The families they break,
The friendships covered in contusions,
The human souls that are broken and bruised.
All for what?

Though today wasn’t the best,
Perhaps tomorrow will be better.
A commonplace belief.
Founded upon a simple ray of hope,
Sometimes, that’s all we need.
I’ll dream about a peaceful tomorrow,
One without the strife of today,
Tomorrow’s a new day,
At least, that’s what they say.
I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.
I’ll hope and pray,
That tomorrow’s better than today.

Pluto floated somberly in his orbit that was askew,
Pondering the privilege that had been taken from his view.
He once was a part of the cool kids club.
Now just a floating rock.
Pluto remembered it vividly,
The moment a human discovered him initially.
Oh, how it filled him with such glee,
If only temporarily.
Jupiter was the biggest bully,
Chastised Pluto for his size,
Not that he could help it at all.
It gave the planets a point to talk.
Saturn and Neptune rolled their eyes.
Who was this ‘moon’ trying to join in on their fun?
Mercury screamed its disproval,
As it was blinded by the Sun.
Mars and Venus were indifferent,
And Uranus was Pluto’s one defendant.
Finally, the humans on Earth gave their verdict.
Pluto didn’t meet the criteria to be a planet.
He was immediately shunned,
His dwarf planet status had begun.
Not even the light from the Sun,
Cared to reach him at the edge of the solar system.
Pluto started to cry,
When Eris and Haumea floated by.
They lifted Pluto’s eyes.
Perhaps being chastised,
Was a blessing in disguise.

When all our friends faded away,
We stuck together.
I didn’t think it was okay,
The way they treated you.
Yet, here we are,
Feeling like deja vu,
Wondering why,
I stayed.

I try to be kind,
I try to be nice,
But judging by how you act,
I must be blind.
You make jokes,
And I laugh,
But we both know,
The facts.

I know my place,
So I’ll let you have your way.

I’ll be your punching bag,
What did I do to make you so mad?
I thought friends were supposed to have,
Each other's backs.
Is it bad,
That I like being your punching bag?

When you're desperate,
You take what you can get.
So when I have your attention,
I don’t complain.
Though you may berate me,
I’ll hold my head up high.
Because I’d rather have you,
Then be on my lonesome.

I understand my post,
We both know how this goes.

I’ll be your punching bag,
What did I do to make you so mad?
I thought friends were supposed to have,
Each other's backs.
Is it bad,
That I like being your punching bag?

Is this how friendship works?
You throw your friends to the dirt?

When God came into my life,
I was young,
Younger than I am currently,
Starting to pick up on all of the strife,
And though it stung,
I was still very naive.
Things stopped making sense,
And I felt a voice inside of me,
Telling me to confess,
And learn a new life to lead.

Everything changed,
And I opened my eyes,
I saw the world in a new light.
I felt an urge to care,
Where before I wouldn’t dare,
For better or worse,
Free from my former curse.

When God came into my life,
He showed me the light,
At the time,
When I needed it most,
To prepare for the upcoming fight.
If He hadn’t,
I can’t guarantee I’d survive.
There’s light at the end of the tunnel.
Don’t make decisions that get you into trouble.
It’s okay to cry,
To let your emotions fly,
No need to constantly hide,
Behind the layers of your mind.
There’s people who want to see you,
They’re waiting just outside,
You just have to be willing,
To search and to find.
“Knock and the door will be opened.”
If I ask.
I hope I stay on the path,
And are committed to the task.
Don’t want to go astray,
Or break away.

When God held my hand,
As I listened,
To my friend’s discontentment and resentment,
I kept my head held high.
If He wasn’t there,
I can’t say for certain I’d still be around.
When my friend attempted,
To throw away her life,
And she did what she did,
Perhaps I’d be by her side.

When God pulled me up,
From the hole I dug,
Because I believed,
That listening was enough,
To change her,
Yet, I found myself stranded in muck.
He’s kept my head on my shoulders,
When I look down,
He tilts my chin toward the sky.
He doesn’t judge me for my failures,
I wish I could see myself,
Through His eyes.

I don’t ever thank him,
For all He’s done for me,
But when my life seems to unravel at the seams,
I believe.
That tomorrow, He’ll be with me like he was today,
He’ll hold my hand to keep me from going astray,
As long as I keep on keeping on,
Along the way.
He will show me brighter days!

When God came into my life,
He showed that the world was more than pain and strife,
And as long as I’m alive,
I hope I never leave his side…

Is the villain just,
A broken, bleeding, hurting,
Human, or not?

Perhaps their pain is,
Justified. But does it clear,
Their slate, leaving crumbs?

Do they feel remorse?
Do they feel any regret, or
Are they too broken?

Listen to their tale,
You do not have to agree.
Show them empathy.

Russel was given the nickname ‘Knowsy’,
Because he knew just about anything.
If the signs weren’t apparent, like the glasses on his nose,
Russel was a nerd, and believe me, Russel knows.
Whenever someone needed help on a test,
“Russel knows,” and he dealt with the rest.
When the **** needed to finish his homework,
“Russel knows,” and then the **** forced him to work.
Oh, the curse of knowledge,
How the nerd turns from a laughing stock to a precious commodity.
Reduced from a human,
To a know-it-all without an identity beyond his brain.
Russel hated how he knew this pain.
Haley needed a favor,
An assignment was due,
And she couldn’t afford to fail.
So she went to Russel,
Not knowing about his crush,
Would his heart prevail?
He was skeptical,
Why was the prettiest girl in the world talking to him?
He had envisioned this in his head,
But it was only hypothetical.
Russel knew that it was too good to be true,
When the first words she said were,
“What did you get on number two?”
He was being used…again.
Russel knows how it feels to have your smarts be used against you.
Russel knows how knowledge can wound you.
Russel knows these things to be true.

When I try to connect to another,
I quickly discover,
That our worlds couldn’t be more separate from each other.
It’s not that hard to uncover,
And it makes me wonder,
Are our lives just mindless inside our bubbles?

Overhearing conversations,
Is a fascinating endeavor,
One I would recommend.
Without interventions,
They’ll keep on talking forever,
Without an end.
You may start to understand,
That the world’s quite bigger,
Than we can wrap our heads around.
It may be hard to comprehend,
With all of the triggering,
Surrounding sounds.

I’m in a different atmosphere,
In my bubble,
Waiting to be discovered.
Not yet in the biosphere,
Of another,
That’s a journey on its own.
Watching my exosphere,
As people pass by like comets,
Without a second thought.
A dwarf planet,
Floating aimlessly,
Contemplating,
My atmosphere,
Slowly thinning.

Listening,
To people talk about their lives,
And their strifes,
Totally different all the time.
The pinnacle of misery for any given day to me,
Could be I got a paper cut that caused me to bleed.
But what do I hear occasionally when someone shares their lives?
“Hey, my dog just died…”
Fires off as loudly as a gun,
Breaking reality underneath my feet,
Questioning if they’re just looking for sympathy,
Or empathy,
To comfort them in their time of need.

Our problems can seem so large,
To us,
Yet, comparatively to another,
They’re so minute.
Some people feel like when they wake,
It’s another day just to lose,
While others add to their bruises,
Just what they needed.
Lack of consideration,
Or spatial awareness,
Contributing to,
All of our stress.

Perhaps people are vastly different than me,
On certain things,
For one, most got their driver’s license just as they turned sixteen,
But that wasn’t a personal priority,
I need to become less jittery, first,
One thing at a time.
Most people are far more social than I’ll ever be,
Probably my biggest insecurity,
Is whether I,
Talk too much or too little,
Say anything that’s worth the listen.
Some friends adore going out,
Scouring the town,
And spending time with each other,
And if you don’t, it’s hard to recover.
I want a friendship where the person understands the way I am,
Before the butterfly can fly it needs a suitable environment.

I’m in an alien atmosphere,
Hoping to be noticed,
Hurt when it doesn’t come to pass.
Dreaming about experiencing the biosphere,
Of others,
And making memories that last,
Many years.
Gazing at my exosphere,
As the comets fly past,
Knowing that I’ll find my way at last.
Space has a lot of space,
And statistically and certainly,
There’s a habitable planet for me.
So I can circle it like a moon does,
Form a meaningful bond,
As we both are assaulted by the sun.

Just have to wait,
A common theme of life,
I’ll quicken my sorrowful gait,
Because I want to see what lies in the light…

Whenever there’s a storm,
And I hear the rain pour,
As the wind blows,
I’m reminded of the coziness of home.
That feeling of safeness,
A place to hide from the darkness,
When it seems hopeless,
A bed for your tiredness.
Though I know,
Not everyone has a home,
Or one that is safe,
One without pain,
So I feel empathy,
For those who may not be,
Lucky like me.
As I write these words,
I hear you,
And I’ll hold you,
In a tight hug.
It’ll be okay!
The storms aren’t here to stay.
Even though the winds may blow,
You can find a home.

Sometimes I feel like an alien,
Flying in my little spaceship,
Searching for a place to call my home,
Somewhere to call my own.
I must be from another planet.
What’s normal here,
Isn’t normal to me,
It fills me with fear,
That abnormality,
Isn’t so strange anymore,
How horrid.

Spite and strife,
Common friends,
Together until the end.
Such cruelty,
The normality,
Of hate and evil glee,
At the sacrifice of someone’s purity.

I know humor is subjective,
But I think objectively,
Some things are just not funny,
And shouldn’t have jokes made to laugh at.
Is that so revolutionary?

Does it ever seem to you,
That people are becoming crueler?
Is it just me?
I hope I’m wrong.
Video after video,
Of people whining and complaining,
And screaming at the waiter,
Cause they didn’t get,
The correct,
Amount of the condiment they ordered.
Fights in the streets,
Over petty disagreements.
Road rage at an all-time high,
Why?
People make mistakes,
They do it all the time,
**** it up,
Grow up,
And move on with your life!

I wonder,
What planet I came from,
Cause it sure wasn’t here.
That could be,
The reason,
Why I feel no one gets me,
We are two different species….


Society just loves to complain,
About how things aren’t that great,
But instead of changing anything,
They’ll just complain.
Always putting someone down,
To push them up,
The cowards!
Always easier to hurt another,
When you can’t look in their eyes.
Type your hatred down,
Send it in an instant,
Can’t take it back,
Don’t feel regret now.

I question,
My origin,
Because I refuse to believe,
That I am,
A part,
Of whatever we try to be…

I’ll put a drop in the bucket,
In the hope that,
Kindness will overflow,
And overthrow,
The darkness,
One day…

Sometimes I feel like an alien,
Looking for a home,
Somewhere to call my own…

I’m not afraid of heights, but of the fall.
I’m not afraid of addiction, but of the withdrawals.
I wish I could stop these circling thoughts,
But they keep on spinning.
I’m not afraid of imperfection, but of failure,
Miserably luring me,
To an askew belief.
If I fail once, was I a failure all along?
Can I do anything right?
Just add it to the tally,
Ever growing.
Another note to my somber song.
I’m not afraid to die, but of saying goodbye.
These thoughts, while dark sometimes,
I’d give everything to think of them one last time.
These fears remind me that I’m alive.
I’m not afraid of people, but of being judged.
Anxiety plunging me,
Into fictitious security.
Perhaps, I’m better off on my own,
All alone.
But you lose the chance to form connections,
To enjoy the people that surround you.
Perhaps, I should stop playing this game,
And admit that I am very much afraid.

Most have a monotonous mountain of molasses,
And, I hear they’re returning in masses.
Always viscous and vicious to prevent one’s escape.
We’re all just pawns in their grand game.
To bind us, tantalize us, and break us repeatedly.
Lie, bribe, and shatter our fleeting sense of security.
To lull us into a slumber meant for us to lose our dreams,
And then wake up and wonder what we’re meant to be.
It comes in many forms, and it’s called by many names,
All of them referring to the same sordid pile of shame.

Try as we might to escape unscathed,
Only to be bound and beaten until nothing but a husk remains.
The molasses surrounds us, pummeling us into the ground.
As we cry for help, but there’s no one around.
For they’re dealing with their own malicious mount,
Gagging us with worries to drown out every sound.
We struggle, although muffled, we try to overcome,

But even if we win, the battle isn’t won.
When we defeat a mountain, another swiftly takes its place.
This new one could be worse, as it grabs you in a devouring embrace.
You’ll overcome it; it’s a given, as many have before you.
But these battles, rest assured, will take your will to see them through.
These monotonous mountains are tenacious and cruel,
The molasses, so viscous, an evil witch’s brew.
Don’t think it’s honey, it isn’t nearly as sweet,
And don’t have the audacity to accept defeat.
It won’t be easy, after all, it is a war,
But one you can win with your shield and sword.

So, when you see a monotonous mountain of molasses,
Take solace, knowing full well you have the tools to surpass it!

The arsonist burned everything to ash.
He’d already been hurt in the past.
Due to his fear and lack of cheer,
He’d burn the world down,
Back to the ground.
He’d never let anyone touch him,
Their fingers would be set aflame.
Who needs companionship?
The arsonist thought everyone was the same.
They’d all burn him,
So he’d burn them first.
They’d all hurt him,
So he’d make sure he’s the worst.
So no one will bother,
As he pours the kerosene.
He lights the match,
Stares at the flame,
Wishing that his heart could take the pain.
She left him for another guy,
And he always wondered why,
She betrayed him after he had promised his life,
And stabbed him in the back with a knife.
He flicked the flame into the fuel.
Heard the symphony of crackling.
He’d take the whole world with him,
As it all burned down, he was cackling.

I don’t consider myself a cynic,
But I am not fooled by good intentions,
People lie,
All the time.
Is it purely for self-interest?
Does any good come from their interventions?
Who am I to say?
Each person has their own belief,
On the selfishness,
Of humanity.
I’d like to believe,
That there’s goodness around,
You may have to squint,
But I’m certain it can be found.
Isn’t it a depressing point of view,
To say that everyone is selfish,
And nobody cares about you?
I’m not overly optimistic,
Nor excessively pessimistic,
I don’t believe that I’m a cynic,
I walk the middle line,
Filled with nuance,
And confusion,
All of the time.

You lie awake,
Late at night,
Heart quakes,
And constricts you tight.
You get a text on your phone,
From a friend that you know,
Your feelings of being alone disappear.
They ask you,
“Wanna hang out on Saturday?”
The beginning of your doom,
As your brain goes insane.
You question whether you should go,
Dream up excuses to keep you stuck at home,
Yet, you wonder why you feel so alone,
Nobody’s fault but your own.

It’s the crisis of connection,
Those nasty thoughts in your head,
That make you feel like you’re too boring,
For a meaningful friend,
So you keep the superficial ones,
Those that fade,
In a vain attempt to save you from the pain.

You say you feel alone,
Like no one cares,
Yet when they try,
You let your fears control,
And hold you back,
And you know,
That it’s wrong.
You push them away,
You’ll hurt them first before they deal the final blow to you,
You’ve experienced it before,
And you don’t want to feel that way again.
So you build your walls too high,
Where no one can save you,
Cause you trapped yourself inside.
You hope it’s not too late,
To make a window,
So you can see their faces,
And try to change your fate.

It’s the crisis of connection,
That keeps you standing back,
On the sidelines,
Too afraid to attack.
You assume,
Perhaps you were just meant to be alone,
So you stay home,
With your mental contusions.
You don’t know where to go.
So you just stand alone.

You’re not afraid,
To take the road less traveled,
You never fit in anyway,
So why bother?
Just do what you do,
And see where it takes you,
The road might be lonelier than most,
Just hold onto hope.

Perhaps the crisis of connection,
Won’t seem so severe,
In time.
Perhaps building strength,
And faith,
To make self-corrections,
Is the way,
To cross the finish line.
Perhaps the loneliness,
Is a testament to your strength,
Just don’t give up,
Though it may hurt,
I know,
We will find our way.

One day, I met the Wendigo,
It told me things that I’d rather not have known.
My family asked me, “Where did it go?”
Who was I to tell?
It visited me later that night,
It gave me quite a fright,
It said, “Scream and I guarantee you won’t survive!”
So I closed my mouth and didn’t dare rebel.
It told me,
“People hunt what they don’t understand,
They can’t even decide who they want to be.
They act like they have this massive plan,
But in reality, they’re afraid of becoming a nobody like me!”
I asked meekly,
“What do you mean?”
It snarled its teeth,
And said to me,
“Some people believe that identity,
Is solely based on how they feel.
But it also has to do with society,
And the people they are around,
And how they are seen,
Not just what they believe.
They think that they can hide,
From the person they try to bury,
Under estranged beliefs,
So they consume whoever they see,
Who doesn’t believe their facade,
And they become like me.”
The Wendigo left,
Quiet as a mouse.
I set up on my bed,
And contemplated the truth I found.
I am me,
But when I talk down to myself,
Try to believe I’m worth less than everyone else,
That isn’t my identity,
That’s an askew belief.
Identity isn’t solely based on me…

One sunny summer day.
In the middle of summer break.
A boy was pleasantly surprised to find,
A cat in his backyard.

The cat was frantic at first,
It hid under a vintage, rusted old car,
The boy’s father’s dream lying to waste.
But after some bribery, clean water, and pets,
The cat had gained a new friend.

The cat decided then that it would stick around,
So it was bound and determined to stay relevant.
The boy would take the cat on his nature walks,
Throughout the forest that sprawled all across the backyard.
The cat was loyal, it followed his every step,
And it never resisted when he reached down to pet it.
The purring helped put the boy’s mind at ease,
Something he desperately needed.
It distracted him,
From the pain in his heart.

You see his family of three,
Used to be of four,
But after five long happy years,
Fate came to settle the score.
The family had just begun to settle into their new normal,
When the cat came into their lives,
It was as if fate was apologizing for the way it treated them,
Or maybe that was a self-aware lie.

The cat and the boy bonded like siblings,
The boy would tell the cat what was on his mind,
It was so vivid he nearly tricked himself into believing,
That his late little brother was alive.
A few months later, school began,
And every day the boy would bid the cat farewell.
But something stirred within the cat,
Something told it that things weren’t “well”.

The boy was starting high school,
The weight of the world slowly pressed onto his back.
He never truly comprehended the full magnitude of the situation,
Till it was too late to go back.

The boy was bright amidst a flurry of distorted lights,
It was a shame that he was quiet.
So many ideas he had were laid to waste inside his mind,
Because he was afraid of being wrong instead of right.
But the boy had a major problem,
He was feeling overwhelmed.
His pain was boiling to a head,
And no one was there to comfort him.
How could they understand?
People were siphoning the joy from his life,
The glee he once shared with his brother and then the cat,
It all came to a close one winter night,
When the straw broke the camel’s back…

The cat saw a van covered in flashy lights,
It saw the boy being taken on a metal bed.
As the van sped away, and the boy’s parents followed,
The cat noticed the sky becoming gray.

Hours later, the parents returned,
But to the cat’s dismay,
Only two pairs of feet got out of the car,
As all the pieces fell into place.
And as the thunder boomed,
And the rain poured,
And the parents began to cry,
The cat finally realized:
That the boy had died.

The whole world started to mourn,
Because they knew they had lost a radiant light,
It would be a hard few days,
But nothing compared to that night.
The birds stopped singing,
The crickets stopped chirping,
The dogs stopped barking,
Even the predators stopped hunting,
The world stood still in succor,
Enigmatic bliss.

However in the wake of all the tragedy,
Something inconceivable occurred,
When the parents of the boy walked through their front door,
They left it open with intent.
The cat curiously meandered to the entrance,
As the parents motion for the cat to come in.
After all, the least that they could do was,
Give a home to a family friend…

Vain loved his vanity,
From which he gazed at his vanity,
One might call it insanity,
Or self-centered depravity.
He loved the color in his eyes,
The prettiest blue, he surmised.
He praised the scar on his left thigh,
Despite its fracture in his picture-perfect guise.
He took another selfie,
To boast about his vanity,
But little did he know,
All he had to show,
Were about a million fans who loved his body,
And turned that into his entire personality.
One day, Vain woke up,
There were no comments on his post.
Something was amok,
It was as if he were a ghost.
Someone new had come onto the block,
A gorgeous girl named Guinevere.
Her post had put him into shock,
As his body shook with fear.
He quickly posed and took a selfie,
His fans rushed back only temporarily.
If he lost his purpose,
That meant the voices weren’t wrong when they called him worthless.
How could he deserve this?
Vain’s vanity was one of his biggest curses.
Guinevere won in the end,
She got the fans, the money, and all the fake friends.
Vain was gutted,
His heart was broken.
Was this preordained?
Was all of Vain’s vanity in vain?