You're In Good Company

They yelled at me for

the Sharpie on my walls,

my filled up notebook,

my mind of poems,

but what they can't see

is that they power my pen.

You Can Use A Toothbrush, If You'd Like.

Take that bucket of yellow

paint,

and cover your eyes.

Paint that sky because

you know that

it's not what you say and do

it's how you feel and what you know.

Let's base it back in loose

facts,

and cover our eyes.

We'll paint the sky yellow because

we all know,

it's not who you're with and who you're not.

it's where you are and who you want to be.

Pick up your paintbrush,

they say

to simply paint the sky.

What if I want to paint the walls,

or the trees,

or the grass,

or even me.

Just paint over who I am to become something

(something that you'd like.)

So here's to the artists,

painting their rooms yellow.

Here's to breaking free and deciding

to paint the world.

But I won't ever paint myself.

Paint the sun a tangerine floating on a string

in a sea of ice blue conformity.

Shut The Ringer Off.

Broken phone,

(In the corner,)

is there

(nobody there?)

Anybody there could

(hear him scream? And)

fix the ringer but

(they are all happy,)

they're too busy to care.

(looking at him through the glass.)

The discarded phone,

(In the corner,)

it has no use,

(he has no use,)

so they left, went up the stairs

(behind he stayed, a web of lies.)

There is no use for a broken phone,

(or a broken boy,)

pick up the pieces and throw it out

(he picked up the pieces and threw life out.)

Nobody cared about that old, broken phone

(nobody cared about him, scarred and so alone.)

#37

Listen to this as you read: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VTIN80XGICA&feature=related

Thanks Libbi for the awesome idea.

Clear glass

noses pressed upon it.

(And they stare -transfixed,

wonder.

believe.)

Cork pops off,

the sweet secret spills out.

(And it weaves and tumbles,

drifts.

soars.)

My fingers fly,

paintings in the air.

(And I'm the artist that nobody knows,

whispering.

feeling.)

As suddenly as it began,

all good things just reach their end.

(So I fold it up with love and care,

my secret.

my own.)

It's mine and it always will be:

the one thing you can't and won't take from me.