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Overwhelmed Sep 2011
we had beauty once

everything was art
and we carried about how,
why, what it looked like
in the end

now all we have is
crap

plastic shells on
plastic souls
make hallow sounds like
empty buckets aching
for water to fill
them

there is no art
there is no purpose

there is nothing
but the desert
and
our fading tracks in
the sand

we had beauty once

it was all grand
and our childhood was
well-deserved and
yet to run off into
the
sunset
Overwhelmed Sep 2010
Oh,
****
you.

I don't give a ****
about what's wrong
or
what's right

what you think about me,
or my acts,
or my
kind.

oh,
*******.

with your giggling
and
your condescension

I really don't give a ****
but that's a lie,
because
I wrote this poem
didn't I?
Overwhelmed Nov 2012
it would be a quick
and beautiful death

out the rift in the space ship’s hull
and into the cold black abyss
a few instants of breathlessness
of desperate lips gasping
of wild eyes searching for
a reason
and then the calm
a reunification with the universe
that brings with it the realization
of how quiet it is out here
how far the void extends
in every direction
and how small
you really are
in the face of even the tiniest
cosmic body

then you will be torn apart
so quickly, you’ll never even know
brought back to your natural state
tiny pieces without order
atoms flying erratically
through the chaotic darkness
and though you may will to fight it
I much advise using
the second or two you have
to make peace with your existence
and be happy to be part
of something
so much bigger
yourself
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
no, I don’t expect
things to be fine
when I wake up

no, I doubt I’ll
feel any better or
the world will be
any different

no, I really can’t
say that I look
forward to trudging
through another
day with a smile
painted on my
face

no, I think it’s
going to be even
worse

yes, I know that
everything is O.K.
for now

yes, I realize this
is quite doom and
gloom of me

yes, I have tried
to stop being like
this

maybe, I wonder
if maybe it’ll all
get better one day
Overwhelmed Jun 2011
I am your shining windows
I am your tall, brick walls
I am your rail-ways and
train engines
I am your conveyer belts
I am your stock parts
I am your young line boys
I am your cigar-smoking,
fat-cat bosses
I am your Ford automobiles
and Technicolor TV’s
I am your idea of
perfection

I am your broken windows
I am your toppling, mortar walls
I am your rusted rail-ways and
broken-down locomotives
I am your robotic arms
I am your lead paint
I am your Chinese labor
I am your *******-sniffing,
thrid-world-oppressing bossess,
I am your Toyota cars
and LG televisions,
I am your idea of
perfection

I am the old and the new
I am the sights that roll past
my rolled-up windows
I am the city and the suburbs
I am the quietly dying
I am the voiceless mind and
its cries for help
I am the future and
the past
I am the dream
I am the death of
the dream
I am your idea of perfection
and also,
your nightmare
of an
idea
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
opportunity
sits in
my
den
and
says
“so what
you
going to do
this time?”

I look at
my pan,
bacon cooking
and sizzling,
and chuckle
him off

“don’t know,
bub”

“haha”
he laughs
“just hope
you don’t *****
it up
like every
other
time”

“yeah”
I say,
despondent,
“me
too”

and I serve
the bacon with
some eggs,
sit down
at the table
looking in at the
den,
and opportunity
watches the evening
news, waiting for
the day's lotto
numbers
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
You can’t make it
Can’t duplicate it
Can’t splice it
Can’t fight it
Old poetry on
Old paper
Just
Is
And
All those new poems you
Write
Will never be as good
Until time, like it does to all
Things
Turns it old and transforms it
Into different meanings and
Words
Overwhelmed Jan 2011
I heard someone
say
that they wanted to destroy
something beautiful
for no other sake
than the destruction
itself

and they continued,
it would not be the shattered remains
of whatever felt their wraith
that would be so perfect,
no.

it would be the act itself,
more beautiful than anything.
so beautiful in fact,
it would be haunting,
haunting for the rest of
their days.
Overwhelmed Jan 2013
fortune-telling is a load of horse-****
but I don’t think seeing into the future
is impossible

take this little moment:
it’s 11:59 on new years
the count-down is happening
thirty-two, thirty-one, thirty,
and my mother is taking photos
and my dad is trying to pour champagne
and still the numbers dwindle
eighteen, seventeen, fifteen,
and I’m sitting on a high stool
with my girlfriend next to me
and the final count-down is coming
but the glasses are lined up
and my mom is still *******
with her camera
and even as we yell out
three, two, one,
we’re not ready

after the ball hits the ground
I’m reaching over and trying
to find my girlfriends lips
and also reaching for my
champagne
time slows down
I haven’t found either yet
my eyes are closed
celebration blares
from the TV

I find the glass
with the tip of my fingers
and it tips over
shattering
sparkling gold
spills over the counter-top
and I never found her
lips

I swear
feel hot blood in my face
look away from everyone

we cleaned up,
wiped up the broken glass
and the liquor with a rag
and moved on

eighteen hours later
I’m still wondering what
it means

an omen?
maybe
Overwhelmed Nov 2010
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
Overwhelmed Jul 2011
from the first time you
locked eyes it was fire

when you finally touch
lips it’s like a thousand
nuclear bombs are going
off and you two are the
only ones who don’t care

when you touch her
for the first time the
fire turns into a blaze

you’re hungry now,
hungry for her, for
the first taste of her
flesh, for the first
lick, the first ******,
the first **** of the
last **** of your
life

words seem silent
against the sound
of touching skin
and burning flesh

the moment never comes sooner,
the finale is the overture itself

you don’t care anymore

from the first time you
locked eyes it was fire

after the last memory fades,
the flame silently goes out
Overwhelmed Apr 2011
on the sidewalks of our childhood homes
in the eyes of our forgotten fathers
with clenched teeth and caught breath
the group gasps and stares at our appearance

on the doorsteps of a new generation
in the hearts of a nation and a world
with fiery purpose and composed attitude
the children and the elders walk alone

on the minds of all humanity
in the works of every artist
with despair and treachery at hand
the words of our mouth turn black

on the faces of a billion tiny ants
in their tiny feet marching together
with direction but no meaning
the queen feels no remorse

on the page but not the cover
in the text but not the surmise
with metaphor and simile
the realizations come too slow

on the ground
in the skies
with peacefulness and anger too
the world is all there is
Overwhelmed Dec 2010
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.
Overwhelmed Jan 2011
I listen to
a little imp
inside my head
who hates my heart
and loves my body

he knows the treachery
of letting me run amok
with women or pleasure
or pain

he says no,
no no no,
that’s stupid,
you’re stupid,
I know what’s best
you know that.

I hate that little imp.
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.
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
the cross road
reads fear
my street
reads fate
and the paths I’ve been on
before read
depression, laziness, and elation

tall buildings
obscure my view
of that around
me but not
the sky
and as I look up
and down fear
street I can’t
see what’s
coming or
gone

standing on the corner of
fate and fear
I take one step onto
the pavement

I hear a horn honk
echoing out against all the
buildings
but I can’t see
anyone

I run down fate street
crossing fear
Overwhelmed May 2010
on the board-walk of savannah
where the black men sing gospel
tunes and the white men play a
hearty banjo, the boats float lazily
on the industrial river and the
sun shines through the blue sky
with only wispy clouds to accent
the calmness

on the board-walk of savannah
there are stores of every shape
and size selling a billion things

on the board-walk of savannah
there’s an open air market where
a man named Ligel lives

on the board-walk of savannah
a boy starts a collection with a
single piece of art-work named
“On the Jazz Piano”

on the board-walk of savannah
the boy smiles and takes a
business card but says he won’t
pay $10 for the same piece of
artwork with Ligel’s name on it

in the Marriot of Hilton Head
the boy sits and lets the words
flow from his mind down past
his fingertips

the boy smiles in the mirror
the night is dark outside
a man with orange arms and
blue fingers plays the piano
but all the boy hears is that
this too shall pass
Overwhelmed Jul 2012
I am driving

from the city
into the city

something is approaching

a hunk of tire
a phone call

too late, impact

I drive slowly, listening
I put down the phone, listening

then it hits me

I look over at him
I look over her

they can’t face me

out of anger
out of shame

I pull off

an unfamiliar place
an unfamiliar place

we are assessing the damages

the bumper is ******
everything is ******

I am waiting

in a gas station
by a restaurant

how bad?

it’ll be okay, he says
it’ll be okay, I say

we start down the road again

scraping
crying

pull off again

we rip off a metal binding
we tear apart our binding

driving, again, in silence

a low buzzing now
a steady sob

I’m sorry

I know, he says
I know, I say

the ride is long

ten hours
the last hours

it’ll be okay

he says
I lie
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
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
there’s a moment
between
“it’ll go like this”
and
it does
that
you think to yourself
“or not”

like many other things,
it’s a curse as well as a juxtaposition
two pictures set next to one another
then realizing that they’re crooked
with your audience already flooding in

what can you do,
when the future prepared for
is not the future that jumps out?

most will be toppled over in a daze
a few lucky ones will miss the beast
or perhaps even send it back whence it came
but again, most will be toppled
left in a daze for the amusement
of others
Overwhelmed Nov 2012
it’s hard to say
if our little lives
really matter
in the long run

but I do know
that love can make
any little life
more important
than anything else
in the universe
Overwhelmed Oct 2010
everybody’s always going some place.
traveling, the idea that a vacation can
be enjoyed anywhere else but here is
left only to the crazies and those too
awkward to be going out in the world,
the world is abuzz with a constant
movement that some would call as
beautiful as a million silver fishes
working as one being to make a dance
infinisimly more amazing than anything
we humans could ever produce but to
me I see this only as the quivering of
cockroaches in the moments before your
shoe comes down upon them
Overwhelmed May 2012
it is late
and
dark
and
the trees are
silhouettes
against
the lightness
of the evening sky
and
as I look up
at the one or two stars
that gleam out
from beyond the human mess
I wonder why
it is taking me so long
to ****
Overwhelmed Jan 2011
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
Overwhelmed Jan 2014
my last four days have been spent away
in a lightless pit at the bottom of my mind.
but the time spent there is not what is important,
as I could not hear what happened above me
and likewise, they did not hear what happened
to me, alone in the cold floor of that depth.
it is now, as I emerge shaken but fresh eyed,
that I notice how the world seems to be off
in a way words have no business describing.
to be sure, I seem to have missed something
and from the faces of those I talk with now,
I can see that they are missing something
as well, but I’m not sure if they know it.
Overwhelmed Jan 2011
an artist trapped within his skills
a lizard caught in snow-storm
a book that’s been read and quickly
thrown away
a face on a sleeping corpse
a piece of gum stuck to everyone’s
shoe
a chair that never seems comfortable
but is always sturdy
a man standing without any hint
of what he’s thinking
a coffee cup filled with disgust
a bug landed on the wall
an injured horse that knows it’s
fate
a cologne nobody wants to, but
must, wear
an elder and a boy all in one
a double-think dilemma
a knowing that red and blue
make purple
a muttering doubt hidden in your
brain
a looming challenge, belittled in
self-defense
an enemy accomplished of little more
than existing
an attack from all angles when you’re
most ready for it
a neutral mask
a human being behind a wall
a quarter quickly slipped into the
vending machine
a picture of wasted opportunity
a movie about nothing

a look into the mirror
a prayer for a lost soul
a remorseful refrain
of self
a poem about me,
and others,
and all of
us
together
through me,
only me,
only
me.
Overwhelmed Mar 2013
hands black and red
stained with work
and self-fulfillment
Overwhelmed May 2010
note cards
4 x 9
yellow
purple
blue
white
red

one goes “ha ha ha”
while the other looks out upon a corn field
and the river running through it
still another shows a man in blue
who’s existence is but a mistake
and then finally one writes out bold and simple
“I fear”

I look upon the wall
the note cards
4 x 9
are the first step
and yet only more
to add to those I’ve
already taken
Overwhelmed Apr 2011
in this,
my darkest hour,
the shadow of doubt
sits as I sleep
staring into my eyes
when I look at
him
and burning
holes in my form
when I find the
courage
to look
away

he is silent,
most times

seemingly satisfied
with encroaching fear
from his very prescience

but at times,
he does speak

he whisper to me
soft truths
which I cannot
deny
but
I refuse
to
accept

these truths
like…

that I’m failing
at the simplest of
tasks

or

that I’m
unable
to control myself
and what
I am

or

that
I am no
longer
someone that
I would
look
up
to

for the most part,
I can ignore these.

going about my days
in bliss and happiness
and sunshine

other times,
I am not so
lucky

when my bed
seems my only
friend
and I flop
down into its
soft sheets
and begin drifting off
into my own
world
I am
suddenly reminded
of his
existence

this is when he doesn’t talk

he just looks at me,
knowing why I am so
desperate to get away
from everyone,
and continues to
look

stop staring!
I say

stop staring!
I say again

stop staring!
stop staring!
stop staring
you *******
freak!

but he doesn’t

I work myself up
arguing with him

rationalizing his motivations
analyzing his strategies
predicting his moves

it just makes the whole
experience hurt worse
until finally:

I grab the lamp,
the bottle, the
plate, the knife,
the book, the child,
the girlfriend, the
family member,
the moral

and

throw it at him

every time
the object shatters
against the wall
and the shadow
is gone

I never see where he goes,
I’m still not sure of his name
or his purpose

in these, my darkest hours,
I can feel his eyes burning
me

he whispers answers
too hard to swallow
and edges me on till
I gallop over the edge

once I jump,
he leaves,
leaving me to wrestle
back to some sort of
sanity

I am not sure why
I am not sure when
I am not sure how
it’s possible in the
first place

but I know he will return
and I will be left to wrestle
with myself when he departs
again

in my bleakest moment,
even sleep haunts me with
dreams of my corpse
Overwhelmed Dec 2010
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?
Overwhelmed Nov 2010
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
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
so many young people screaming
we need peace!
give peace a chance!
where is the peace!?

I look down at them
their bodies moving as
a single entity,
an ocean with a brain

shouts rise like tiny spurts of sea foam
slogan filled signs act the part of waves
and all their angry eyes become the fish
who know little of their home but know
much about living in it

we need peace?
why yes we do
we have it
you have it
your ocean is held together with peace

give peace a chance?
we do
I do
you do
they do
this government you beat your fists against
is just like you
a body fused together
by an agreement of
peaceful brotherhood

where is the peace?
look around
look at the world
look at yourself
there is peace
there is the peace
and without that peace
you couldn’t even say there wasn’t any
in the first place

peace is all around us
it’s in the air we breath,
in the water we drink,
in the words we speak.

this world is one giant experiment in the way
peace can manifest itself

but the ocean rages on against the boat
it has chosen to blame the sinking of the
S.S. Peace

down there
so many young people screaming
we need peace!
give peace a chance!
where is the peace!?

and I sit here with the answers in my head
knowing they don’t want to hear them
Overwhelmed Jul 2013
it’s all coming together
exactly like they said it would
perfectly fine, in the end,
despite how bad it seemed
how much skin came
off our teeth
it’s perfectly fine now
and nobody knows
quite how to feel about
that
pet
Overwhelmed Mar 2013
pet
is a spider
who lives the bath tub
I have can’t use
anymore

he’s a wolf spider
of some sort

he eats the bugs
he’s big enough to eat
and is very territorial

he stays in the same spot
front legs raised
ready to pounce
but does not spin a web

he’ll live there
protecting my bathroom
and I’ll keep an eye on him
whenever I take a crap
or go in and get my
towel

but one day
I’ll decide he’s just
too comfy
and go get a shoe
or book

and I’ll end him

and that would be the life
of pet
Overwhelmed Oct 2012
the walls rattle
with my voice
as the walls fell
all around us
Overwhelmed Jan 2011
it is her smiling in the right
me smiling to the left
both of us playing,
and I literally mean this,
mentally-deficient
characters

we were in love,
so the script went,
but what do retards know
about love and being
in love?

how can two people,
so out of touch with
reality,
care for each other
and take care of
each other,
when we people,
so smart and genius
and perfect,
can’t do it
with ease or
grace?

I think I’ll always remember
this picture

the nervous smiles
the unkempt clothes
the ring of keys overflowing
on my waste
the façade of inability
so perfectly kept

but that’s not why
I’ll remember it

it was the love,
the true, unfiltered
love that those
two characters shared
that brings me
back to this
photo
time and
time
again

who are we to tell them
they can’t love?

I think perhaps we should
all look at this photo
and think again who truly
knows what love is.
Overwhelmed Apr 2011
the room is black
the sky is black
the night is black
the world is black
the future is black
the entirety of everything
is dark and dreary and
black

savior rests in a bottle,
a small red circular shape,
and it comes in hundreds
but numbers are not enough

I need a healer,
one that breaths
and thinks and
lives

I need to crucify my pride
and reach out to Roman
help

the black looms
and looks with
a smirk

how do I decide to
**** a part of me?

this decision, between
suicide and suicide,
rests one phone call
and terrible conversation
away

there is a bed
the bed is black
the bed is death
the bed is mine

the future is the kiss of judas
but the lips of his are my own

the solution does not rest
in a bottle or an exercise,
it exists in a man or women
who has no care for me
except that I am paying
him/her

my salvation is in swallowing
not any pill or medication,
but in nailing my arrogance
to a cross, swallowing it whole
as it may be, and walking past
their doors into a confessionary
between only me and they

I am caught in the moment
that will end part or all of
me
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
Overwhelmed Apr 2012
air filled with hatred
sanity ****** clean
from the atmosphere,
I drown as the pressure
goes critical

ground now gone,
stability disappeared
into the dark void,
I beg for death in a
world devoid of life
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
Overwhelmed Jan 2011
I need you to
say no to me
because I need to
learn what I can’t be
and what I can’t
do

but if you don’t say
no
to me
then I will never stop
until one day,
very soon,
it will **** me
Overwhelmed Jan 2015
god, what a relief it was
to find out he wasn’t real
after all

god, it was good to know
that we didn’t need him
after all
Overwhelmed Oct 2014
is the poem a visitor
that the poet guides across
the river Styx
and into the afterlife
of the reader’s eye?

or is the poem a piece
of the poet that they break off
to share with the world
in hopes of understanding
but at the cost
of their wholeness?

or is the poem the energy
of the universe channeled
through both willing
and unwilling conduits
that you know best
as the poet?

or is the poem just words
scribbled purposefully
but for reasons uncertain,
created in a brief flash
of white-hot inspiration
or in a soothing release
of the dull, aching
need to create?

when the poem sits there,
steaming hot and fresh on
paper or screen, the poet
knows the answer to this
question.

ask them again, any other time,
and they could not tell you what
a poem is, just how they feel and
if the next one is coming soon.
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 Jul 2011
they sat around
the covered
earth
and tried
to remember
what he sounded
like
Overwhelmed Jan 2011
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
Overwhelmed Oct 2010
just now
I remembered
why I like
writing

times now
are so intrusive

everybody knows
but I’ve got nothing
to hide

there’s no effort
in being myself

but then the poem comes along
the person who really wants to
know what I think

everybody else,
they just want the dirt,
the scandal, the drama,
they don’t want the truth
unless it gives them five
minutes of entertainment
and a charred husk of a
person to mock after their
done

but the poem,
you that wonderful
person,
comes up to me and
says:
“I’m all ears”

so I tell her,
tell her my thoughts,
good and bad,
the truth, the lies,
the questions, the doubts
and she listens
but very seldom
does she answer
in her own voice

no,
she prefers to answer in silence
finding that I will solve my own
crisis more often than not

and that’s why I like her,
she is wise without ever
saying anything, and each
day we talk a little bit seeps
into me with the more words
I bring into the world
Overwhelmed Jan 2011
True
False
True
True
True
False
True
False
Ah,
erm,
True!

Poetry­!
Overwhelmed Mar 2011
I watch now
colorful poets
moving their hands and mouths
with the words
of their own creation

so many different monsters
jumping out at my ears
what is the nature of their
existence?

are they born of the writer
or of the world in which
they are ****** into?

are they more than ink?
this is every writer’s dilemma

as the pen scribbles
does the monster only live on the page
or does it escape
into the minds
of those unlucky souls
who happen to pass by at just the wrong
moment so that they monster’s claws
can then tear their simple flesh?

I listen now
seeing so many different monsters
their existence only real
on the white page
but as I look at my own scars
I wonder at my own monsters
and put down my pen
Overwhelmed Aug 2012
she made a point
of thanking me
for my care
these
past
few
weeks
and
made sure to tell me
that I was like a
“brother”
to her
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