there are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often
when you do
it's too late
and there's nothing worse
than
too late.

why do i explain things to people when

they leave my tongue full of razor marks designed by lies?

why do i find poetry interesting if the only thing

it does to me is hurt the muscles in my fingers?

i stay up late at night, when pens stop speaking and papers stop

listening, when poets obsess over 2am.

i dont have the answers, so i wont tell you lies.

i see you in  the dark, ’cause i’ve been where you are.



my hands are fresh with scars, reminders that

im just clay and knives can easily create form

out of me.

i’ve learned that the world has accepted pain

as beauty.

i’ve learned that poets are now starting to romanticize pain.

i’ve learned that on twitter, people replace vowels with v’s & x’s

and depress themselves with sad quotes until it hurts their chests.

its quiet easy to say that the world is a mess,

feeding our brains with junk served by television sets,

believing everything the internet says,

and the only way to change this is to change our mindsets.

but as always, this is easier said.



ignorance is acceptance as a standard.

reading a book makes your eyes bleed, ’cause you’re not used to written word.

we fill tongues with mud and wash hearts in dirt.

we think money is love, and love is power, but the

only thing money can buy is tears and material possessions and empty hearts.

we see each other as black & white but we forget that aside from the

difference in pigment we’re still human.

we forget that our skin is fragile yet we still pierce one another

with 30 caliber bullets.



i dont have the answers so i wont tell you lies.

let it happen.



we think rain and thunder is a sign of a new season but

its God crying out and telling us that

we’re suffering at our own hands.



men hurt women too much nowadays, and women play games with men

nowadays and haemens start to break as much as hearts do.

and the words ‘i do’ sound like a jingle from a cereal ad,

it leaves people mad,

and people sad.



while all this happens, i’ll be out running with bears.

Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
And all the craggy mountain yields.

There we will sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
With a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.

When you ask of me, why poetry
I'm not sure you understand
That it's the center of my universe
The very depth of who I am

The molecules in the air I breath
Oxygen pulsing through the veins
The storm brewing beneath the surface
The pounding of the rain

It's the timeless anticipation
Of the thought that's yet to come
The tearing open of life's seam
The beating of the drum

The first peak of the desert flower
When it feels the gentle touch of spring
The smile in the eyes of a child
And all the joy it brings

The in and out of the tide
In the pulling of the waves
When you ask of me, why poetry
What more is there to say

I HATE IT!!!!
How my emotions can now get the best of me.
All it takes is one sad show, one sad movie, one sad:
story,
book,
life tale,
song,
I don’t even need some sad trigger and I am at the beginning again  standing at a shore that looks into a vast sea.
An: angry,
sad,
depressed,
dying and in agony ocean with each fish holding some sort of painful memory.  No this sea is not calm.
Each time I think I am getting better, WRONG, I am just a ticking time bomb.
Yep, that is right I just EXPLODE, BOOM!
Do you want to know what it feels like?
Well guess what, I will tell you anyway:
you are decaying from the inside out,
your heart feels like it is on fire and melting onto your rib cage, dripping on each and every other *****,
your brain thinking so many things at such an accelerated rate you can hardly make it out but at same time it is thinking nothing,
you are in so much pain you can not even shout, even harder to type these words down, I probably sound like a clown.
Tears? FORGET IT, you ran out of those long ago.
I always tell myself:
there are people who have had it worst than I, it is true I can not deny.
Look at me though, this is PITIFUL.
I envy:
those who cut themselves,
or try to commit suicide.  
They get help, they can not hide.
It is funnier because if you saw me on a street this is not what you would see.
I would be as happy as a bumblebee.

I told you my story
Because you looked like
You could deal with it
I told you about my demons
You said they were
Barbies compared to yours
I was enveloped in your life
For months that seemed
Like forever
But now your hands
Are clutched on to hers
Like lovers at the parking lot,
Just as something in me knew
You would find your way
Back to her heart
Still, you're the song I keep singing
The poem I keep writing
And I don't know why
She's a sight to see, so are
I shouldn't have kissed you
I shouldn't have believed you
When u told me she was your past.
The no love lost in your eyes
That I saw was only
A strong illusion
Because  your fingers are
Now coiled with hers,
And you lock your gaze upon her Magnificent beauty as if she was a Kaleidoscope of rich,
Mesmerizing luminary
Never once taking notice of
The dark, tall skinny girl
Standing across you;
Solidifying my insignificance.
You're sheltered in one heart
And I'm left to wonder
If I ever meant
Anything to you
The brutal reality
Leaving me with shreds
Of illusions of love
To you
We never happened