higher still than even the enlightened

I am not great
I am not grand

but I am memorable

too weird to forget
yet nobody truly knows
what I am

I walk with a confidence
that’s almost unsettling

I talk with a manner that
is both noble and lowly

I am not wise
I am not knowledgeable

but I am seeing

all-seeing,
almost,
it would
seem

through the shields people put up
through the veils the fearful extend

you may think nobody knows
but I know

and if I reach out
in my weird and
inexplicable way
you will never
forget

I cannot be reach though
I cannot be touched

not by you
not by him
not by her
not by me

yet I know the touch of others
and as I sit down here,
so grand in my non-grandeur,
I wish people would come
and force themselves on me
and teach me that magical connection
I so readily give them

to be better
that is the challenge

it was not something said directly,
or even verbally,
I saw it in the way you looked,
the way you walked,
you said with your body
“you can be better”

without even knowing it
you smirked
knowing I will rise to the occasion
and I smile back as well
but on the inside,
for probably the first time,
I doubt
the possibility
of me doing
it

I tell you one secret,
a most high security
and yet low collateral
thing,
and all of a sudden
all I can see
is me
sending that message
over and
over
and
over
and over

why?

why did I send it?

why couldn’t I keep it to myself?

why you?

why now?

logic has been defeated I think

my heart breathes victoriously
above my brain’s corpse

but then the picture gets hazy
the red of the heart
looks like the pink of the brain
and the juices running from the body
look more and more like blood from
that central *****

what does this mean?
what is it?
why?

why does it haunt me to let you back into my life?

why would I give you chance to ruin it again?

always somewhere to be
always somewhere to go
always something to do
always something to be

cold water,
american water,
down and out
and all over
us

never needing
only wanting

never seeking
only demanding

we are not the chosen ones
and we are more often than
not wrong

completely aware of the rest of the world
completely unable to accept the best option
completely lost in a sea of paranoid tradition

rain,
soft and
unforgiving rain
comes down
upon us
and whispers
in the softest
tone possible

“you are not great
and I shall get you
yet”

“to love someone
at their ugliest moment
is perhaps the only way
to know you’re crazy.”

“or in love.”

no more fighting
no more running
no more wondering
no more fearing

we will not stand for this life
we will not be the **** of the earth
we will not ache to be anything else

this is the time to be true to our dreams
this is the place to forget old inhibitions

I will become more, as I have always known  I was.

to be chased
is the best feeling
I can think of right
now

to be hunted
that may seem bad
but try it:
feel the adrenaline
pump through your
veins and then come
and tell me it’s not
wonderful

to be wanted
because I am who I am
not for what I have and
to know that someone
cares enough to chase
me through my hoops
and ladders just to get
a chance to say “hi”

chasing
is all I’ve ever known
and I only imagine the
wonder of being chased
back

civil lights against the black earth
sleepy eyes and silent faces of the
people around me
so many moving so fast without so
much as a flinch when we begin to
go

it is 7:04 and I think of the train ride home

a man jumped in front of a train
the cookies we bought were good
yet cold
it was fun for me but a stress I’m
sure for my grandma and her friend

it is 7:07 and I think of the time before the train

we lost my mom and grandma
the tube stop told us where the
real train station was
young cabbies always seem to
be the quietest and least helpful
of the bunch

it is 7:08 and I think of even before then

there was an itlaian woman on the train,
asking her husband for a baby
castles do not amuse me much, I’m not
one for old things or christianity
it’s cold and dark here but nobody seems
to mind

it is the evening of novemeber 26th

so what can I do?
an ocean away,
not even on a continent,
lost in a place where
I can only fake their dialect,
she’s there  and
I’m here
and twenty years ago
I wouldn’t even have
known

so what can I do?
my mom
makes more conversation
with her
than I do
and
we’re both in
an equal situation

what does this mean?
should I ***** it?
maybe not…
but?
no
no.
NO.

but?
what can I do?

what can I do
now?

I look out upon the empire that never knew night
there upon the top, of Cathedral St. Paul; I ran so
high, so fast, my legs now wobble in the cold air.

Uncomfortable I felt, within the sacred place, but
out here, atop the harrowing and haughty dome,
I know the meaning and purpose of all existence.

The British, though snooty and over-confident as
they may be, knew the power of over-doing and
over-creating and showed so for so many years.

Now, I looked at the shell of what was, a great
city that begs to differ on the current state of
world affairs, judged by the people of the streets.

They dare the world to laugh at them,
at their once great kingdom that came
all around the globe and back again,
but who now barely reaches an hour’s
travel across, at any point or intersection.

And we cannot do it. For they are the great and
the once great all in one and we, the Americans,
owe our lives to their ambition, and our freedom
to their failures.

I know what it’s like to be invincible
walking through the streets of London
wind biting at my face and
cold cutting to the bone

I fear nothing

the night cannot get me
the criminals cannot get me
the gods cannot
god cannot
no government
nor act of fate either

I fear nothing

but then I wander back home
frostbit and travel-weary
thawing my whole being as I rush inside
and as I melt
so does my ambition
and I remember who I really am and
sigh

fire from deep within
bursting out my eyes
and my ears and my
fingers and my toes
is a spectacle for those
few close enough to
notice it

everything I love is
swelling up and out
and I gave up containing
it after my head caught
a’ flame

I am burning on the
inside and now the
outside

may the trail I blaze
be the one to victory

you want to talk about a good day?

well let me tell you then

a good day is
getting to use notes on a test
and having those notes
but not needing them

a good day is
burning stuff in chemistry
just because we need to **** some
time

a good day is
eating your lunch,
comfortly in a private space,
when all of a sudden
she
walks in
and decides,
for the next hour,
that’s it just going to be
the two of us
talking,
chatting,
and having a good
time.

now that is a good day

one that I’ll hang onto
for a long,
long
time
and my glow from it
will continue until
either
a
******
or
a
destruction

to corrupt me is an honor,
not a shame.
I let you in,
enough,
that I consciously chose
to do wrong
on your
behalf.

but,

if it ever arises
that I do bad
without thinking,
at all,
then
you should be really proud:

I’ve fallen in love

suddenly filled with confidence
I forget the turmoil of that past hour
I rage with a pulsing desire for activity
and jump and finish quickly my tasks

suddenly filled with an itchiness
I want to accomplish like an emperor fresh to his throne
I lust for a chance to prove my worth
and I look for all the possibilities of this world, now mine.

I feel released
from the chains of
deceit

I’ve gotten out
what I really feel
and
what I really
want
and
now I can focus on my needs
more readily anticipating
the problems
I will
face
and
the solutions
I will
find

I
suppose
I
should
think
about
death

but
really,
it
barely
phases
me

I
have
it
or
I
don’t
and
when
it
comes
at
least
you’ll
have
this
foot-
print

what
doesn’t work
about
raising
hands
is
that:

it’s slow,
unnecessary,
and
pointless

I and
we
are mature
enough
to talk amongst
ourselves
even if you
can’t handle
it

what
doesn’t work
about
raising hands
is that:

your partial to some
and
scornful to others

even if that hand
has the answer
if the arm belongs
to he
or
she
than
no way in hell
will the mouth
be talking

what
doesn’t work about
raising hands is
that:

you,
the teacher,
cannot manage
yourself

so how
do you plan
to manage
a “wild” horse
like me?

5 poems in
I’m still going
strong
but
the bare
and rusted
ruins of
Rome
beg the question:

how long can anything
last?

I won’t talk,
I get it,
you don’t like what I say
or me
or anything
I’ve ever
done

but you can’t say that,
I get it,
you’re a professional
and I’m just a kid
but I find it funny
I get to you
that much
so I don’t really have to do much
and can sit quietly
and write

death
will
come
but
it
will
be
peaceful
and
there’s
no
need
to
fe­ar
judgment

we’re all equal in death

going to try
pen and paper
again

starting with
a piece
transferred from a loose slip
during english

so
I wonder

what can I do with this?

perhaps,
a hundred poems
in this little
red
book
will appear
for my eyes
or for
others

a
simple
thing
of
how
to
look
is
often
most
necessary,
most
focused,
most
feared,
and
yet
nobody
knows
why
or
even
how
to
do­
it
right
(more
than
a
couple
of
times)

Upon this night so cold and calm
I walk as a prophet lost in thought
Reciting lines to a father not mine
Of an accepting of night,
And the rejection thereof
And with these words, within this green,
I see an audience fit for kings,
And as I close they clap my words
As I slowly realize the fountain,
Drowning my noise.

got some cash
ready to go
let’s spend some money
on something for fun
and forget all the troubles
of this world
in depression

now I feel the guilt
of my 20,000 faces

fighting in everybody’s corner
I never really take a side
but work for and against each one
just as much
or
more

every time I’m asked for sympathy
I can only come back with a hollow
“yeah… sure.”

do they notice?
do they know?
do they hate me,
secretly,
as whispers
traveling through all ears
but mine?

so few,
(if any)
know this deep,
dark,
terrible,
horrible,
character-destroying,
world-shatt­ering,
locked up,
and bursting
fact of my
life

yet here I go
sharing it with
the world

I straighten up now

I will not hide this poem,
not like some,
I am not ashamed

there is truth in confession.

but to all,
not to
some.

halter of progress
bane of evolution
frostbite of growth
death of the future

try to stop me now!
I dare you!

I know your tricks!
your snarly ways!

the maybes
the sick feelings
the doubtful thoughts
the double-takes

I know them all!
every
single
one

and you can’t stop me anymore!
nuh-uh
you can try,
but you
can’t!

so now,
be afraid!
be very afraid!
because world

here I come

and honestly,
you’ve got no way
to stop
me




(unless you **** me,
of course.)

can’t feel my legs
can’t feel my legs

don’t need them
nope
don’t need them at all

can’t feel my legs
can’t feel my legs
oh god,
I can’t feel my

legs!

time had started
so long ago
that we had forgotten
what it was like to be
dead

nobody remembered the fear
or the reasons why
and when we all realized what
it really was
we gave up everything
and left solving it
to others

how good
it would feel
to be in
love
right now?

I could never stand weak women

not after seeing my mother
my sister,
my grandmother,
my role models,
my loves,
and
my lovers.

call it masochistic
but I like my *** kicked,
no one can do it
and that gets
boring

fast

but with the girls I like,
I love,
I give them the
chance
to hurt
and it’s their choice
to do it
or
not

and I hope,
with those girls I like
(I love),
they
don’t
hurt me
but always know they can
and love me
all the more for
it

it hurts
to move this
slow

where the demons catch up,
the doubts can shoot me down with
arrows of rusted truth,
and the fears
actually over run me and
begin to choke out my
sanity

it is painful
knowing what I can do
and what I can’t
do
and seeing myself die
in my third person perspective
of my logical
haven

so few get to see what I see now

so few know the pain

they are lucky

sixteen

that’s a big number

but it hasn’t hit me yet,
not fully,
I’ve had little bits of it
but that big realization,
like a whole ocean washing over me
all at once,
that,
that hasn’t gotten to
me

yet

for my birthday I got a new leather jacket

fits well
has a warm fuzzy inside
two stripes, brown and grey,
on the shoulder
and we (the gift-giver and I)
both agree
the black material
isn’t really
leather

I love it

so I wore it to school today
feeling like hot ****
the best new thing
since sliced bread

so I got there and nothing was
different

nobody noticed
not a word spoken
positive or negative
I was still just
Caleb
and they were still just
them

I hate it

now I’m home,
sixteen
with a new leather
jacket
that nobody even
noticed.

what to do?
what to do?
what to do?

I don’t have homework to do
no lines to memorize
no chores needing to be done

I’m just sitting here
alone with my jacket
and my new age

maybe I’ll read a book
or write some more poems
or go take a walk
or go talk to somebody new
or something

I feel it

I feel the tidal wave

it’s not here yet
but I feel it shake the ground
and I see it’s shadow block out the sun
but it won’t hit me
not yet

I have to know what it is first,
know what it means,
then it’ll sweep me away,
take me to a new level of persona
so far away from this one


and as I think on my day
and my new leather jacket

I think on how little anybody cared
and feel the splashing of water on
the back of my legs

I keep seeing the image of a giant
looking down at the world
fearful to walk for crushing those
he can barely see

It comes to me
as I walk to class during the week

It comes to me
as I talk to friends on the weekend

It comes to me
as I think of anything and everything,
and for the sake of god,
I cannot shake it

It comes to me
as a whisper
nibbling at my ear
then
a *****
that burst my eardrum
telling me to
write
Write!
WRITE!

write for the sake of all that is holy,
all that you value, all that is good,
of the giant that you see in yourself,
and the ants you in see in others.

and I cower to its yelling at first,
but then I grow firmer, taller, bolder,
rising bit by bit to face the monster
living in the back of my mind

by the time I stop my growth
I am the size of sky scraper

Everest looking cowardly below
and my beast looking a microbe
at my feet.

this is when I topple

I do not aggress my shadow
for I know it poses no threat

so I fall
down
down
down
my back moving
forward
my head not seeing
where
I am to
go

I fell down
happily
hoping
for the warm covers of my bed
and a good night’s rest
to greet me

poetry to me has always been subconscious

I don’t know what I want to say
but I say it anyways
and that removal of logic,
of inhabitation,
is
liberating
in a way
that only a few others
get the chance of
knowing

take this poem,
it was originally titled
“peace of mind”
after a comment
I got on my previous
works

but then I started thinking
about what
“peace
of
mind”
means

and
I
got
this

what
“peace of mind”
is
to me

and this poem is like that too

catharsis,
expulsion,
detox,

all those sickly feelings
or bubbling thoughts
that turn my gut
and twist my mind
boil over onto the page
like the *****
of a long night’s partying

and then I go share it with the world
wondering why they like the ****
of my heart

but

I never cease to continue
my bulimia of this excess
emotion

It never even crosses my
mind

it was a good night tonight

I had…

fun.

despite the stress,
despite the lack of time,
despite the lack of rest,
despite the things always going through my head,
despite the doubts,
despite the problems,
despite the complications,
despite the billions of things to do,

despite all that,
it came
through
and
it felt
good

so happy birthday,

to me.

from all those people
who care enough to say
so

and those are the people I spent the night with
and this night, I get the rare opportunity to go to sleep
with a smile

low

deep

soft
and
yet
cold

a
single
place
that
can
hold
only
o­ne
but
thousands
visit
each
and
every
day

the
sun
always
setting­

the
day
never
ending

the
place
we
all
know
that
we
all
hate
and
yet
love
in
a
way
that
keeps
us
from
letting
go

let
it
go.

this
too
shall
pass

let
it
go

this
too
sha­ll
pass

let
it
go

this
too
shall
pass

le­t
it
go

this
too
shall
pass

­let
it
go
this
too
shall
pass

let it go

thi­s too shall pass

rushed past me
some guy
runs down the hallway

bye-bye
guy

did I know you?

you said hello
and
goodbye
so fast

but I know you,
guy,
with rush of air
that tussles my hair

I know
the fear,
the itch,
the go go go
feeling
and
I know how hard it is to
stop,
say hello,
and
say goodbye
just fast
enough

Because I want to be better

Because I know what I want to do
and
how to do it

Because I am sick and tired of doing nothing
and
getting nothing

Because I can be better

Because I am not better

Because for too long
I have sat aside thinking that fate will take care of me

Because fate has not
and
I should’ve known better

Because I want to be better
I will be better
no matter what

Because

a cold front
blows in from the west
with low, fat clouds
that bear
snow,
or wind,
or rain.

the winter time
of cold winter
times is nearer
and nearer to
me

heat not harming
warm fires warming
blankets and jackets
feel good on the skin

cold front
in from the west
the past blows east
but the future
on the winds comes
always faster

ah yes,
the crush

that festering,
infected,
growth
on your heart
that,

right now,

seems small
and
innocent
and
peaceful

but give it time

it will grow

increasing in size
and power until
you can’t deny it;
like genghis khan
knocking on the door
of those pompous,
Abbasid emperors
of a thousand years
ago

then you’ve lost
you can’t fight it
you don’t even want too
you just want to love,
to hug,
to caress,
to kiss,

her.

and then it all comes crashing down with a simple

no

but you know
what they
say:

“it’s only a crush”

and boy
how right they
are

I just got back from a movie

“The Social Network”

about the guy who founded facebook
or rather
how he founded it
and how now
he’s the youngest billionaire
in the world
and probably
(and don’t fact check this on me,
I’m too lazy to use google)
the youngest in
history

it was a simple idea

connect people
with
people

we all do it every day
but never like
this

and now he’s a billionaire
going to rule the world one day

probably

and this was six years ago
that this all started

the facebook

which every single person
from here on out
will use at some point
in their life

magic
magic
magic
and here I am
looking at it happen
wondering how it happened
thinking about how I,
in some form,
could do it
myself

you cannot comprehend how much you will care

how badly it will hurt
how terribly you will want to die

even if you’ve known it before
to feel it again
will burn ten times worse
than you ever remember it

you will hate yourself for it
and worst of all
you could’ve stopped it
too

but then,
perhaps,
maybe it is
out of our control,
maybe it’s not magic,
or special,
or grand,
and it's best to smile about
the fact that it’s just you,
nothing else,
that caused these events
and now,
*this.

why does it feel weird to say:
zune,
computer,
video game,
in my poems?

they’re normal
for my age
for my time
and yet
I feel like I’m corrupting
a poem when I throw
those wicked words
in

I can mention
the tv,
the phone,
the car,
but not
the plasma tv
the cell phone
the hover car

this feeling of betrayal
to something that has
no feelings
is messing with me
and yet
I don’t fight it

so for now,
sub-woofer,
iPad,
E-reader
you’re not going to appear
on my page
but probably one day
you will
and they’ll be some other thing
that I feel
defiles
my poetry

a disjointed rock thrown into the ocean
without thought or care for why moved
breaks the surface with an angry pop
and slowly sinks to the water’s floor
yet that little disturbance made in seas
off the coast of South America can swell
and evolve into a monster to be received
as far away as Japan-land

“brrrrrr”
said
the past
today

“sure miss those days by the fire
with her snuggled up close
and the covers
barely enough to keep you two
contained”

“oh yeah,
those were
great!”

“we both had fun?
didn’t we?”

“but too bad,
you ****** things up,
but that’s ok,
you still got me,
right?”

hey man,
nice work

hope your comfy
where ever you
are
whatever you’re
doing

I’m doing nice
feeling
good
even though I feel pretty
bad

but anyways,

love seeing pictures of your stuff

“one nation under CCTV”

haha,
that’s
clever

let’s read
ancient tombs
naked
in the afternoon
sun

happy laughs
and witty
comebacks
meant for no
one
at all
will
flow freely
into the warm summer
air
and jump
into the minds
of our smiling
eyes

we are
not aroused
by the bodies, ****,
in front of us
and yet
the love
in between
both
is hotter
than the lust
of a thousand
petty
romances

you pick the camera up,
an old
and nostalgic
thing,
and I change little
when you tell me to
smile
and the shutter
clicks open and
shut

we’ll find
that picture again
later
old and wrinkly
these days
cold
with the wraith
of years

I am smiling
there
and I can’t see
you
but you’re
there
more so than I
am
and
we’ll remember
for once
the warm
youth that at one time
meant something

raw with burnt out emotion
I feel the sting of feeling

why now do you return?
this wick has burned out
and my wax builds steadily
around the charred string
that is usually the center
of a person

but there I see my pearly
form melting away as the
heat builds from a fire fresh
sparked in the soul I thought
could no longer catch