Become someone incredible
That way,
When you finally find the strength to look yourself in the eye,
You don't flinch
You don't hide
You stand tall
And you find a reason to smile
To be proud
To feel like you've accomplished something
Become amazing
The person you always said you were
The person you always claimed to be
The person that they think you are
Because you should be that person
That belief in you that those people hold
That should be your goal
Your dream
And ultimately,
That should be your destination
Because once you decide
You'll be there
You'll be the person you were scared to hope for
You never thought you would end up there
And you're so relieved that you did
Become the unthinkable
The undeniable
The undefinable
Become yourself
Minus the fears

my poetry is undefinable
for my mind is simply indescribable

words are stretched and analyzed
true meanings surface, breaking ties

recollect and reminisce
i know that i’m someone you might miss

look within and you might find
the things you search for when i write

you do not own my thoughts anymore.

you ask for a definition
but does anything have a definition?
the universe
for example
is always changing
definitions don't account for change
therefore
the universe is undefinable
there is no definition for me
because of that same reason
i am always changing
and definitions do not account for change
i am undefinable
seven billion people in the world
and no definitions
capable of describing them
and their change
we are, all of us
undefinable
i am the gay girl,
the depressed kid
the photographer
but that will change
(maybe not the gay part)
everything else, though-
i will be in a better place
eventually
i don't know where that place is
or how people will try to define me
but truly
i am as vast
and as beautiful
and as undefinable
as the universe
and everything in it
we are undefinable.

Within this thoughtless moment
and this wordless breath
I am

at any moment the reality that I have spent my life creating
will collapse into a thousand pieces, blanketing the ground
in fragments (of desires
that have lulled me to sleep at night with the hum of half-formed expectations)
only to be replaced with an undefinable hybrid emotion;

equal parts loss and anticipation.

I find my words inappropriately, overwhelmingly, unequivocally
inadequate
to describe something that could mean
everything &(or) nothing at all.

This is the way that you make me feel.

Countless strangers sit or stand in wonder
at tall statues and head-height tombs
of solid, austere men who cannot utter
a word to explain the cathedral’s gloom.
The ostentatious architecture’s croon
from a tattered breeze
dithers through deathless abbeys
where memorialized men lay strewn.

The vacillation of their hearts
remains hidden like it did in life,
their public presence disallowed it then
as carved marble and stone now imparts.
That common unresting inner strife;
what was and what could have been.

I know it well (as well as I can),
that unfinished man Frederic Leighton’s tomb,
his beautifully ebullient Flaming June
brought to mind as I gaze on the grave
breathlessly overwhelmed, trying to understand
how anyone can frown on how artists behave.

That thought-drowned sculptor Henry S. Moore
is situated among the others, beguiled
without grave, a resting statue, “Mother & Child”:
in the smoothed out bends of arching stone,
from troughs between figures down to the floor
I read his face, all it held and could hold alone.

Down the crypt on straight-cut-steps I descend,
pressing on further through candle-lit corridors,
commemorations surround in half-light that offends
receding memories on sandless shores.
Horatio Nelson, John Donne, Sir Flemming, Chris Wren,
each pass till I find a man I’d adore:
Philip Sidney, that grounded man, that defender of art,
consumed in the ensuing century’s heart.

Consumed likewise I stand
gasping, beached upon a strand
of a non-physical contagion;
we’ll suffer it all again.


Three minutes more or less I gaped
until my feet forced my face away
and weaved my soul among the wooden pews.
This hallowed place where the past is draped
is an icicle looped through the fray
of my ambition’s thinning view.

Another adoration there!
That visionary mythology sewer
William Blake, whose piteous glower
for mankind begot his lasting dream.
On his placard chiseled rhyming pairs
beg: take things, not as they seem.

My fingers run the lines of text
slowly, strongly, as if forced by the air.
I fall down a thousand winding stairs
taller than St. Paul’s in my heart.
I compose all my strength to regain context
of cathedral, pull away from Blake, part.

Up the stairs I climb
back to the street.
The rustling, busy fleet
of tourists entwines
about me in my haste
to get outside the tomb,
that time-reversed womb,
of men who didn’t waste
time, place, talent, skill,
but impressed their lives on eternity.
The clock is still,
I’m out in the street –
cathedral shadows
twirling high, then low,
over my body and feet.

What is there, inside that place, is intangible and petrified by reality;
it is trailing smoke from the pipes of sages who spoke,
in broken thoughts, sworn things that cannot be repealed.
It is time unwoven and crocheted again into patchworks of undefinable color.
I must have died a hundred times unaware of it all – out of nothing it called.
It was felt and known, ended and rebuilt accidentally out of the contagion of guilt.
It was a small drag off of nothing.

Depression is hard to understand. The dictionary naively refers to it as, "feelings of severe despondency and dejection." But what does the dictionary know about depression? I think depression is more complicated than that. But I don't quite know what that consists of. I've been trying to figure it out for months now, and I just can't seem to understand. I don't know what depression is, but I can tell you what it's not.

Depression is not polite. Depression doesn't knock before he barges in. He just lets himself in, unannounced and unexpected, and leaves me gasping for what little air is left in the room.
Depression isn't clean. He doesn't tidy up after he makes a mess. He comes into my life like a hurricane, and leaves me to pick up the crumbled pieces of my rubbled life.
Depression isn't moral. He steals my happiness and kills my spirit. He doesn't abide by any common rules or laws, he makes his own rules and I have to play by them.
Depression isn't popular. The only "friends" he has are his victims. He drags me away from everyone who used to love me, and leaves me isolated in a cold, dark place.
Depression isn't respectful. He claws his way into the lives of so many genuine people and drives them to the brink of insanity. He has no regard for my thoughts or my feelings, stomping all over me until there's nothing decent left to salvage.
Depression isn't creative. He tells you everything as it is and makes you see all of the terrible things poisoning the world. He doesn't sugarcoat the truth, no matter how much it hurts, and he helped me clearly see even my smallest of flaws.
Depression isn't nice. He calls me ugly and tells me I'm worthless. The words he whispers ring in my ears: "**** yourself, **** yourself, **** yourself."

It's hard to define depression. It doesn't fit into a small box. I've practically driven myself crazy trying to figure out what it is and why this is happening to me. I don't understand depression, and no matter how hard I try to define it, I always fall short. I don't know if depression can ever be defined. While I try aimlessly to define the undefinable, depression ruthlessly takes advantage of me. I can try as much as I'd like, but I don't define depression, depression defines me.

Even when I try hard to understand,
Is like I'm making it to come strong than ever
I can't even explain how I feel about you
I tried to keep digging,

But I realised not even the king poet,
Will be able to express how I feel about you.
Poets are the greatest words teller,
But no words can clarify how I feel for you.

What ever you think about me,
Positive or negative; know that,
I'll forever love you.

If you ever think of me wanting you,
Cognize that wanting you wouldn't be necessary,
If I could see you.

If you ever wonder why I keep on coming to you even when you try to push me away,
Cognize that I need you,
I value you the most.

No second thoughts till eternity
If you ever see my galaxy forever shinning,
Cognize it's all you through it.

No one, nothing can ever break the feeling.

It's my choice loving you,  the state is the reason
You are everything I ever dreamed about
You are the only girl that complete me.

If you ever ask I really love you,
Then the answer is;
Take me to your world
Lemme be your everything,
Cause you are one and only girl I wanna share my dreams with.

I love you unconditionally.

Yeah lost as a Ghost without a haunt,
I’ll be the first to admit it,
see my whole life whatever I want,
I just go out and get it,

got a great view from the attic,
in this mansion that’s possessed,
it sits on all the land we’ve acquired and in general the Ghouls are good here,
our Souls aren’t negative this isn’t Poltergeist or The Exorcist,

this is,
the Time to focus on the moment at hand,
this is,
the time to resurrect your Self so you can executively enact and execute your plans…

when,
oh when,

when,
will we be able to fully express,
without,
the hesitation that comes with his,

I’ll be the first to admit that I made some mistakes,
if you’ll at least take a second to honor second that,
then maybe I can slow down take a break from the fast lane,
and move in forward motion in a manner that’s effortless,

yeah I’m lost as a Spirit is,
when He loses the House he was haunting,
yes Redemption can unlock the Exit Doors from Samsara,
but that rode from Perdition to Redemption can be daunting,

especially when traveling with memories from past lives that’re still haunting,

I’m on things,
obviously ornery,
not at all ordinary,
or in any way boring,

I’m on things,

I’m on these things these days,
and I don’t know which is worse the drugs or the stress,
and I really do like like like my girlfriend too,
but to tell the you the truth the One I’m actually in love with is my Ex,

she’s the best,
gave me the Emerald on my hand,
didn’t even know how much it was worth,
even when my jeweler friend appraised it at a few grand,

****,
it’s amazing to be so blessed that’s for sure,
I love that I have a love that is priceless,
and I’m not talking about the Ring I’m talking about Her,

She’s worth more than a whole fortune,
not only priceless but also undefinable,
and I’m intrigued by her origin,
because she seems timeless and at the same time well defined like a diamond in gold,

oh and I know,
that usually I feel stressed and confused,
but when I’m with Her,
the only thing I feel is boundless bliss and ecstatic truth,

living Life like I’ve got nothing to lose,
because the only thing I don’t want to lose is you,

and I love every moment we’re together,
I love when we become One from Two,
even though every time we’re together,
our separation always comes too soon,

and every time we’re together,
I’m praying that Death doesn't come too soon,

because sometimes,
I miss you even when you’re here,
and I’m willing to go to the ends of the earth for you,
I don’t care where just spin the compass and point and we’ll go there,

We,
can,
be,
together,

We as in Us,
You as in Her,
Us as in what We are,
because we can never go back to be what we were,

and I don’t know what I’ve even saying anymore,
because all the clearly defined lines I used to use to define theses lines have totally blurred,

and maybe that’s why I told you before,

I’m lost as a Ghost without a haunt,
I’ll be the first to admit it,
see my whole life whatever I want,
I just go out and get it,

got a great view from the attic,
in this mansion that’s possessed,
it sits on all the land we’ve acquired and in general the Ghouls are good here,
our Souls aren’t negative this isn’t Poltergeist or The Exorcist,

this is,
the Time to focus on the moment at hand,
this is,
the time to resurrect your Self so you can executively enact and execute your plans…

∆ Aaron La Lux ∆

I blow the feathery brown corpse
of a moth gently off the window sill
misting gray rain outside adds to
the pallor of the moment
I think to myself - everything is
dying around me
and my life too ebbing with
each ancient breath
despite this revelation... I know
there is a forever part to us
I sense it in the still, deathlike
suspension of my meditation
my body an empty temple
one pointed cathedral steeples
pyramid to infinity
I kneel on the hassock within
reposing in the splendor of a Presence
undefinable, a hush of love
ushers over me
tears pour from
stained glass eyes
that unmistakable kiss
sustained caress
blessed assurance

Art is the fabric of our society
The proof that we once lived
That we are humans and not beast
It is the evidence of intelligence

But it's so **** hard to define
Art can be from the sixteenth chapel to a pillow case
From Romeo and Juliet to a simple student essay
Art has a broad horizon
It mean so much more than what we give it credit for
The possibility of art never subsides
And I can never define it

Art is not special because it looks pretty
Or because it is made with feeling
Art is special, for it's up to interpretation
That you can look at the Mona Lisa and say she is a tease
Or read the road less travailed and say "he's not the smartest man"  
See, even if you got nothing but hate for the art it's done it's job
It made you think made you wonder and contemplate  
Even if you hate all art of any type
The beauty will still exist
Hate can't stop that

So what the hell is art
Is nature art
Or is art
Our
Representation
Of our nature
Of all the beauty and pain
That we see
That we feel
That we desire,
For others
To see
What we see
For them to feel what we felt 
To contemplate what we contemplated
To wish, hope, dream like we do?
Is that who artists are
No more than copying machines 
Is this what art is a faded out copy
Of the artist's love

Or is art undefinable
That this is one of the  
Most simplistic  Thing
That to brake it down  
Is to lose a meaning
It's like if we define it
That's all it will be
It will not shift with time
And it will be taught
Just as it is and not
A indefinite concept
That can morth into  
Any thing you wish 
It to be

So who am I to define what brings joy into the heart of others
I'm not special
No more than the next guy
So no more labels for me
I will let art become
What I can't imagine
I will let it sift and change
And never more  
Will I try to bind it
With my definitions
With my labels
I will just create it
The way I wish for it to be

writers block curses my mind and
soul something is there but it will
not show in stead it torments me
like a foggy window it shows only
its undefinable shadow
a unrecognizable blotch just beyond my light
untouchable unreachable
ever there ever dark hidden but not forgotten

I am nothing.

I tried to think
of a clever metaphor
To compare myself to
An amusing analogy, a simple simile;
Am I an ocean or a tree?
A storm or an endless galaxy?

I go round and round in this
desperate chase to
Define myself
Know who I am and wear it like a badge of honour
But
After years of searching for the perfect definition I chose
Not to.
I am undefinable.
The very definition of "definition"
dictates the necessity of one thing I lack
And that is constance
I am ever-changing
And that is about the only 'definite' thing in me

So if you ask me what I am
A smile will dance on my lips and
A shrug will lift my shoulders
Because for now I think
I found my answer
I am nothing
And
That
Makes
Me
*Everything

Curls.
Lengthened, stretching
Auburn curls.
Winding around the delicacies
Of profound life.
Growing incandescently
In a newfound, unsound method.
Vibrant with innovation,
Yet in the same instance, arid.

Questionable.
Irresistible.
Undefinable.
Desirable.
Allego­rical.
Many are awe-struck by this oracle --

She loathes her curls.

dull thumping, deep in the subconscious
pineal reawakening
decalcification in progress
seeking my alien alter
the union necessary
for the next evolutionary jump --
the cliff is breezy
mist swirls below
undefinable guttural growls from the depths
echo off vast canyon walls
sending a shiver up my unnaturally curved spine
forming in the misty shroud
a face of the ancient gods appear
locked eye to eye
the command is for blood and worship
a thin smile crosses my lips
clamping down on my own tongue
until the thick red flowed down my neck and chest
I spit my ability to speak
into the very face of god
thinking ‘worship me, *****’
****** distortion
rage filled eyes penetrate deep
and a chasm opens
BWOMP BWOMP BWOMP
the 5:32 a.m. alarm
sounds
time to prepare for another
day of work –

The surface is silver with a cold edge;
the sides gather dust.

Place a warm finger over the surface,
indent the shape into my skin.

Drag the coin over the table’s surface,
listen to the undefinable screech.

A series of tunes following the pattern,
painting music with a coin.

Bound to the table, it becomes  
impossible to pick up.

One final song as it is dragged across
the table once again.

I have the five pence in my palm,
now what can I buy with it?

it's not that i hate this city and want to divorce myself from everyone i know here.
it's not that i won't miss the little things about being here that make it
too easy to stay,
it's just that i think it's wrong for someone to never leave the place they bettered themself
for more than a week
it's just that i don't want to die anymore and i'm learning how to be
more adventurous
it's about taking risks, and not letting the potential for failure prevent me
from making my dreams come true.
it's about believing in the crazy things that seem impossible and ridiculous
to other people when you tell them about your plans
it's about being simultaneously terrified and relieved that you get
a second chance at life
it's about giving everything up for four months to be immersed
in a completely different world
it's about knowing that it's not always going to be sunshine and rainbows,
but not letting that stop you.
it's about not being able to take another long hot summer here
because being numb has gotten old and too-familiar.
it's about missing someone more than you can ever explain.
it's about having a long-distance friendship but not letting that
keep you apart.
it's about choosing life,
it's about getting out of my comfort zone
it's about being
undefinable
it's about having people say, "well what about after? what are you going to do after this?"
and being okay
with not knowing.

Original-
the new you.
The true you.
The one who cannot be defined.
The one who is defined by being undefinable.
The one who said "I can" when others said "You can't"
Yet they never know the story.
They say words but they don't know that people just like them pushed you down.
They told you- you couldn't
And when you stood- they said you could.
They said- you shouldn't.
But as you yelled back- they said you should.
They weren't there because they didn't care.
And now your strong and they want to pull you along.
Keep your enemies close.
And together you'll toast.
They might even boast at how it's wrong to say you did it alone,
but I know.
I know you keep your enemies close,
but yourself closer.
Because you just never know,
after being alone,
and pulled along.
Being right and wrong,
back and forth,
back and forth,
while they tell you quotes their brothers told,
as if each quote was words from Gods.
But you have to trust you,
because whatever they do,
it's not always true.
It's sometimes a lie.
You have to pull back,
and YOU have to decide.

You tell me I'm one thing,
But really you're just afraid that I'm something
Undefinable.
You believe everyone is one or the other,
But whats the beauty in that?
Maybe one day I'm
'They'
The next I'm
'She'
Then the day after I'm
'He'
Don't suppress me for being
Everything.
Nothing.
And
Me.

When you were a little girl, did you think love was an easy concept to grasp? Didn't it make you laugh the way that everyone said,
"It's undefinable, it's complicated, it's the root of so much pain"?
When I was a young boy, I used to sift through sand looking for the broken beer bottles
Because I wanted to try and find beauty in something horrible.

So I have done for years.
I've lied, cheated, stolen... sometimes from my own family members.
I used to assume I could pop into your life any time
Like a bad father
And you'd come running into my arms.
Just like a bad father.

When I left you standing at the altar, dressed like June Carter
I remember wishing I could have altered my timeline
So I could be Johnny for real, and we could make it big
People could start writing our names on jail cell walls
"R.I.P. Alex and Sidney"

These are the days where I scatter papers around my room
Pinholes in the carpet from relight after relight
Trying to find the right words to say
To convince you that I'm not the same as I used to be.
I've seen my own eyes gazing at me without a mirror
I've seen galaxies screaming at me and exploding

You pull my heart-strings.
You separate my anxieties.
You are the little bit of crazy within me
And when I let it out it's all sadness and wine
But when you let go, you're just a sugar plum fairy.
You dance and you sing and you laugh like I were a comedian.

Oh, that's right, I am a comedian.

Well, if my job is to make people laugh
Then my last laugh would be you.
This is a bad time, I know
But I still would do anything to rewrite our history.

I can wait a year if you want to run your course
Maybe you'll stay in our little town.

But this poem is to tell you
Your clothes should be in my laundry.