ironically,
I have both the
best
and the
worst
shower in the
whole house

I can barely
control the
temperature,
the walls are stained
where the water
flew out despite my
best efforts,
and the shower rod
has ruined many
a curtain with
the rust it’s gathered
from so many year’s
use

but despite all that,
despite all those little
imperfections,
if you can get it just right,
hit that perfect sweet
spot
you’ll have the best shower
of your life

the water burns
just enough to warm
you at your very
core,
the powerful jets
massage your whole
self.

walking out
afterwards
amongst the steam
and hot air
you’ll be smiling
and happy
and relaxed

it’s the added
bonus of all this
that the mirror is
steamed over

so you can’t see
your fat, naked,
lazy self in bliss
that can only be
maintained in
blindness

I read a
report once
about teaching monkeys
how to use vending
machines

and they put these little coins
in the machine and out popped
a grape and the monkeys were
very smart and learned to treasure
the coins and the scientists all
jumped with glee it and made
for a great story

but as I was sitting there,
reading all this,
I kept wondering where
they thought the line was
before they stopped teaching
monkeys and started teaching
people

every morning
I wake up to blaring
of my alarm clock
yelling wake up!
wake up! wake up!
time to go! time to
go! time to
go!

******* I say
as I slam my hand
down on it till
it shuts up for
ten minutes

but it always comes back
yelling get up!
get up! get
up!

and I hit it
again
it shuts up
again
and in ten minutes
it starts blaring
again

and this is my morning,
every morning,
till I wake up
and get on with my
life

the first
lesson they teach
you
in improv
is to never say “we
will” or “we
should”
because yeah,
you will,
you should,
but it’s all talk and
the people are here
for action

so give them action
give them force
do things
be things
but don’t,
don’t you ever say
you will
or
you
could
or
you
would
or
you

should.

don’t,
just
don’t.

I am so young,
too young,
and yet everyone
always hails me as
infinitely older than I
seem

I must be
the only one who
can see it

the twisted, horrible
blob that is myself

because really,
I’m not very mature
and
I’m not very wise
I just see things a little different
and let that gift go all
to waste

maybe
it’s the image
of an eternal skyline
painted on the night
sky of some hazy
city,
or maybe,
it’s the picture
of a silent wood
freshly lain
with
new snow
or maybe even,
it’s the memory,
of holding hands with
somebody you truly love
and then looking
in their eyes
and screaming everything
they mean to you
without a
sound

maybe it’s one of those things
maybe that’s why I never lose
faith

maybe it’s just who I am,
a kid so lost in the sense that it all
makes that I refuse to see the little
problems that come up;
maybe it’s how I was raised,
as a thinker, not a fighter,
who has decided to take
up combat lessons any-
ways;
maybe it’s how everything is,
that I can live my life so peacefully
in the chaos that everyone else seems
to experience.

maybe that’s why
after all this time
I haven’t given up
I haven’t said “**** it”
and jumped in front of a train
like I’ve dreamed about so
many times,

maybe that’s it

maybe

constantly struggling with fears of failure
I face the truth of why I cannot succeed

I do not own my life
I do not own what is
in my possession
I do not possess the
acts that I commit
I do not commit to
the life I have been
given

there is no reason for me to succeed
the spoils of victory are never mine

I do not know achievement
I do not know repayment
I do not know enjoyment
I do not know myself

so many decisions I didn’t make
in this life that’s suppose to be mine

I am without commitment
I am without ownership

this life called “my life”
is not mine, it never was.

I want a chance
I want an opportunity
I want a reason
to give a ****
about myself

let me start over
all on my own

I will be successful
I will be great

let me do this one thing
let me jump out the door
into the cold world and
prove that I’ll be fine
let me start it all over
so that if I ***** up
I know it’s all on me
but if I succeed, there’s
not anyone to take it
from me

it has been a
long, long day
on this man’s
conscious

whether it be the guilt
of procrastination
or the pain
of seeing others
do what I really
want

all those visions
and noises
of a reality, I can
only dream
of

are painful
in a way only
dead men may
know

I am
haunted
by this
day.

(every day
it now seems)

I am haunted
and I am afraid
of asking:

is this it?
is this the rest of my life?

we,
humanity,
are standing at the
threshold
of greatness

we,
simple primates.
stare at the stars
as our ancestors did
and wonder similar thoughts
but through a different
lens

we,
peoples of the earth,
know our true potential
and seek it without our
knowledge
for we,
common life forms,
know the urges of the flesh
to grow and change
and evolve

we,
at our greatest,
have conquered an entire planet
and now look forward
at the expansion to other
worlds

yet we,
at our weakest,
destroy our home
and only seek out
the stars as refuge
from the inferno of our
own home

we,
humanity,
must make the effort
to trust one another
to remember those needs
that our ancestors had
to be with each other,
as sisters and brothers,
and use that togetherness,
that strength,
to fight off those things
seeking to erase us from
history

we
must stand together
no matter how little
each person may be

we
must be as one,
and only one,
to continue onwards
and upwards
like we have
for so many
centuries

we
will be one.
we will be the species
amongst all other species
that decided to stick together,
to be together,
to be one,
as we venture out
into the frontiers
all around
us.

it comes down
from the heavens
or the sky
and blankets
the earth
or ground
with an evenness,
a fairness,
a peacefulness,
and we forget all our mistakes,
all the paths we took,
and we can’t see or
remember the ones
others carved.

the snow comes down,
down, down, down,
from the heavens
to the earth
or from the sky
unto the ground

snow, snow
you wonderful thing
you make all things even
and give us one chance
to fix them

today I am the boy
tomorrow I am the man
this evening I will be the soldier
last night I was the king

so many roles
so many parts
so many lines
that they’ve all lost
meaning

this is my life
this is myself
this is who I am
not who I chose to be

today I am
tomorrow I am not
tonight I will cry
right now I will smile

this ode to myself
this poem of self-absorption
this is who I am
but not how I got here

four lines again
four lines again
when will I write different
when will I write like I wish

today I am the boy
tomorrow I am the man
this now is frightening
but soon it won’t be
anything

lying in bed
thinking,
wondering,
planning something
to make me happy
forever

had a good day
playing,
working,
planning something
to make me happy
forever

watching tv
observing,
contemplating,
planning something
to make me happy
forever

lying in bed,
thinking about my day,
wondering about the future,
planning to ask her,
something,
to make me happy
forever.

but until I do it,
that is,
well,
you know what,
I will not be happy
and I cannot sleep
because it’s not
that I’m unhappy,
it’s just I can be even happier
forever.

truth
cannot be spoken
with a silver tongue
the way a lie
can be swallowed
by a shallow
throat

that is to say,
a lie can
be swallowed down
by the dumbest of people
without struggle or
pain

but,
the best speaker,
the most eloquent poet,
will always have trouble
making others accept the truth
because no matter how perfect
or pretty you make it,
that truth is still bitter
and even a blind man
can still taste it

finally done with it
absolutely rid of it
moving on without it
leaving town despite it
keeping calm against it
looking out beyond it
being happy around it
wanting more besides it
decidedly past it

it being the way I’ve been feeling
it being the force that’s been dragging me down
it being the nasty things I’ve been thinking
it being the cursed state I’ve been in
it being the place I’ve left behind

I am out of it
I am rid of it
I am beyond it
I am past it

I am no longer it
I am better
I am free

all we need is a tiny bit of luck
random occurrences even
that line up
just so
that we can be reminded

life is still worth living

things are still worth fighting for

that marching on
is still worth it,
even through the times
when there’s no reason
to keep moving on
other than the very act
itself

out of the daylight,
out of the bright walls of my mind,
out of the clear blue sky,

it creeps out on ten legs
it creeps out on beetle’s feet
it creeps out on the shores of my mind

looking at me it smiles it’s dark smile
looking at me it sees the fear
looking at me it knows

jumping up it begins its first steps told me
jumping up it extends its wings to show its power
jumping up it takes the last bit of hope I had

on top of me it does not speak
on top of me it does not attack
on top of me it only stares

in my soul I feel its truth
in my soul I feel the sun hot on my face
in my soul I feel the message it sends

my brain acknowledges it means no harm
my brain acknowledges relaxing and calming
my brain acknowledges death as it comes

what is left is a body without a heart
what is left is a brain without a mind
what is left is a corpse without purpose

the insect king came from within me
the insect king came from the good parts not the bad
the insect king came and went and left me as I was

I am now rotting and yet growing
I am now a child of my murderer
I am now the king of death who fears
only one thing:

being brought back to life,
and mortality,
and morality.

when the sun rose this morning
I was sound asleep.

warm in my bed,
I was worry-free
and dream-free.

I was happy.

but I woke up
and there was rain
and no sun
and the sky was
grey.

it’s the first day of the year,
so what does this say about
every other one to come?

eh,
it doesn’t say anything

the plants are happy
so why shouldn’t I be?

so I take that in mind
and march into the new
year

I suppose if anybody hates me
they can sleep soundly at night
knowing that I’m being punished
for whatever crime they think
I’ve committed

I can’t find happiness anymore
not in my old tricks, not in my
new tricks. everything I’ve ever
known is uninteresting or, even
worse, disgusting

I am going to sleep until I do
not remember what waking is

I have lost, nothing, and yet I
feel like everything’s gone

I’m exhausted of
always feeling like
I never had a chance

that there was nothing
I could’ve ever done
to make it work

that, from the very start,
I had already lost

too many times I’ve
put everything into
something only to
have it explode in
my face

and then the whisper
comes, and it reminds
me that I never had a
chance

not once,
not ever,
it was impossible,
and I should’ve
known better

and I hate that whisper,
because of what it has
to say,
because of how the truth
stings,
because I keep hearing
it over and over every
time I fail
because I cannot scream
back,

“no, not this time!
I’m going to win you ******.
I’m going to!”

and I cannot scream that
because I know it’ll never
be true

I suppose my greatest talent
is my ability to feel apathetic
about everything and anything
on command in any situation

if I don’t want to feel
I don’t have to

if I don’t want to hurt
I don’t have to

if I don’t want to be ****** up
by all those emotions
that have consumed
so many others

I don’t have to

I may come off as uninterested,
or bored, or arrogant but really
I’m just coping, coping like any-
one else would, just in my own
special way

my own special, unimaginably
effective way.

because I don’t have to feel.
I don’t have to be dragged
down.

I can’t be dragged down.

not from that wonderful place
I’ve escaped from before.

it was our turn to be gods
to change the ways of time
to mess with the realities
of reality

it was great,
so great in fact,
that we woke
up

and never could real life
live up to what was possible
on the other side

so we spent each day asleep
and each night alive with
the life we could never
have awake

here’s the thing

nothing’s going to change
because the stars
are aligned some certain
way
or
that he’s or she’s
different
or
that a new year has
started

times are still the same
people are still the same old
fiddly ******* that they were
five minutes ago
and you,
above all
else,
are still the incompetent,
useless ******
you were

when the big apple hits the ground
it just means another day has started

if you wake up each day and do jack-****
your not going to start being an astronaut
just cause the last number on the calendar
changed

and going back to what I started with

that horoscope isn’t going to bring you any luck,
that “perfect” person you just met is probably a
*** offender or just a plain loser,
and as we’ve already discussed,
nothing happens when the calendar
runs out

so you want to know what I think?

**** it.

don’t wait for some special opportunity
to change who you are

don’t make promises or resolutions,
you know you can’t keep

wake up each morning and say
“****,
I’m going to do better
than the **** job
I did yesterday”

do it
and see what
happens

or don’t

go ******* in bed
thinking that “the one”
will come to you
tomorrow

***** around at work
or at school and be oh-so-
confident that you’re going
to make 200k annually in
ten years

read those star logs
and get your palm read
and continue on knowing
that you’re going to be
the hottest **** since
Al Pacino

go on.
do it.

do it  and see what happens.

you worthless *******.

what to say
what to say
what to say

hello?

no, no
too stupid
too simple
too demanding

hi?

no, no!
too meek
too afeminate

hey?

no, NO!
too flirty!

****!
you stupid ****!
figure this **** out!
it’s not this god-**** hard!

****
****
****

****

what to do
what to do
what to do

****

sounds familiar huh?

I’ve waited so many years
for nothing
and
everything

all anyone can ever say is
“it’ll get better later”
or
“it’s for your future”
or
“tough luck, kid”

well **** that

you don’t have to wait to enjoy life
why wait till your old
when everything is dull
and you can’t do half
of what you once could

the only virtue we teach the children is waiting
and it has confused them and made them think
there’s nothing else to life

some cope by saying “**** the system”
and run down the dead-end to self-destruction

others never deal with it
going their whole lives
unhappy and unfulfilled
and thinking the whole
time that that’s the only
way things could be

but I say to you
that is not the way!

do not consume yourself
because you’ve never been allowed to

do not hold yourself back
because you’ve never thought you couldn’t

the whole world is out there somewhere
and that whole, wide, wonderful,
wild world is calling to you and
saying

“come!
come and get me!
I have everything you’ve ever wanted!
and if you’re smart,
you can have it all!
no strings
attached!”

we’re going to be in the streets
marching, singing, dancing,
we’re going to be the new generation

beating against the cars and ATMs
running amongst the faceless people
we’re going to be in the streets

like a blazing fire
like an incoming flood
we’re going to be the new generation

they will be afraid of us as we stampede
they will call us names as we ***** about
we’re going to be in the streets

when we topple them they will curse us
when we replace them they will blame us
we’re going to be the new generation

yet the world will move on as normal
and the new order will come astride
we’re going to be in the streets
we’re going to be the new generation

out,
out like a dragon’s sigh,
the feelings,
the killing thoughts,
the ideas,
all gone
all dust upon the wind
all no more in me.

in,
in like an ocean’s breeze,
the emotions,
the happy thoughts
the memories,
all there
all water under the bridge
all in me, for now.

I know the feeling of the dusty toy
left near the christmas tree, and for
the moment, not needed or loved or
wanted or remembered

still hoping that one day, later in time,
my child will return to play once again
and I sit ever still for fear that if my
love comes back, they’ll wonder where
I’ve gone and give up hope far quicker
than I did

people find it hard
to believe happiness
because for many,
it’s much more of a myth
or a hazy recollection
than it is something real
and rational and
to be aspired too

love and hope
and dreams
have taken on this air of
imagination
in recent generations

for a brief moment,
they were truly believed in
by the adults
by the people in charge
by the whole wide world
even as everything they knew before
had crumbled and wrecked
to a state beyond
their power to
repair

but it was that desolate place the world was
that drove the people to believe in such fancy
and frivolous thoughts

because if they had not,
the world would’ve withered
and died, like a cow so old
you know there’s no hope
or a flower so far gone
that you don’t mind to let it
wilt

those times went though,
like a leaf upon the wind,
as the children began acting
as the adults and followed
their dreams to a land so
few actually reached


and as the adults saw their failure
and the children saw the adults flee
the belief in love, in hope, in dreams,
in morals, in rites, in traditions, in
togetherness, in family, in belief-

failed

and

sunk

the last tip of the ship leaving the surface
with the first person who believed in the
infomercial

we do not know what we can do
because we do not believe we can
do anything

happiness, as I started this all out with,
is not a bed-time story

it is very real
and it is very
powerful

but in each average person’s life
they get to experience only once
or twice, seeming like a random
occurrence, and thus cementing
in so many people’s minds that
it is

but it is not

happiness comes from knowing how to be happy

it’s not about sacrifice
or faith
or hard-work
or dedication

it’s about knowing who you are,
what the world is,
and how you
can make
the best
of it

this is not some secret art

it is a simple idea:
that happiness can be controlled

and it’s execution is even simpler:

how can I be happy?
how can I be happy,
forever?

the sounds of my frustration
are practically palpable

I can feel the hate
I have for myself

my breathes short
my hands twitching

I seep anger
and weep shame

there is nowhere to turn
except inside

the same place I’m running from
the same thing that’s hunting me even now

I can’t write any more
I have become an external

I’m worried
I’m… scared

there I said it
I am scared

I am terrified
I am justified

I am fleeing from myself
and I know there’s no use

somebody,
please forgive me

I don’t deserve this
whatever I did,
it’s not equal to self-destruction
of the black hole
I created in
myself

at night
before the night has come
when, in bed, I wait
for the sandman’s call
the gears of my mind
turn, lurching from inactivity
and whirl about
sending steam and smoke
everywhere
and my head will hurt
with visions of the future
seeming abysmal
if only for me
for others are happy,
successful, even famous!
but for me,
I am alone,
angry, and forgotten.

this is the nightmare
that returns to me every night
making me pray
that I will not wake up
that I shall die in that dream
that reality should be something better
than that hazy vision

in the morning
when I wake up
from a long night’s battling
with my deepest and best-kept fears
I feel the poison of doubt
draining out of me
into a puddle there
on the floor

and days
and months
and years
and centuries
I refused to clean up that puddle
and each morning it grows larger
always sicklier than before
yet still I do not grab the mop
or vacuum

during the day
I try not to get left alone
that mind
that creates those nightmares
still lurks behind my eyes

it seeks blood,
my blood,
in the form of insanity
because even it knows
that it’s mirages aren’t real
but it knows it can drive me to them
if I am weak enough
and he can convince
me

I cannot succeed
at the things I love

I cannot achieve
with the people I love

I cannot be
what I love

I cannot,
love.

forget it
we’re going to do this
the world awaits us
and I’m not going to start disappointing
now

don’t think about if,
or should,
or can.

we are
and so we
shall.

tonight
we’re taking it for it ourselves
and making a footprint
so deep in the earth
that even god won’t be able to erase it,
that is,
if he wanted to.

we will be hated for it at first
by all the peoples of the world.
because they are jealous
and scornful like humans are
but time will love us
and it will teach them what we did
was the right thing,
the thing that should’ve,
no,

needed

to be done.

we’re going to do this
stunning the world is a side-effect
but it’s definitely not collateral damage

we are going to love.
each other.
tonight.
and we’re not going to wonder about
if, ands, or buts

only thinking about the now.
the very next step in our path.
about the jokes to make.
the flirts to pull.

that’s it.

goodnight.
goodbye.
we’re doing this.
no doubt about it.

laugh in the face of death
give him a big old smile and say
“*******”
tell him
“I don’t care if I die,
I’m not afraid.
Not of you,
not of where you’ll take me.
So come on!
**** me!
**** me you crazy ******,
or I’ll do it myself!”

and he’ll back down
saying
“**** man,
calm down
it’s not that big of a deal”

and tell him
“no big deal?
what the hell you talking about?
no big deal.
psh.
You’re ******* death
come to ******* **** me
and I’m supposed to be ******* my pants
but guess what?
*******!
I’m not afraid!
Come at my you mad-house ****
I wanna see what you got!”

death’ll run then
off back into the shadows
where he waits for you regain your fear
but right then
high on the adrenaline of this whole scene
you can’t be touched by him

you just said
“*******”
to death
and guess what?
keep it up
and
he might just never come to get you

into this world we know is wrong
into this place we hate to imagine
into this society we scarcely recognize
into this people we love to loath
into this culture dependent on lies

we are born
we are created
we are refined
we are loved
we are hated
we are juxtaposed
we are stereotyped
we are absorbed
we are abandoned

into this town we forgot
into this city we left
into this country we ignored
into this earth we killed

we are alpha
we are omega
we are the end
we are the beginning

into this, our lives,
we are the only factor
separating hell from
reality

the bomb siren
going off
makes my heart sink
and sends my mind into
panic

my eyes search for the nearest exit
my legs and arms scramble to the door
my ears are tortured by that wailing doom

the wind blows southward
I smell flowers on the breeze
skies are blue and cloudless
there in the distance I can see

I close my eyes then
waiting for…
just waiting.

seconds, minutes, hours,
days were all the same

breathes of animals mixed
with the sighs of the trees
and the world was silent
and blind and feelingless

so long
so long it felt
my eyes and ears and
body shut down waiting

that when it didn’t come
I was not the same man
I had died and yet not died

I cannot pick my heart back up
my mind is always jumping at
the slightest surprises
this will not go on

I just can't

I’ve had trouble writing
all throughout this trip

you’d think in London,
an unfamiliar and
wild place,
I would find inspiration
in everything
but alas,
I have found
none

writing has become so integral
to my life
that I sense changes,
in myself,
when I cannot make
them

a man puts a bag above me
my sister twiddles her thumbs
women too old or too pretty for me are everywhere
but two perfect ones are in the next section up
my hand writing is messy
it’s warm in here
it’ll be cold at 30,000 feet

why can’t I write
about all of that?

I get angry
or
annoying
when I can’t
write

I sometimes put bars on my I’s
sometimes not

I tell everyone else my thoughts

my friends, my family,
my mom, my dad, my
sister, my hobo on the
street, my anything else
but the page

yet the page is the only one that doesn’t go
“shush”

a lady texts
someone was working below the toilet
I’ve got a **** week ahead
the exit sign is interesting to me
my music speaks to me too much now a days

I feel better

the ink on the page smiles at me

rising up from the dust
a single shoot,
green with new life,
jumps from the ground
and bounds with the sun

it grows,
quickly first,
changes noticeable daily,
but then slower
as years wear on
and the thick bark develops
on this youthful sprout

after time seeming infinitesimal,
a monkey scurries up it’s side
and as he peaks his head out
of the top of the leaves
he caws that he had conquored
the greatest of all things

so it was then that the tree of life blushed
never knowing the greatness it apparently was

sipping a Gatorade
(I’d prefer diet coke)
I wait for the call
to board the
plane

my sister and dad
people watch
behind me

my mom reads
to my left

my great-grandma
and her friend talk
quietly

I sit here
sipping my drink
and writing

this is the sort of place
that every soul eventually
drifts through

hubs of the human universe
quiet despite all the voices

this is the beginning of an adventure

go to a foreign land
form one great terminal
to
another

many would be jealous
but really I’m just
sitting here
sipping
Gatorade
and
writing

wham
ow!
****
****
****
fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck
****
­god ******
why’d you do
that?

sorry…

I’ll stop trying
to define
myself
for you,
my reader,
my dear,
dear
reader.

actions speak louder than words
just as my other poems say more
about me
than the ones where I say
“I am”
something

this poem is about nothing.

it is about me,
a nothing,
who has given up
denying being
whatever
I am
not

nobody wants to know about anything other than themselves

so no,
they aren’t really listening,
they don’t really care,
they can’t really love you.

because

you are you
and
they are they
and
I am I
and
we are not
each other

forget trying,
for once,
to impress
someone,
anyone,
and
you
will be
forgotten

but if there’s one thing I know to be true it’s this:

we only want what we don’t have,
and if we think we
can’t
have it

well then,
our blood
is already pumping
with
excitement

I have decided
I am not naturally
anything good

I am ugly
and imperfect
and untalented
and unnecessary

but

I am not
disheartened

I am the black coal
waiting for the earth
to create a diamond

I am the dinner
not yet fully cooked
or ready to serve

I am the boy
waiting on time
to let me be a
man

I cannot conceive
why I am not longer
inspired

the world is just as beautiful
the people that march on it
just as interesting
yet still the poem
does not come
and the release
I cannot attain

building up within me,
a storm of fearful thoughts
and conceptions,
beats against the dam
that contains it
and I pray to god
it breaks out
soon

a hope rises from the ashes
of the husk of my old self
I do not know if I will reach
out for it and grab it, as mine,
but I see the path I can walk
and am happy to know it’s
still there

apparently,
to me,
staking my whole life,
all my possibilities
and future achievements,
is not a good enough motivation
to do the right thing
for me, for society,
for anything

as I nurse my wounds
of love lost,
of happiness
shattered,
I realize I was not enough
for her either

so I look to other things in my life:
was I enough for them?

apparently,
I am not enough

not even for
myself

all day,
moping around
crying to myself
and doing
nothing
while
the world whizzes by
and my life comes
to a stand-
still

there is more beyond this
and I cannot stand to not
chase it

I’m getting up!

I yell this,
silently,
to the paper
I write
on

I’m moving on!

I scream louder,
the page not changing
except for what I
add

I’m better than this!

I cry,
tears welling up
but refusing to come
out

and the page sits uninterested
beneath me

this is what I needed

to be completely ignored,
to be told, without any words
at all, that I don’t matter
to truly know, that there is
nothing I can do

anger swells within me
but it turns back
and burns my insides
refusing to hurt
anything other
than what is to
blame

I sit here

burned out on the inside
torn apart on the out
and I have no words

not any more

for what it feels like to be me,
right now.

punishing myself for being pathetic
challenging myself to be better
knowing only, that  I cannot be
stirred

introspection
has long been
my escape
from
reality

as I sit here
gazing at the lips of flame
coming up from under
the wet log above them
I wonder why
I sit here
so alone
and
so
cold

I cannot seem to reach out

not in any good way
not in any bad way
only haphazardly
and impotently
like a snake
robbed of his
venom

I fear I cannot make a mark on this world

(if you want to control me,
abuse that fact)

I fear that I am not worthy to be remembered,
not worthy enough to even look at,
to talk with,
to be more than that ******
in the corner

even when I am the center of attention,
nobody wants to look.

I see the people across the flame
sleep comfortly
in the arms of those
they barely
know

the warmth they feel,
does not seep over to
me.

not even a smile,
not even a hello.

but I bring it on myself,
I know.

so I cannot complain.
I will not complain.

but I am still sad,
and this poem
is my only way
to get it out.

I feel the shivering of this night getting to me.
this cold world we live in haunts me, every day.

I am told
there is warmth
somewhere

and as I gaze upon
that somewhere
I have never felt more
far away from it

I cannot change who I am
therefore I must change
who I am not

clouds are quite a violent thing
the wind, the rain, the storms,
never creating, only destroying,
at least in the short term

but with winter upon us now
and the freezing air drives us
inside, huddling around the
fire, the clouds that come, do
not seem like soldiers, rather
like a blanket, keeping us in,
and everything else out

sleep with the lights on,
the music up

we’re two afraid to leave ourselves
alone with ourselves

the judgment
the nerves
the guilt

if the lights go off
and the music goes
silent
what’s stopping us
from jumping out
from the shadows
and devouring ourselves,
leaving only a shallow
husk,
where a bright and promising
future used to be?

I am a rusted pile of iron
put together with my spirit
to look as if beautiful and
artistic and meant to be

but on the inside I know,
and on the inside you know
that in truth, all I am is for-
gotten scraps that cannot
be complete, whole, or
useful