band is good
band is fun
band is where i get things done
i learn in band
i learn on my hands
i conduct
like a bird
flapping my arms
as i fly into the music

taking candy from spiritual strangers,

whose only wish is to

connive you into understanding—

that you are mortal and thus can fail,

at anything and everything you set your mind to

by using distractions of your flesh—

how it feels to be touched

echad echad

you call the names but they barely

mean anything by now

these eyes

once so pearly oceans are now

shut-off hell’s gates that call you forth,

asking you to lay down your soul for

something so fleeting as

succubus sugar lips

and you finally understand

echad echad

it calls to you as you try to walk away,

to try to better your bleeding,

your razor-sharp dreams—

so diamond clear that you cut yourself

reaching through the void

to feel it, to feel something

becoming possessed by the idea of possessing—

something—

a spirit a person a hand a light at the end of the

tunnel that you’ve been limping

and dragging yourself towards for so long

that you barely remember what it feels like

to be free

to be joyful to be happy and you wish,

you hope,

that some sovereign crown some prize

is waiting for you when you emerge from your filth

into new white clothes,

a conformation in snow,

leaving behind the Harry Potter scars the demons

the hatred you’ve spent years hoeing and raking and sowing away at—

digging your soul out from under the ivy that’s been

creeping numbing,

you look into his windows open up his chest cavity

to find the flailing flawed organs

beating madly away

I love you I love you

echad echad

but it’s too much to rip sutures out now

the skin has grown over—

the molecules trying with all their dark matter might

to heal their physics their chemistry,

the great scientists had no notion

of the neutrons and protons of the spirit

the Holy Spirit of all the ages,

combine, puzzle pieces that confuse and puzzle

your very matter and mass of existence

why do you love how do you love,

what is this

echad echad

friends who wish to become guardian angels

when they fall through the void,

but who find themselves already there—

living skeletons living shrouds—

I want to help but step back stand back

let the bomb implode without absorbing the fallout,

and sometimes I fear I’m becoming a fallen angel too,

the youth and light splintering through

the windows of the houses that sometimes I swear I see

specters spiraling through—

so I constantly exorcise the notion of darkness from

within the very abyss of my cranial lobes

without lobotomizing myself from the pain

of two thousand years of history

cry for the Biblical hysteria

can you hear it—

nearby the horizon you should hear the hero

dragging crucifixes as chains

and sin, sweet sour sin,

is the taste in my mouth every morning,

no matter how many times I swish the mouthwash—

I’m constantly reminded of the fact that I am human

and thus cannot attain angelic security in my beliefs—

bless me again for I will fall

I will feel

this anxiety until the second

Saint Peter ushers my soul into eternity—

I can hear my track record echoing now—

ringing a hollow sound—

every time I convince myself of one more vain day

one more lustful night,

every time I see your eyes,

wide as Horus’s,

but inside I see Cerberus snarling against his choke collar,

so I continue calling out

over my shoulder as I flee

echad echad

for at the center of this infinity fold lies love,

for this is a metaphor,

for monsters of Hades dirtying the waters of our minds,

having us believe that lust equals love

as E equals MC squared,

but it’s not exact except for exaltation

so it echoes the old adage

echad echad

pink ribbon scars

he tastes like you but sweeter—

anthems of our childhood that want us to feel

like we’re not alone but what is there really—

to help—

and why isn’t every drop from Heaven holy water,

so that every time the rains come our past lives wash away

and we are born anew—

Dios Mio! Mein Gott!

crying S.O.S. S.O.S.—

what would Saint Augustine say in our present state,

ICXC drawing the sign in glittering gold to

protect to bless to save

our simian style souls,

and Twain asked who prayed for the devil

the precursor to the apple-fall,

Newton style,

and it is God,

God prays for the most fallen of all,

so why do I find in my heart that it is so hard

to forgive those who have done so little

in comparison—

sing the baptismal rite,

sing ICXC,

letting our sins be scrubbed through cross-like metaphors,

but what truly is my cross to bear—

to always fall into a love so poisonous

as Eve’s apple as Snow White’s apple—

I’ve drifted I know

but I sift through the sieve of my body,

searching through the oats and grain to find the seeds

that fell on ground not hallowed,

to recultivate them to grow—

Lord knows my rut my routine

is as bad as the next heathen’s,

my dress hangs on my frame,

a skeleton queen

trying to gorge my heart out on a love not pure

a life not fulfilled,

help me I pray—

this is my cry—

my anxious mind feeds off of trying to decode

the taps on the glass of eternity,

trying to reach through impenetrable planets to ask—

what is this love I want it so bad

echad echad

I’m a baker’s making of nature and nurture,

trying to unearth from the dregs of the soul

the meaning the feeling

of why of what of how

but finally finding that no matter how maddeningly

brilliant,

how beautiful and ******,

we cannot know the mind of God—

we are not titans,

we are not the same stuff of myths of legends of angels,

and I cry, I cry, I beg and cry,

my beggar’s prayer is to know

when I have been given such grace,

why am I still greedy for more—

for I read to you from a play,

I read to you from poetry that you claim is not about you

but it is,

for only you have the dichotomy of fast knives

and feather kindness that I could express

so eloquently,

but you don’t understand you will never understand

the marrow of my faith in a God that you believe you are as strong as,

even as I plead you to stop playing with this soul

you have been so graciously given,

because you are dazzled by other

seemingly stronger things in this life,

your eyes becoming clouded by this idea that you are immortal

even as your heart palpitates a warning to slow—

to slow it down—

I’ve seen so many brought down by these myths of power

and magic, candles burning brightly

now snuffed and made silent by spirits you know naught of,

and I cannot stress the simple thing that strength

is more than pride and Samson-ian body girth,

but you battle away these tried truths in

the face of temptations,

giving up and throwing down the sword that was handed

to you to fight to persevere

and I see—

I see I see I see—

the demons that you fight are titans in your shadow,

even in mine, they are tall,

and I have to let you go because it is slowly becoming too much

too hard to handle the reins of this bucking rearing thing

that was once love,

because no matter how much of my sloppy dripping heart

I throw in your face

you will never understand the depths the dark recesses

of why, of how,

I came to be in

echad echad.

When I was young, my life was like music that was always getting louder
Everything moved me
A mother with her child
That made me feel so much
A homeless person sitting on the sidewalk holding out a ***** cup for some spare change
I could have cried over it
I did
A calendar that displayed the wrong month
The way the moon followed me everywhere I went
How an unmade bed looked like home
Where the smoke coming from the house across the street disappeared into the sky
Frost on the window of my mother's car
How the earth tirelessly orbited around the sun
The way the city lights looked from afar
I have spent my entire life learning to feel less
Every single day I feel less
Is that growing old?
Or something worse?
I suppose you cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness
But how do you balance yourself between the two without forgetting how to feel altogether?

Am I asleep, am I awake?
When I saw you, I felt something so special
And all those daydreams where I pictured you
I've never felt like this before
Cause lately I've been dreaming about you a lot

Truly, Madly, Deeply I am falling for you
I'm not sure about what makes you so beautiful
But I know it's gotta be you
For you got that one thing within you

I wish we could stay up all night
So we can dance the best song ever
For me everything you do is magic
How I wish you were my last first kiss

Every time I see you my tongue gets tied
Cause you are so irresistible
I know that we've only met
But can we pretend it's love?
I wish you could be my summer love
Cause nobody compares to you
In the way you stole my heart

I may not be tall as Harry Styles
I may no possess Louis Tomlinson's angelic voice
I may never be as cool as Liam Payne
Or as cute as Niall Horan
I may not even wear my fedora as Zayn Malik does
I know that I am no part of One Direction and I never will be
But one thing's for sure, you are my one direction

I EITHER WRITE IN ALL CAPITALS OR NONE AT ALL
and yes, i smoke every ****** cigarette to the filter
yet my sadness never fades
i have bent and creased my sorrows into tiny origami butterflies
and sometimes when it rains i am the happiest  i've ever been
and when the sun runs away
i am the only one here on earth
everyone is teeter-tottering on the moon  
i truly feel alive

and no,
i cannot take away what others have given
and no,
i cannot find solace in my own words

we are all together in this cosmic game

when your favourite pen runs out of ink,
i hope you think
of me.

today is the first page of a blank 365 page book. you hold the pen-- it's yours. make it good.

The sound of the chiming clock as the hours go past, chiming so all I can hear are the hours counting down too fast.
Loudly reminding me that it's almost that time again, it's almost that time to go back home to reality.
Another trip to the airport; the love/hate relationship we have with that place.
Another lonesome plane ride, another few salty tears trickling down my face, another tissue mopping them up because his t-shirt is no longer in my grasp.
Longing for the next plane trip to come around and cheer us both up but dreading the one that follows.
But to see the smile on his face and feel his arms around me is worth the wait and the countless hours we spend apart.