I have procrastinated for months
To eventually write this poem today
Ironically, this time
The poem to be penned
Was meant to bring to an end
To my pet peeve of procrastination.

I thought my writing of it
Would be bring me face to face
[Oh, no. I am behind time and Procrastination is ahead of me.]

With procrastination.

I have procrastinated love
I have hindered your affection from sprouting
I postponed the nights we’d be together;
For the truth I was scared to share.

I have procrastinated love.
Now, I wake everyday feeling empty
I thought you would have waited
But you left me and my thoughts to moan

You have procrastinated love
You too deserve the blame
You promised to return but like procrastination
You kept me in your mind
With no actions to back your vision

It's funny that I can sit here and say
that my life is something, when I was lazy today.
I stayed inside, watched a movie or two
Cried my eyes out, feeling rather blue.
But after it was over, reality came back
and I realized that I... hadn't done jack.
Sure, I had felt, I had feared, I had wished,
I had procrastinated, and stuck up my fist.
In today's world, however, what does it mean
if you're not an athlete or mathlete; you're just unseen
Unseen because you have blocked yourself completely out
from the world, from danger, from the coming drought
of people who  actually cared about others
and not just their next Friday night lovers.
Can I call myself accomplished at  high
when all I've done is weasel my way by?
Using the bare minimum of my brain power.
Waisting little energy staying up for hours.
I've been lazy.
I AM lazy.
But should that validate anything I've done?
Should I waste away a life that's only just begun?
Or should I stop being lazy, here and today,
turn off the device, take a look around at... May?
That's the month, isn't it so?
I can't remember, do you even know?
I have been stuck in a grave mindset
that blocks out every responsibility or threat;
but I think I should awake
and see the world for it's mistakes
yet still embrace it 's wit
and never ever never quit.
I'm lazy, yes, but I can make my life something.
Because after all, we all started as nothing.

Who Am I?

I am a boy and a man.
I am a son, a brother, a cousin, a nephew, and a grand child.
I was a boyfriend, a fiancé, a husband, and an in-law.
I am a bachelor.
I am surrounded and abandoned.
I am a family man and a loner.

I am a homemaker and a handyman.
I wear the apron and the tool belt.
I am a neat freak and a slob.
I am an amateur contractor and a contracted amateur.
I am a dumpster diver, a recycler, and a decadent waste.
I am a glutton, a scavenger, and a scrapper.

I am a friend and an enemy.
I am fun and an annoyance.
I am a lover and a hater.
I am creepy, cruel, and harsh.
I am tender, loving, and inviting.
I have a foul mouth and tender lips,
Drenched in jagged, soft-serve words.

I am a painter, sculptor, draftsman, sketcher, character designer, photographer, graphic designer, fashion designer, kitbasher, customizer, and crafter.
I am a reader, a writer, and a poet.
I am the Jail Baby, Ryan & Lisa, The Phoenix, The AntiFather, and The HEYMAN!
I compose symphonies of visual and intangible imagery.
I bring form to thought.
I destroy,
I create.
I am an artist.

I am a geek, nerd, freak, and otaku.
I have been punk, goth, prep, white trash, and metrosexual.
I wear glasses,
But only as a sick joke.
I am beautiful and ugly,
Clean and *****.
I am unique.
I am predictable.
I have changed, but am still the same.

I am a techie,
An electronic ******.
I am cutting edge and old school.
Digitally signed and sealed.
I am analog and obsolete.

I am an adrenaline addict.
I can chill, maybe slow,
But never relax.

I am blue collar, tradesman, and service industry.
I am peon and ****** on.
Oh, but I have done the ******* too!
I have been hired and fired,
Bought and sold.
I have worn the uniform,
I have said, “**** the man!”
I am the proletariat,
I am in charge.

I am a student, dropout, and teacher.
I am class clown and teacher’s pet.
I have learned, forgotten, and taught,
But never learned my lesson.
I don’t listen to what I’m told,
But always do what I tell.

I am a genius,
I am an idiot.
I have intelligence, but often lack the intel.
I am naïve, but wise.
I am right and wrong.

I have philosophies and ideas,
But no religion.
I have desecrated and blasphemed,
Prayed and praised.
I have lusted, envied, and coveted.
I am guilty and innocent,
Pure and soiled,
Good and bad.

I am a driver and a passenger.
I am an explorer and a shut-in.
I am wild and free,
Caged and stifled.
I was warmly wrapped in my blanket,
But burned through it.

I have rode, climbed, and conquered.
I  stood still.
I jumped in.
I have fallen and been defeated.

I have been abroad,
I have been nowhere.
I have drifted.
I have settled.
I have led and been led.
I have been in and out,
Here and there,
Around and AWOL,
On the run and trapped.
But, not everywhere.

I have applied,
I have procrastinated.
I have worked my fingers to the bone,
I have slept it off.

I have fought and fled.
I have quit.
I have endured.
I am a winner and a loser,
A champ and a chump.

I am fake,
I am real.
I have lied, cheated, and stole.
I have been honest, fair, and generous.

I am selfish and selfless.
I am a gift giver, gift wrapper, and gift taker.
I am a thief and a philanthropist.

I am insecure and confident,
Confused and absolutely sure.
I am proud and ashamed.
I am complicated and convoluted,
But simple to please.

I have blind faith and guarded suspicion
I have secrets,
But lie rarely.
I accept everyone,
I trust nothing.

I have pointed the finger,
Only to turn it on myself.
I have held grudges and forgiven.
I have trusted and misguided.
I have been Judas and Jesus.

I am a maniac,
I am sane.
I have been strong and weak.
I can keep it together,
But prefer to break it apart.

I have bled.
I have healed.
I have been abused and neglected,
Coddled and protected.

I have been kissed and punched;
Hunted, wanted, and arrested,
Ignored, overlooked, and invisible.

I have loved and lost,
Lived and learned.
I am a soldier of misfortune and opportunity.

I have blended in.
I have stood out.
I have stood up.
I have backed down.
I have been backed into a corner.
I have all the space in the world.

I have seen, interpreted, and perceived,
I have ignored, dismissed, and been blind.
I hunger, want, and need…
I am satiated and content,
But never at peace.

I have been misunderstood and underestimated.
I have been put down, put up, pushed away, and let in.
I have been known,
But never entirely.

I have raged, cried, smiled, trembled, and laughed.
I have been depressed.
I have been happy.
I have been suicidal. I have felt death.
I have been lost and found.
I have been broken, then fixed,
Stitched, yet glitched,
Scarred, but whole.
I am alive.


I took the chance,
I let the moment slip.
I walked the straight and narrow,
I ran down the road not taken.
I dream; some whole, some shattered.
I go with the flow, but don’t let the waves take me.

I am shards and reflections,
Machinations and reactions.
I am translucent pieces and parts,
Assembled and disheveled.
I am the big picture still focused on the details.

I am the sum total of heredity and experience.
I am not,
I am more.
I am everything and nothing.
I am a walking contradiction.
I am human.

I tried to be you,
But didn’t know what that meant.
I am me,
It’s all I know.

Who are you?

I knocked on society’s door,
Hollow footsteps through the crevice of civility,
A ***** welcome mat with a broken doorbell;
No visitors wanted who were not invited,
And understanding was buried under the porch.

In Law’s front yard,
picketed with ire and arrayed with disorder,
Olive branches strewn across dry grass,
lay an empty briefcase marked in leather.
Gavel and irony betrayed her whimsically.

Garden beds in front of Understanding;
Plundered of roses and wanton petals.
Bland stems wilted amongst the weeds.
Relinquished of entitlement; water led
Towards apathy and entropy instead.

A house of Perhaps: vacant,
Open front door to empty rooms.
Leased to opportunity but vacated in days,
Renovations procrastinated; mocked by
The neighbor of dismay and wry.

Ignorance paved a new driveway,
The unanimous watch of Lively Cul-de-sac;
Gated community with hopes of manicured
Lawns and pools. Procreated in the minds
Of not wild men, but surveyors.

It’s moments like this
Some obscure song playing on our google home

My brother, gazing off into the distance no doubt under the spell of some great philosophical inquiry,
Neglecting the spoon and it’s contents
Drip drip dripping

My mother in the corner, seemingly preoccupied, slender fingers probing what appears to be
Yet another bag
Of those chocolate covered toffee almonds

My father, ever the victor in competitive eating, up and roaming about
By the window one moment, at the couch the next
Gone like the wind, oh here he comes

Meanwhile I, face a great trial which I must overcome in order to greet my destiny
-stairs
At the top of which await
Dozens upon dozens of procrastinated
Assignments just calling to me
Stirring up within me a desire,
A ferocious flaming ambition,
To not move an inch

from      time        to      time
there is     a romance      of being       alone
   the     imaginations       she  powdered
                                 generously    upon the   colorless  reality.
      metaphors   that  she sews    upon the   sleeves
                         of     melancholy.
her girlfriends   and she    roamed
                 the    ups  and     downs of the  earth,
while their        mothers screamed
                                    for   them      to be ladylike.
     saturday afternoons,
they   procrastinated    upon   pastries and     honey
                 crystallized           fairy      tales
courteous     animals
                                 riding on the      coattail of      dreams
      a lighthearted                feeling    others tried to      snooze.

they    observe things         through glitters    of their vapor.
    they   dote on the    humor of ice    creams
                       and sunlight       of   scarlet pink.
    as we    laugh    with charm,
                                            what a    way   with words,
                 a   lopsided    smile,
a      head    of   curls,
                                        a    flock     of  girls.

Here I say hello to the
Fragments of fortified compounds
Which yield old holy love
Without thought or need of itself
I take hold of the wind
With grasping bow and a smile
A tune in my back pocket
And a swirl of cupcake that is sweat like gold
When alone I swerve in the night
As if I had nothing else to give that was right
Oh the thoughts of here are near cloudy white moon
Waiting for the hour to press on me like a weight
She cries and cries like a floating kite
Apart from her I make nothing worthwhile
I take each minute mechanical meat cleaver
Grocery stores aflame and all the same
Up in the high mountain the festive fountains
Splash out water that in the end will never matter
And throughout the festival the winners
Are the ones who dance without themselves
Memorials for the dead who have yet to be born
Rhythmic heart you beat as if lost torn music
Locked inside the mind you pry it open
But see it is only full of cotton
Good sir you make enough money
Will you let me have some?
I'll take your paper for a walk and
Will feed your fish every midnight
Your wife says you lie about your love life
Why would you do that to a woman
Who swears you were married underneath a holy sermon?
But I ask no questions that I cannot answer
So I am sorry but I will have to go
Here are a couple buttons and some muttons
I found at an alter per pound and a carton
Whispers on the water front lake
Where love goes to live and die
Each leaf here owes their own specific fine
And the machines cough as they bend over and wheeze
The rocky path we walked upon that fair night
Made me think of the ancients and all of their might
The squeak of the dinner chair
The man stands and then does fall
His mistress screams as she reaches for the beams
And calls the police as she pours out coffee and cream
But nobody seems to hear her pleas
And the man dies without a whimper or belief
Not that truth lies in words or the old mans sleeves
Every cave has their shadows ah mysterious ravines
When I say I don't much care to stay in one place I mean it
But that don't mean my love is all the thinner
I was born without a future and without a past
But that doesn't mean our love won't ever last
Now some say the sky was made by a hand
And others claim by no man only water pipes
And some people creep around waving their pamphlets about
Trying to sell me the stuff like it were stout
But I keep away from those money schemes
I head out the back way fast to leave
To move on to the next riddle the next stream
I ain't saying I'm better or I'm to good for you
There is just something inside of me I feel I have to do
And when the lonesome blues get atop of me
And you can bet your bottom dollar they do
I just look for a cool beer at the bar
And meet a friend at the corner around two
So say farewell to the ministry of defense
I always knew they were never going to pay my rent
I'm headed out the backdoor but what's more
I won't make a peep as I float across the floor
Reality who weeps on steps of ramshackled shack
Tears aloof in high esteem and praised by all
Twangs of misery flood the wooden stair case
As the ghosts of ancient literature are born again
And the minds of the young artists twists as it reads
The ******* the others have filtered through
And have all finished to **** and ***
Holding the quote like a ***** we all seem to do
Fragrance from the hands of the remembered ones
Heroes of the pen are recalled on
By the ones who can never strum a song
But what is it for if in the end it turns to nothing?
The experience that will soon be covered in dirt
Worms who eat away at the flesh the memories the dreams
Collecting the mulch for the next round of contestants
For the game within the game
Each staircase lined with the burnt bones of the past
A dark black mirror with no reflection
Pool of hot water burned from lack of affection
Monologue of nothing with a shoe string around its neck
An empty stage with an empty man in plaid
Grinning as he says nothing but believes it is everything
The piano man plays for a crowd of drunks
Collects his things and throws them in a flaming trunk
Headed home to a wife with a knife around her throat
And smiles are the thing we are wishing for!
And fortune and happiness and praise!
How the smile wanes as the wishes are forgotten
And the smoky ash of a volcano within
Erupts and there is no one around you who cares
Or gives a **** to save!
The night hawks pray on the weak
And mother nature a few times I have heard her speak
Darwin shuffles his deck of cards
As the igloos up North do not seem so far
I take it or leave it for anything worth doing
Is worth dying for
When your up against a world full of fakers
All you can do is arm yourself
With an essence that comes from some peoples Maker
Fear in the flabs of her fat
She talks of herself her woes and her troubles
The mask has been empty for years
When the soul once was is now only filled with tears
Hear the heart break of the century
A 25 year old billionaire!
A catastrophe of triumph!
A leap and a bound towards nowhere!
Catch the news if your mind may will it
They are burning money in Europe and the moon
We make our own future so our children don't have too!
A forgery mined in the caverns of procrastinated time.

If the shackles of the bouldering social structures collapse then the stores are closed for winter.  Sandy can wear last month’s Louis.  

If the whole world allowed us in then you shouldn’t have procrastinated poisoning the fluorescence.

If you open the worn pages of time then you won’t die alone.
Not enough, huh?

Steely Dan the doctor Frankenstein.
“I cried when I wrote this song.  Sue me if I play too long,”
Compost dreams so not long-gone?

If you have to **** yourself, then Paris becomes your drug.  
Why would I intervene an ungrateful brat?

Don’t know if your veins will end up my perfect quill but if I have lose musical chairs to my father I will get you that spotlight *******.

It's 12:29.
I'm thinking about the moon.
It's one of those "Sufjan Stevens" nights.
His music always manages to perfectly translate my befuddling feelings and thoughts into rhythm and beat.
If I rest now I will miss out on what the night has to offer.

It's 1:07
I'm lying in bed.
I hear my mom on the phone with grandma.
They always manage to keep the conversation fresh and perpetual despite the 8,096 mile distance.
If I let my eyes close now morning and work will arrive faster.

It's 2:03
I give up on homework.
I open the laptop to watch Netflix.
I re-watch a show I've seen a dozen times.
If I escape to dreamland, this sense of knowing of what is to come will be stolen by the uncertainty of the subconscious.

It's 4:32
I'm filled with sadness.
I have procrastinated badly.
I abruptly jump out of bed and head downstairs to brew coffee.
If I go to sleep, I will regret it in the morning when I will face the consequences of my laziness and late night reasoning.

Procrastinated all day
So here we go...
Caffeine high
Music so loud
Laptop out
Calculator ready
Let do this.

Love in an elevator
Procrastinated "see you later",
and how I ******* hate her.
An attest to me?
No, attest to thee,
And protest the conquest
for outdoor reccess.
No I didn't break it,
I found it that way.
No love in an elevator,
Satiated, recluse motivator.
See the rust on the bones?
They happened when you were home alone.
Home but not alone.
Check your sunrise, check your phone.
I will check it before I wreck it,
and remember she still deserves respect.
Despite the state of the insect.
We all need love.
Not some hope from above.
A genuine sunrise check.
A dauntless morning peck.
The hope for this comfortability
The mind's wish for mobility
The endless denial of futility
And my endless conquest for you.

Accrue many a delicate deep smile
Never knowing when the next tear will come
Or when the wails shall shadow over
Plethora of reasons, those intent on joy

Collect many a simple style
Never knowing why the time ran out
Or why the trend became a crawl
Become forgotten just as it begun, replaceable

Stand by many a word, written souls, alive
Never knowing how far their reach can touch
Or how long its power can fire, spark, alight
Cavernous minds to accept them as guides

While time remains graceful
Disallow the procrastinated, wasteful
Urge to leave masterpiece for tomorrow
It may never come, then be overrun
when shadows cast over
Trends crawl backwards
And the fire be dimmed
Banishing us all to caves, hopeless and slaved

I decided to make the cross from the bathroom to my bedroom quick.

Everyone was already sleeping so all the lights in the house were off.

As I stepped from the light to the dark I was blinded, but I knew someone else could see.

As I stood at my door a second or two to open it, I felt a presence approach.

But I rushed into my room because I'd rather not know.

I closed my door and almost locked it, then reconsidered, in case I had to get out.

My blankets and sheets were on the bed, as I had just laundered them.

I stared at the door as I made my bed, 'cause I knew something was out there.

I avoided turning my back to the door so as to not be vulnerable.

I stared at the door as I pulled the cover back and lay down.

I was turning off the light but quickly flicked my head back over, I know I heard something.

There's a wolf outside my door.
There are Wolves outside my door.
They might be feasting on the others.
I'm the only one who sleeps with the door shut.

I procrastinated turning off the light before finally accepting nothing was going to happen.

But there's still something out there, I can feel it in my spine.

There are Wolves out there waiting to consume me as soon as my eyes shut.

My flesh, my body, my soul, my entire being, my very essence, they're waiting.

I've got work tomorrow, and school as well, I have to go tomorrow.

Hell, I hate both, but if needing to go keeps me alive, I can't die now.

I'm staying awake because I want to be ready to run when the Wolves come in.

I just turned the light back on, I want to know what's around me.

But now that I think about it, I'm letting them know I'm here.

I wanted to affirm their lack of presence, but just confirmed my own.

There's Wolves,
Outside my door,
Outside my window,
Inside my closet,
Under my bed,
Inside my head,
And they won't leave,
Not until I'm dead.

It's been a while since we drank wine,
On the borderline somewhere between love and great desire,
I was a miser, a pauper in the ways of romance,
With space in his heart for two but a want for one.

You were the elegant lotus flower,
Unfurling each delicate petal of venomous beauty,
I was taken aback with what I may never know,
Your eyes like none I'd ever seen before,
Possessing all the wisdom I need in this lifetime,
I stood shaken, a stray dog in the rain.

You beckoned to me to dance across celestial Babylon,
But in my haste and in my darkest hour to date,
I procrastinated and that glorious morning sun returned,
Ripping down each pathetic colour from the rainbow,
Until the world fell grey and limp,
And silence dawned upon my heart and I was then,
As I am now, alone, and so forever shall I stay,
'Til death do us part, my heart and I.

You know how when you are eating oatmeal and it suddenly hits you that you are super full? You wanna finish it but you just can't.

And because of this, you sort of just take your spoon and mindlessly scoop up a heap of oatmeal only to then kinda twirl it around in your fingers and watch -mesmerized- anticipating the oatmeal's breach, its last hoorah over the edge of the spoon, like when you first chance a look past the warmly lit scaffolding of language, only to peer into a lidless unflinching abyss where the wires of "justice" or "truth" or "god" or "father" don't actually plug into anything really, dangling over a cliff to who-knows-where, and, after losing not only a staring contest but also meaning and purpose itself, you watch the oatmeal splat into your bowl?  

Well maybe it's not that melodramatic but you get me right?  You start to play with your food..

Well, that is kinda how I feel sometimes -- like unwanted excess oatmeal creeping over the edge of a spoon.  

I mean, not to sound annoyingly existential, but, really, what's the point?  I guess I could run that errand that I totally need to run but, ya know, entropy.

I mean I guess I could get out of bed and make something of myself but -really- I'm already half-dead.  I'm 32.  The average life expectancy for a male is 68.5 years old.  I am nearing that halfway mark, slowly but surely.  The bottom of the bowl awaits splat
  
That old saw plays over and over inside my head: we are all going to die; cease being here; away forever.  It is a mindfuck. We all pretty much have a preexisting condition of not-yet-dead --- and even with Obamacare that **** still will **** you dead.  

Read the fine print of life and you'll find: "um your molecules will start to **** soon, sorry"

Like an ocean tide, we come and go and no feelings will change that.  

The final It does not care - it just does, and then does not.

So, what's the point? Might as well say **** it..

But life.

But sunshine, a sudden warm glow of heat after the sun peers out from a passerby cloud amid a half-eaten blueberry sky. But the wonders of reflection, deep dives into the mind, delving, creative spurts gushing. But the rush of accomplishment of a simple stupid errand that you stupidly procrastinated over. But the big ******* to shoulda's when you get **** done. But the gradual respect of fear, not giving into it but not running away from it, facing up to it, going through it, letting it have it's say and do its worst, letting it teach you. But ***, really ******* good *** where you *** so ******* hard it makes you laugh out loud afterward cos you can't even believe that such a feeling could ever exist. But the being OK about the tears that don't come, that elusive big cry that as a child made you feel like a renewed self, purged from the fires of this strange new world you were still getting used to; and now made all better, brand new, scrubbed, ready to go again, ready to play. But the nostalgia from something as small as a smell, stabbing you so perfectly that you could swear you were back there.

I
Having  decided to return home after seeing my friends
Victorious in battle
I launched Lucifer away from the gate.
The weather permitted my swift travel
And I was off!
Galloping across the tarmac.

II
The opening naughts were easy
I glided along like a swift, if unruly dragon
I knew something would be wrong: the weather was still nice
And, if you know Éire you know you're in trouble
I met fellow travelers who seemed to agree with me.
They brought their dogs in: wise move.

My muscles began to tire; but then again
They were always weak (pathetic *******)
Hills grew steep  and Lucifer rebelled (*******)
I found myself swallowed by mud; drowning, drowning in muck.
The journey goes on.

Continuing on my voyage, I saw  several other travelers.
(They owned neither dogs nor Lucifer)
We detoured, talked and I gave my muscles rest
An labhríonn tú Gaeilge I asked.
They affirmed; I procrastinated.
The journey still went on.

I finished that stretch within a short space of  time
I was tired and Lucifer was grumbling.
Went through the gate
Unto the estate!

III*
The opening hills were grueling
Long unending, unforgiving mounds
My hands ached.

I reached the top of the hill,
Rocketing down the gravel,
The wheels compounding the stones
I was doing it! I was doing it!

I got stuck in the grass.
Oi Vey

I eventually got myself free
And there were only a few more hills
To wage war with.
II turned the corner after the last
And saw the ramp.

In my head, a variant of  *Chariots of Fire thundered in my brain.
(Greek composers are the best to give one inspiration)
I reached the ramp
Turned the key
And was home!

VICTORY!

VICTORY!

VICTORY!

P.S.  The journey took me 10minutes.
CP's a *****.

I hope you're real
Like the way I feel,
Because I've missed you
Before I knew who,
And I've hesitated
I've procrastinated,
To give you my heart
To give you a part,
In the play that is my life
Here; take this knife,
I'll give in and trust
You won't ******
It into me;
I hope to see
The truth
Like superman out the booth,
Love is blind like cards in decks
But I've got x-ray specs,
Through and through
I'll look deep into you,
But will your eyes glaze
Like the cloudy skies and daze?
I want your soul next to mine
But I hope you're not feeding me hook and line,
Because I've never taken the sinker
Why do you suppose I'm such a thinker?
Fool me once lie to me twice
I've always rigged the dice,
For everyone to lose
If I so choose,
Because alone
I don't share my bone,
In loneliness I belong to myself
Don't care if I'm just on a shelf,
I burn bridges and build walls
Because people would if they could, **** on me like bathroom stalls,
But I'm ten times better than they think they are
I burn ten times brighter than the farthest star,
So if you're still in this and hanging on
Don't let go or I'll be gone...
© okpoet

I hate it,
Firmly hate it,
And have hated it,
When I feel I have to answer
For people constantly.
Once is fine,
But a thousand needs a heavier
Addressing.

Arms folded,
People look around the room,
Nothing happens.
Don't we realize
We have more power
Than the scary proctor's
Presence?

People, listen.
Me, listen.
If you think you're going
To passively make a difference
In life,
You're *******.

No one wants to get in trouble,
It's a psychological withdrawal from privilege
As much as physical.

But think of all the people who "got in trouble"
To make history what it is.
Wouldn't you agree that most historical
And acclaimed/notorious events
Around the world
Took place
Because someone
"Got in trouble"?

If Jesus didn't "get in trouble",
Would Christians and Jesus-followers
Feel the faith of salvation
As strongly
Had Jesus not thought his words through?

Would Nelson Mandela
Have sent a message
To the apartheid crisis
Had he not
"Gotten in trouble,"
Handing over
Most of his rightful life's longevity?

Would protestors
Have overthrown rules
And unprincipled ideas
Or even made new ideas known
Had they not
"Gotten in trouble?"
****** revolution,
Women's rights,
Addressing racism,
Achieving justice from unruly assassinations,
World War II,
Kent State shooting.

Would brilliant minds and workers
Have achieved their roles in life
Had they not experienced
"Troublesome" times?

It's important to get in trouble,
Rather, most times,
It's the only way to a resolution.
If we never stole that cookie
From the cookie jar,
Yelled at mom or dad,
Failed to study,
Called someone a nasty name,
Fussed over mom or dad
Helping to dress us in early years,
Misspelled words,
Missed goals
Like soccer, basketball, football
Goals.
If we never drove
Along a road restricted,
If we never hopped a fence,
Tossed a ball in a neighbor's yard.
If we never procrastinated,
If we never cost our team(s)
The game, the victory.
If we never felt behind,
Overslept, dragged.
If we never whined about work,
People, transportation, relaxation,
If we never pouted about not getting
What was desired,
Or if someone forgot what we said,
Or the other way around
In however long of a time span.
If we never admitted...

Now this can be the biggest trouble:
Keeping reserved can alter time
In larger ways than we realize.
Point being, if life were perfect
Up to a certain point in time,
Then no one would know
How to react positively
To an error.
One of the underrated reasons
Why all the good things are
How they are
Is because of errors
Molded over time.

People will react
To reactions
As if they shouldn't have happened:
"Why are you crying? Stop crying!"
"Quit arguing with me!"
Yeah, I've had emotions come out
Plenty of times.
But I don't want to care if people look at me the same or not,
Change comes in many forms,
And change isn't always pleasant

Errors are obviously obvious
Everywhere.
But how can we know how each of us thinks
If there's no conflict or tension?
I am not saying I am for trouble,
Just find peace in troubles of all sizes.
Maybe we/I should come back to the basics more often
To understand the trouble sort of peace.

30 Oct 2013
The Room
it is a quaint room
from where I lay at this moment
at the wrong end of the bed
the door is quiet
to the left of that door
there is a silver gap in that door
made as a handle
there is a crimson light switch
flicked downward
the wall where the door and the light switch rest,
is white
to the right of me, there is a baby blue wall
resting on the corner of this wall
and the one behind me
is a small wooden dresser
people have written terrible things
on this dresser, is the fault in our stars
behind me is a window sill, where I sit at night
and where I placed a rock that says "love"
above the window, are light green curtains
I tied them together, to let in light
and drown my demons
to my left there is a desk and chair
with terrible things written on them
I try not to read the bad things
on the desk is some paperwork
I procrastinated filling out
and my menu for tomorrow
the bathroom is small
the shower rooms are inhumane
I want out of here, but I'm trapped

I like to write as if I'm sensitive and caring,
and yet I'm filled with conceited thoughts such as of what I'm wearing.
I look into the stars and pretend that there's more,
then I can only think of who'll be my next *****.
I'm supposed to let the words of love and care flow out,
but it appears my heart has taken a different route.
I want to believe that I can think beyond such simple joys,
only to realize my head is filled with devious ploys.

To ****, to feel, to ******, to flail,
my mind is filled with such trivial hail.
If only I could change and be more sophisticated,
but my whole life I've only procrastinated.
Thinking of when I will be a man,
when I haven't realized I've only ran.

Now a days
We come up in my mind a lot.
Maybe it's because of the time we spend together.
Maybe it's the fun we have.
Maybe it's the worry that I'll wake up and realize it's all a dream.

But this minute this moment is all I want.

It's a strange feeling realizing you were never in my life.
That once upon a time, I never fell asleep in your arms.
Never laughed at your jokes until I cried.
Never took care of you, running errands for you.
Never made you smile, or your eyes twinkle.

Sometimes it still feels unreal.

That I finally found you.
Even when our paths had crossed...
Me thinking you were loud and obnoxious.
You driving past my childhood home regularly.
Neither of us thinking about the other.

That we are this comfortable with one another.
Me feet away, reading
You finishing work you procrastinated earlier.
Not saying a word for hours.
There is no anxiety
No She's not talking, she doesn't love me anymore.
No He's not holding me, is it the way I look?

It all seems unreal until you hold me.
Until I see your gentle face
See your mouth move to speak
Hear your words.
Then all is grounded.
Then I know.
None of this is unreal. This is our life. Our reality.

I have to write a paper
But I want to write a poem about you

Of course, I’ve procrastinated
On both of my tasks

It is the night before this
Deadline

Yet I still can’t come to see you
As a distraction

So I will type out
The rungs of this term paper

Queue up letter by letter
Of my passing grade

Drag my feet from thesis
To conclusion

Paying my price of admission
With time

Until I’m so close
I get hit by your flashing lights

Blue and round
Putting any barker to shame

I see them through downpour of
Pressure

And winds of
Insomnia

Knowing I’ll get there,
Get to

The Ultimate
Attraction