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Overwhelmed Sep 2010
never a fantasy
but always an illusion

the immigrants from
foreign lands cannot
accept the fallacy

but

I, not born but raised
on the lands they
now strive for,
feel little specialness for
this o' so special
place
written at school.
Overwhelmed Dec 2010
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?
5.3k · Jun 2011
healing, lifting, relaxing
Overwhelmed Jun 2011
and it was gone just like that

like a weight off my shoulders,
like escape from certain death,
like running away without a
worry

it was gone just like that

with a handshake,
a smile,
and five steps
out the
door

I was a new man

fresh,
reborn,
free

unknowing of what
had happened in the
mean time

it is impossible to come
back from death without
collateral

what hallow husk
am I trying to bring back
now?
5.1k · May 2010
The Curse of MacBeth
Overwhelmed May 2010
I once almost cursed
the final performance
of a wonderful play I
had the fortune of being
a part of it

The play was Romeo and Juliet on Verona Street
Set in the 1930’s
I didn’t do anything important
Carried two bodies
Got in a fight
Smuggled some beer
Called a mob boss
Delivered a package
and
Investigated two dead bodies in
mime

but waiting on my final role
during the final performance
of this oh so wonderful
production I reached out to
a friend of mine (his name was
Paul but he played the Prince)
and told him

“I’d love to direct
MacBeth”

He did a double-take
Asked me what I said

I said again

“I’d love to direct
MacBeth”

“You mean the Scottish
Tragedy?”

I held my mouth in shock
I knew better
That name was cursed

Paul told me all was not lost
there was a way to reverse the curse
just listen close he said

Take your fingers in a peace sign
Spit between them
Swear (I said “*******”)
Turn around one,
two,
three times
Then leave the dressing room
And come back

I did all
and Paul was relieved
but Romeo chimed in
“well you know we have to circumcise you right?”

Paul added
“Yeah, with a Claymore!”

Don’t ever wish me luck,
I might break my leg!

I still want to direct MacBeth
and to show I’m serious I even
bought the script!

All that’s left is to get a stage,
and some money, and some
actors and maybe some talent
to go with my almost obnoxious
amount of luck
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
appearances
appearances
appearances

we aren’t what
we seem,
are we?

but we are
what we seem
aren’t we?

how would
you know about
the drug-takers,
the child-rapists,
the murderers,
the doctors,
the racists,
the writers,
the sports-fan,
the obese,
the rage-filled,
the hateless,
if they didn’t
tell you?

what are they but
average joes
until they go
rob a bank
or
paint a master-
piece?

even
the very perfect,
like the president
or
your babysitter,
is probably hiding
something

maybe they’re
a *** addict
or a pill-popper
or a communist
but if you look
at them and
see a good little
child
or
a perfect
example of
human being
I highly
doubt that’s what
they really
are

I say this
simply because
people are not
perfect

but
society
refuses to let
them be their
misshapen
selves

so we hide it,
like all good
things,
and pretend
like we have no idea
what they’re talking
about
when somebody
makes fun
of our favorite
geeky tv
show

and that’s us

all appearances
all lies
all that we know
4.1k · Dec 2010
eerie
Overwhelmed Dec 2010
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?
3.7k · Jan 2011
weekends
Overwhelmed Jan 2011
it was a hedonist’s dream
a lazy man’s paradise
an infinite realm of pleasure
and time
where only death would halt you
and he often didn’t take the
time
Overwhelmed May 2011
I
have
come
to
the
conclusion
that
all
anyone
ever
wants
to
do
is
to
be
tired,
go
to
bed,
smile
as
they
fall
asleep
and
then
wake
up
feeling
like
they
want
to
get
up

in
simple
terms
I
am
experiencing
one
of
these
rare
and
fleeting
moments

there’s
a
lot
that
could
be
attributed
to
the
why
or
the
because
but
I
think
the
best
thing
to
do
is
to
fo­***
on
experiencing
this
moment
rather
than
trying
to
figure
out
­how
to
do
it
again

goodnight

everyone

I
love
you

you
love
me
­
you
are
you

I
am
I

good
night
world

kiss
kiss
hug
hug
pat
pat

sigh
3.1k · Mar 2011
grasshoppers chirp
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
the tired beer talks
the tired black nights
the faces of people
of family or friends
the **** behind the car
the fires where all you
can see is eyes
the empty cans
the shoeless feet
the people talking to
people
the relationships and
the alliances

on concrete patios
in the woods
near lakes
or out in the deserts

we are there
listening to grasshoppers
play their sad songs
who sometimes get
so loud that we yell at each other
and laugh at the top
of our lungs
trying to fill up
the black night
and remind those
bugs we’re not dead
yet
3.0k · Mar 2011
I, the optimist
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
I, the optimist,
am hopelessly in love
with thinking that the past
is not indicative of the
future

I, the optimist,
cannot dream of a future
where I am no more
and my children are no more
and we,
as a species,
are no
more

I, the optimist,
look into the future
and past grimly
but even as the grime
grows thicker over
the things already
happened
and even more so
over the things yet to
come
and
I, the optimist,
do not doubt that they
will work out for the best
in the very, very
end
2.9k · Oct 2011
unfulfillment
Overwhelmed Oct 2011
I return home
from another long night
putting on shows for
people I do not know
and with people
I can scarcely
relate
to

my legs ache,
my hands twitch,
little bites and
bruises liter my body
like some kind of
war paint

there is no satisfaction
in this any more

there is a deep unfulfillment
in the life I am now living

I move slowly,
each action taking more
and inflicting more,
while I contemplate the
meaning of my life
(once again)
and look about my bedroom
wondering why I have allowed
it to become so
messy
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
I look into the past
seeing the wars and battles
of my fore-fathers
and my fore-mothers
and think

with every step
into the future we take
the less we want to
take a step back into
the past

then I look into the future
seeing the wars and battles
of my children
and my children’s children
and think

with every step
away from the past we take
the less we would want to
take a step into the future

then I look at this moment
sitting here, frozen in time,
half-finished poem fresh
on the screen and think

today is no different from tomorrow
and tomorrow is no different from
yesterday

frozen in time
I pray for the future
pray that the mistakes
of the past provide
no hindrance and
that the mistakes
in the future do
not hurt those
still to come
along
2.7k · Oct 2010
to Banksy
Overwhelmed Oct 2010
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
2.7k · Jun 2012
dead turtles
Overwhelmed Jun 2012
they looked like mangled
silver dollars

shells split into fifty pieces
arranged as the were
like a blue print
for god to try and
reassemble

there were so many
I didn’t count
but there were many,
many dead turtles
strewn
across the
road
and
as I walked along
I tried to avoid
them
but
sometimes
there were three
or four in a row
and
it was really
hard
to
avoid
them

like life,
life is hard,
hard like a turtle’s shell
cracked into fifty
pieces
2.6k · Feb 2011
humble
Overwhelmed Feb 2011
any time,
I feel depressed,
or meaningless,
or alone

I take a look
at any map
or picture
of our green earth
hanging in the
night

and there’s something
about it

how it’s
so peaceful,
so grand

that all my worries vanish
and I’m reminded just how
lucky I am
Overwhelmed May 2010
I stir the pool water
with a basket attached
to a stick

little whirlpools form
where I once was,
disturbing the even
distribution of tiny
white particles on
the water’s surface

the whirlpools *****
them in, but does
not drag them down  

I smell chlorine on my hands,
a deadly poison I deal with out
of necessity

I smell the honeysuckles growing
on the chain link fence, a beauty
to every sense

the sky is gray and turning dark
with night

the pool is blue and cold with it’s
lack of sunlight

the trees are green
and their wood is
brown and while I
stir tiny whirlpools
in the pool floating
with tiny particles
I take a deep breath
and decide I will
enjoy all of this
2.4k · Mar 2011
pinky swear
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
I swore
to listen to the
song

and only you
know what song
and only we
know what it
means

that song was beautiful
and so are you
and I pinky swore that I’d listen
and I’m listening to you
for you
2.1k · Mar 2011
life is like a fragile glass
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
life is
like
a fragile
glass

it is intrinsic:
beautiful even
more on the
inside

it is valuable:
more for it’s
purpose than
its looks
alone

it is sacred:
something
that only a few
ever really
appreciate

life is
like
a fragile
glass

something whose value
is greatest
after years of refinement
and growth
but as each day
goes on
in its fragile,
oh so fragile,
existence
the chance of its breaking
grows as greatly
as the cost of
losing
it
2.1k · Jan 2011
500
Overwhelmed Jan 2011
500
by the count of my computer
I have written four-hundred
and ninety-nine poems

such a terrible number,
499,
so I write this poem
to even things out
and I sit here trying to
reconcile all this hard
work I’ve done for
nothing
2.1k · Jan 2011
eraser
Overwhelmed Jan 2011
I walk
down the
street
in the summer
sun
and the person
I nod to,
walking past,
does not see me
and I do not
see
him
2.1k · Oct 2010
candle
Overwhelmed Oct 2010
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
2.1k · Nov 2010
the crush
Overwhelmed Nov 2010
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
2.1k · Oct 2010
graffiti
Overwhelmed Oct 2010
one young man’s
attempt to make this world
he is barely a part of
something that he owns
and is responsible for
but just as quickly
as the spray-paint goes on
the men that really own his world
wash it and him away
reminding the young man
that he can do anything he wants
when he doesn’t care
what happens to the world
that isn’t his
2.0k · Mar 2011
Good Morning, Good Day
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
People with plastic smiles
wave to me over their
white picket fences

I avoid their gaze
but they just smile as I drive
past

Back and froth
twice a day
every day
at minimum

I fear their cheerful greetings
there invitations to barbecues and
parties where I'll only be singled
out

I do not need the hive mind,
the men who we envision
in dark suits with red
eyes but who are really
just you and us down deep
inside

I drive by the
face of evil every
day

And as it chuckles
and laughs as I drive
by in my old beat-up
Volvo I avoid looking into
the empty-pits where
a soul is supposed to
be
Overwhelmed Apr 2011
unsure of living
I have discovered
the waiting room
of the nearly dead

there are pictures
of the famous ones
hung upon the wall

******, Hemmingway,
Hammurabi, Harrison

in their different times
they all sat in these chairs
reading magazines and
quaint biographies while
they waited for their name
to be called

the most unsettling thing
is not knowing if you truly
belong here

so sitting in death’s waiting room
I flip through greasy, old pages
wondering if I’m brave enough
to walk out the door and see if
anybody notices
2.0k · May 2010
A.T. Hun's
Overwhelmed May 2010
his name was Hamilton
my name was Caleb

the dude was on the outside
inside was more from his film

also in the bunch,
the duke, the doctor,
the fab 4, the dogs
in neon and inverted
colors

it was not all Hamilton’s
but his work was some of the best

weird stuff on the back wall
but still some awesome pieces
from a man obsessed with
movies

Hamilton was my friend
If only for my visit
Hamilton was my dad’s friend
(My dad’s good at making them)

but in the end
I was there for
art work

and though I bought something not of Hamilton’s
I think he appreciated me and my dad and my mom
(she likes the dude too)

but Hamilton told me
I’m looking to propose to a lady like your mom
and I laughed
that’s good
but Hamilton
we’ve got to
go

thus is the fate of the artist and the
customer
2.0k · May 2011
poem for the modern age
Overwhelmed May 2011
we drink soda like its alcohol
and pop pills like they’re candy

we eat fast food like its healthy
and pray to god like he’s good

we throw up in back-alley toilets
and **** our children in plain sight

we can’t remember bad times
and think of good ones lost

we learn from death and not dying
and examine till meaning is gone

we exist in an air of relentlessness
and read a compass lacking north
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
why can’t love
be like the
movies?

a girl likes a guy
or
a guy likes a girl

the other doesn’t know yet
but he or she comes around
in the end

it’s so easy
yet so testing

you got to win them over
do something amazing
that doesn’t even involve them
but you got to do it
or you won’t get them

but you will

the audience smiles
the children cringe
and everyone leaves
thinking of the wonderful life
the new lovers have ahead of
them

but it’s all a sham
keeping us distracted
from all the ways
that those lovers
aren’t anything like
us

why can’t love
be like the
movies?

I ask a simple question
so simple
there is no simple
answer
2.0k · Mar 2011
the grapes of wrath
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
it is no crime
to say
“**** it”
and
move on
with my
life

it took me years
to realize this but
even now I take it
as a privilege and
not a rite

times like these
always bring me
back to this debate

and every time
I say no no no
I need to do it
because I can do it
I gotta prove I can do it
gotta show ‘em
gotta teach ‘em
gotta learn ‘em
about what
I
can do

it’s times like these
that make me look
out the window at
the clouds and truly
appreciate them

the trumpet blares
out of the speakers
and I realize that I
might be cut out for
this world after all
1.9k · May 2010
Opiate Soluiton
Overwhelmed May 2010
take the drug
our fatal fusion
the peace and
the peacock
are one thing
but completely
opposite

the goal is to
killing what
juxtaposition
is to carpenters

the artist and
the fisherman
share their the
same trade

blocked by
so many in
realization
of the poison
but you can
not stop the
flood of idiots
as they come
like a tsunami

the ****** solution is to
dumb down and keep
happy

your keeper is the warden
the warden is a fish locked
in with a net

keep your drugs
I’m good
(or I’ll pay)
your solution is not mine
mine is the tap tap tap of
the keys of my computer
mine is man lacking a so
happy future that to be
lonely is to regret my
death
1.9k · Mar 2011
magician
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
I hear the noise of silence
quietly now you wonder what I mean
but that is the magic of this trick
that it truly has no meaning
this is my 150th poem available here on Hello Poetry. Thank you guys for the reads and the responses, I am always grateful to know that my poetry gave you reason for pause, or why it didn't.
1.9k · May 2010
little Indian dancers
Overwhelmed May 2010
the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
dance a new dance
or at least new to me

the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
live a new life
that’s a mystery to me

the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
move their feet like hands
and their hands like wings

the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
create a new world
all in my eyes

the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
soar like eagles
but never leave the ground

the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
create a dance
that’s different for all

the line
the circle
the twist
the bend
the dip
the dive
the cross
the cave

the little Indian dancers
done up in feathers
do this and more
and it’s all new to me
1.9k · Mar 2011
NOISE!
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
noise!
noise!
noise!

so much NOISE!

the music plays, my
hands clap too loudly
for the room, even the
sun seems to have
this blanketing static
creeping into my
brain

even as I make it all go away
my mind screams inside of my skull

my hands move fast
just trying to get the noise out
but the tapping of the keys
is just more noise
making me
even more
insane!

noise!
noise!
noise!

so much NOISE!

where is the quiet when you need it?
where is  depression when your veins
pump with adrenaline?
where is the fairness?
where is the justice?

there’s only one question I can answer,
and that’s where the ****** noise is from!
1.8k · Mar 2011
Sunglasses on
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
The day is young at 3 PM
The sun is high
The air is warm
And the hum of the engine driving down the highway is music amongst
The whipping wind of the open window

Strange birds sit lazily on the edge of ocean ponds
Old men in polo shirts hit tiny spheres down beautiful gardens

So many people with money but no minds

I need eyes without pupils
The function without the humanity
1.8k · Sep 2012
what a season
Overwhelmed Sep 2012
rising from the gritty earth
to a chilly day in October
love blooms with the pump-
kins

in warm coffees, hay rides,
turning leaves, and harvest
moons you can see love do
her best work

a young couple holds hands
for the first time, smiling as
if they’d never smiled before,
and all across the country
the green turns to orange and
the orange turns to brown

but before the last life seeps
from the last leaf, love will
creep into the hearts of just
enough souls

and even as the land freezes,
and the smiling couple turns
cold and stiff and brittle, love
will still survive, in memories
of Halloween night and that
kiss shared beneath a clear
evening

soon, spring will come, and
love will run free once again
and teach a new generation
how to plant and harvest her
crop
1.8k · Mar 2011
a fearful time to live in
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
at this very moment in time,
I am terrified for the future
of the human race

I wake up each day and hear things
no man should hear
and yet each day I wake up
and I am assaulted with a world
speeding towards the brink of
oblivion

I have no comment
on what is right
or wrong,

to each man his own
has always been the
nature of this universe.

but on the things we now hold dear:
the ignorance
the xenophobia
the arrogance
the paranoia
the fear

I cannot reconcile them

so much hate,
has become the norm

hate for others,
hate for difference,
hate for abnormality,
hate for normality

no one
knows the true meaning
of love
anymore

each person walks into the day
holding a brandished steel in one hand
and a hardened shield in the other

nobody knows how to be vulnerable
or how to leave the vulnerable be

we all act like warriors
battling in some unforgiving
war

yet we are not,

we are simple people
trying to live simple
lives.

on this day,
nine years ago,
a tragedy was struck
that the world will never
forget

on this day,
forty-seven years ago,
a miracle occurred
that only a few have ever
noticed

on this day,
one of these past events
blocks out the
other

hate has eclipsed love
and in this moment of
time:
I am fearful,
for the future of
humanity
1.8k · May 2012
strawberries
Overwhelmed May 2012
I have eaten
many strawberries
today

small and
red with
green leaves

they taste sweet
and ****
and remind me
that it is summer time
and that I should
enjoy myself

so I eat another bowl
of strawberries

small and
red and
****

waiting for the feeling
of summer to finally
sweep me away
1.7k · Mar 2011
The Killers, The Kids
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
the murderer is a man who
makes a living doing what
everyone jokes about but
who deep down in their so
simple minds refuse to do
the deed for fear of some
shadow conjured up as a
means to control them in
their weakest moments

the murderer lives in our
brain but lives in the hands
of very few

so few of you are killers
so few of you are people
who’ve escaped the fear

the killers are the people
who refuse to die without
a fight/the killers are the
people who refuse to keep
living without having things
their way

the murderers are killers
but the killers are creators
creators of terror, fear, and
anger, but also anguish, and
tears in volume of the ocean

the murderers
the musketeers
the marauders
the generals
the corporals
the soldiers
the butchers
the land developers
the tree planters
the kid sitting there
eating an apple

they’re all killers
all the killers are
all of them and
all of them are
all of us
1.7k · Mar 2011
Play it Teddy!
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
Play it Teddy!
hammer those keys
swing that clarinet to and fro
and do it all without a voice to be heard
but applause to be enjoyed

Play it Teddy!
play that song!
the one on the radio now,
the one I can’t describe
I rock my head back and forth
I tell Teddy to play it some more
and imagine I’m back in New Orleans
Teddy playing to wondrous clapping
and the waves quickly rising up to the bell of his
clarinet
1.6k · Mar 2012
Unscrewing a Bolt
Overwhelmed Mar 2012
Don’t ask me why I was standing in the middle of my backyard that Friday evening in March unscrewing a bolt, but do know that I was standing in the middle of my backyard that Friday evening in the middle of March, and I was attempting to unscrew a bolt. The bolt belonged to the remains of a gazebo we had built last summer, a fairly nice, painted-aluminum thing with copper colorings and khaki drapes. It had been blown over in a wind-storm sometime over the winter and I had been dreading the day I would have to come outside and take it apart, piece by piece, and finally get rid of the wreckage of what had once been a beautiful center piece to our back yard.

            The reason I had finally gotten around to taking it apart was that I was angry. This is also probably why I didn’t care that it was raining, or that the sun was setting in less than an hour, or that I would much rather be in my room sitting around and doing nothing. I enjoy physical labor more when I’m angry. If I can avoid any complications, I work briskly and feel better overall when I am done. Unfortunately, this was not one of the times I avoided complications.

            The particular bolt I was working on seemed to know that I didn’t need something frustrating to deal with. It waited until it was the last one that needed unscrewing to suddenly become difficult. After ten minutes, I had gone at it with Phillip’s head ***** drivers, flat heads, two different types of wrenches, and my own bare hands, but still it refused to budge. In between mad attempts to turn the stubborn piece of metal, I would make quick little circles away from it. Up the brick path I was working next to then back down it, alternately glaring at and shunning my nemesis as I went. Each circle was my way of letting out the excess frustration building with each failed attack on the bolt. But as my attacks become more frequent and my efforts seemingly more futile, I was beginning to lose control of emotions.

            The whole situation felt menacing. The corpse of the gazebo wore a condescending smile, my tools giggled each time they failed, and the bolt said nothing, sitting smugly in its socket. I will defeat you, I thought, I will unscrew you and it will feel good to throw you into the woods and forget about you. But I knew that winning this battle would not mean I won the war. My mood was shot. While I set out to make myself feel better, I only ended up feeling worse in the long run. Regardless, this realization did not reduce my anger. I was determined to unscrew this ****** and that was all I could think about.

            Taking hold of a wrench in one hand and a ***** driver in the other, I twisted and jammed the two things for as long as I could. When the bolt didn’t come unbound, I grabbed one half of the structure I was trying to deconstruct and began to rip and tear it with all of my might. When it still wouldn’t budge, I loudly screamed “fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck”, and with one last burst of strength, lifted it above my head and used my other hand to smash the bolt until it was loose in the socket. This was when I finally was able to unscrew the bolt and its uneventful fall to the ground was somehow unsatisfying at the time.

            Taking my newly freed hand, I grunted loudly and hurled the hunk of precision cut aluminum piping over to where another piece of the former gazebo lay. I sat breathing heavily, even if the moment lasted only a few seconds and required only a fraction of my strength. I realize now that I breathed so hard because this was an emotionally straining task. Man against machine. Unstoppable against the unmovable. And I had won, but not before I lost control. Lost myself deep into a fit of rage where I could hardly recognize myself. Anger, I realized long ago, is not my natural state. I get sick with it after even a short time. Those retched moments when rage takes over the entirety my mind are some of the worst in my life.

            I’m still not sure why we humans have never found a better way to deal with anger. We have two options: To bottle it up or to let it out. And the former always eventually leads to the latter. In my life, I’ve managed to avoid anger all together. I stray from conflict, do not work with people I dislike, avoid restricting my ability to get out of any contract or dedication. But I can’t always hide from it, and I suppose that’s why I was standing in the middle of my backyard that Friday evening in March trying to unscrew a bolt that I was convinced was my very worst enemy. I was trying to untighten something much deeper, much darker, something I don’t think I, or most people, ever have the depth to deal with. It seemed the only way out was to fall back on the imperfect methods of my ancestors, and for the time being, I decided that was alright.
1.6k · Dec 2010
take-off
Overwhelmed Dec 2010
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
1.6k · Dec 2011
I'd swear but that'd be rude
Overwhelmed Dec 2011
we were brave once

but we were told
to be sensitive
and empathetic
and walk a mile
in another’s shoes

and now ignorance
is mistook for brilliance,
and the only risks we
take involves which
flavor of cheetos
we get from the
gas station

we were great once,
I remind you
1.6k · Mar 2011
Muslim Girl
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
At lunch
she studies on the stairs
the ones hidden away
behind some double doors
in the back of the cafeteria

I got in there
to buy my soda
(the only machine that
sells cans is in there)
and I see her

she’s not pretty,
pudgy face,
hood on her head,
eyes wild
as I put my dollar in
and hit the button for
a diet coke

I see her there
everyday

my back is turned
but I feel her stare,
I feel the apprehension at me
entering her sanctum in the air

I contemplate a greeting,
but realize that’s too much.

so I whistle

whistle plain and clear

most would think it normal,
a small task to do while I wait for my drink,
but if one listened closely
and just happened to know the tune
they’d know what I whistled
to that friendless,
Muslim girl
was that
one day
she too
would be
loved
Overwhelmed Jan 2011
a neon
wolf
howls at a
xenon moon
my poems
seem so
similar
at
times
Overwhelmed Nov 2010
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
wow.
1.6k · Apr 2011
healing
Overwhelmed Apr 2011
washing on the shores,
the rustling winds in
the palms, the caws
of birds and scuttling
of *****, the silence
in the mornings, and
the quiet in the night

echoing, soothing,
playing, evolving

the sounds of the ocean
sound like some ancient
composers song

there is life in this music

human life, animal life,
plant life, sea life, life
of the air, life of the
earth, life of the tiny
and life of the big

we feel it more than we
hear it
and we smile

the bass hum of the trees
the melody of the seagulls
the harmony of the wind
the crescendos of the waves

it is the song of the sea
the music of the ocean
the soundtrack of life

I feel my muscles unclench
and relax
1.5k · Jun 2010
The Ballad of Fear
Overwhelmed Jun 2010
A little boy
walks up his mother and
says
“Mother,
I am
scared”

The mother will lean down
ever so gently
and say in the most
uninterested way
“There is
nothing
to be afraid
of”

The little boy
will listen
and take
that into his mind
but when the storm
comes
rocking his house
and tearing it to
small pieces
he will still be
afraid
but he will over come
it and survive
to see his house
in one piece

A young soldier
walks up to his captain and
says
“Captain,
I am
scared”

The Captain will look at him
with hard eyes
and say in the most
uninterested way
“There is
nothing
you can be afraid
of”

The young soldier
will listen
and take
that into his mind
but when the enemy
comes
killing his friends
and leaving him to
die there
he will still be
afraid
but he will over come
it and survive
to see his friends
safely recovered in the hospital


A young man
walks up to another young man and
says
“Man,
I am
scared”

The other young man won’t even look at him
putting him on edge
and say in the most
uninterested way
“Then you’re
letting
someone scare
you”

The young man
will listen
and take
that into his mind
but when his life
starts moving
making him more
afraid than ever
and he refuses help
for fear of being
afraid even more
he will still be
afraid
but he will not over come
it and he shall only survive
to see that other young man
take over the duties that he
was unable to perform
1.5k · Oct 2010
techno-babble
Overwhelmed Oct 2010
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
1.5k · Sep 2011
decaying (detox)
Overwhelmed Sep 2011
the truth hurts

failure stabs
like a dagger
and slices you
to mush

that’s why I cry
that’s what the bravado
dies and the illusion
evaporates or
sometimes
crumbles

I face getting caught
but my bravery poisons
my pride

I will walk to my room
breathing out years of
rancid doubts
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
I guess I should start by saying that I do have a lot of bias against the competition because of things that have absolutely nothing to do with the contest or the way it was judged. They got my poems wrong. This basically meant that I was going to be playing with a large handicap of some sort. As it turned out, they let me perform the two poems I had prepared, but for the one that they didn't count on me performing, I would not get an accuracy score. Each poem could earn up to 20 points: 12 are on your performance, and 8 on accuracy. I would not get those eight points, or otherwise, 20% of the possible score I could earn in the contest. To put it simply, I had been disqualified.
So with this heavy thought on my mind I performed my pieces. Despite an air of confidence (which was severely diminished for once) I performed badly, terribly in fact. I could very well say that both pieces were at the worst they had ever been. I went up on stage at the end and had to fake a smile as the awards were given out and it took every ounce of my being not to throw away the "congrats, you participated" diploma they gave to everyone. I did not have fun. The second I found out my poems were wrong, I turned to mother and asked to leave. My mom and the people running the contest convinced me not to go, but I'm still not sure if that was a good idea or not. In all seriousness, I could not have fun. All that work, all that effort, was for nothing. It wasn't anybody's fault and that's perhaps the most infuriating thing of it all. There was no way to prevent this. It just happened. I got ******* over. Good, long, and hard. So what was I to do? My mom commented that I was doing the right thing by staying, and I suppose that's true. My school has never participated in Poetry Out Loud before, and even if I don't compete again, just knowing what it's like will be incredibly useful for the person that goes on next year. This is where I stop apologizing for myself and start making actual criticisms because I want you to understand that most of these negative points came long after I was done feeling sorry for myself/pointed out by my mother. And the first and most crucial of them all is that I would've never won.
Even if they hadn't ******* up my poems, even if I performed them perfectly, even if I made every eye in the house swell with tears and every mouth grin with laughter, I would've never won. They weren't looking for any of that. They weren't looking for emotion, they weren't looking for original interpretation, they weren't looking to get a response from the audience. They just wanted us good little boys and girls to go up on stage in our nicest clothes and recite famous poems in as traditional, unoriginal, and boring way as possible. Two of the winners, the guy who won third and the girl who won first, were, by my and my mother standards, some of the worst acts of the entire show. The boy recited "Charge of the Light Brigade" with his hands folded at his stomach and his voice in a monotone to make deaf preacher snore, and yet, somehow this is of merit! There was a mexican guy who put so much feeling and emotion into poems, that, normally seem like dreary contentious ramblings of arrogant poets, but now jump off the page and offer meaning that you didn't even realize were there. He got nothing. In short, I felt like the winners, and the overall values the contest propagates, are not what this competition should be about.
Poetry in the modern age is viewed as a dusty, unimportant art form that once meant something but now is something you read in English class as a child and never take outside of the classroom into the real world. Poetry Out Loud furthers this belief. Instead of embracing the fledgling arts of Slam Poetry and Dramatic Reading, Poetry Out Loud squashes it in favor of continuing a more "traditional" interpretation of poetry recitation. They put emphasis on meter, plainness, and calm; traits that, in all honesty, puts audiences to sleep and reminds them of boring days spent in English listening to the dronings of their teacher. Poetry is not dead, and while the people running Poetry Out Loud may know this, the methods they use to try and make the world realize this are unproductive at best. I am ashamed to say that this is how such a great opportunity is squandered. The fact that such a large (and growing) organization, with as much fame and ample rewards as it possesses, turns on the very art form its trying to protect  is shameful, but I doubt it would want to change if it were to hear my cries.
Poetry Out Loud isn't about furthering the art of poetry, it's about forcing the works of so perceived "great poets" on kids. They offer a $20,000 scholarship as the grand prize, but really, if you wanted to bring truly great poets into the fold the joy of competing would be reward enough. This contest shouldn't be about other people's poems, it should be about our own. The original work of this generation, performed the way the we intend, will produce performances infinitely more meaningful and insightful than anything that is being done now. During this whole competition, I viewed it not as a measure of my poetic ability but instead of my acting talents. Theater kids dominate this competition, but as the title suggests, this is not "Thespians Out Loud", and emphasis needs to return to the creation of original poems and the entertaining performance there of.
Poetry is something completely unique to any other art form, it is nearest anyone has ever come to exactly writing down real language, with its many idioms, tricks, habits, faults, and mannerisms; and Poetry performed aloud is a near perfect as written art can get. I submit that Poetry Out Loud is not what it claims to be, and although I cannot fault it for poor ambition or malicious intent, I cannot say that I will be condoning it any more, especially the message it sends to young poets, their teachers, and society as a whole.
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