Well, I thought falling was imperfect,
that there was no way around the lightning splitting trees,
no way to prevent the shatter that inevitably ensues,
only cataracts to look through and
misery-tainted ears to listen through, but
as always I was wrong because
when I fell off of a skyscraper, I can't be sure if you pushed me or if I jumped.
That's beside the point.
When I hit the ground and looked up you were there and
it didn't matter that people were circling around me like paparazzi vultures,
all that mattered was seeing you give me a thumbs up
from the top balcony all
that mattered was your crinkled smile.
If falling is like this all the time then I don't mind splitting in half occasionally because
you'll just grab your keys and go,
drive fast away,
find the duck tape and
piece me together again.
November 30, 2012
November 25, 2012
#25
It was a cold, windy, November night when I watched my
demons fly away and my
soul grow roots in the home of another, yet feel
gutsy enough to let the petals go
even though it is not mating sea on.
The night is cold buy your arms and your lips are warm and
all I can think about is how nice it would be to have you sleep
with me,
not that weird way but
the way where I put my head on your chest and fall asleep
to the metronome of your steadily beating drum.
I sick of living in the shadows of my past and
leaving out all the rest,
of making enemies with uncertainty and
friends with animosity.
Raise the stakes or fold,
I go all in.
demons fly away and my
soul grow roots in the home of another, yet feel
gutsy enough to let the petals go
even though it is not mating sea on.
The night is cold buy your arms and your lips are warm and
all I can think about is how nice it would be to have you sleep
with me,
not that weird way but
the way where I put my head on your chest and fall asleep
to the metronome of your steadily beating drum.
I sick of living in the shadows of my past and
leaving out all the rest,
of making enemies with uncertainty and
friends with animosity.
Raise the stakes or fold,
I go all in.
November 15, 2012
Explanation to Brutus
The fault, Dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.
our stars shine so brightly but who knows what they truly are,
a million miles away from this concrete jungle of
fear and tyranny
false hopes and false witnesses who
take an oath upon the court that
they solemnly swear...
I solemnly swear that I have had enough of this fucking nonsense.
I have had enough of the screams that
rip through my mind but never through my ears and mouth.
I've had enough bad luck for five and
I've had enough midnight despair for everybody.
Lay your faults on me like an anchor and keep me at bay.
If you don't the surge from the storm may
swipe me into the nearest Forever 21
where I will be on display for people to buy unaware
of the price of beauty stitched into the fibers of my being,
slavery is sewn into the fabric of our clothes.
I'm creating an anthem.
This one is for the girls who cover their faces with makeup to hide their
souls from the world.
This song is for the boys who think they are men but deep down they are just
infants.
This is for the ones who want to sing but hate the sound of their voice, for the ones who
paint their nails to cover their flaws the one with cracked broken
lips,
the ones who suffer from the nighttime tormenting fits.
This an anthem of dreamers and believers,
of condescending critics and
their peers
for the poets who are told if it doesn't rhyme it's not a poem and
for all of us who have been knocked on our knees just one time to many
This is for the ones who write because their souls need to be fed,
for the ones who sing for their emotional bank to be kept clean
and for the ones who express who they are
each and everyday.
This is an anthem for all of us, for all of us here
who take a stand against normalcy and society,
who think the -ologies have taken it just a little to far.
This is for the spirits that want to burst out and
for the rib cages who keep them in.
I'm talking about an anthem.
Listen to my anthem and let wildflower vines tangle with your bones.
Let their stems clog your veins and let your soul take
over in the grey area where it meets the body.
When the man up there returns back down I hope you're not in a house or
a building or in anything for that matter than
your naked body stripped down of fabric,
the fibers of your being shown to the world because
we are the beautiful ones.
We are the ones they hate because they love,
the ones that get thrown against walls because we break them down,
the ones who feel a need to sit on rooftops and explore the depths of humanity;
Don't let that wildflower die.
Listen to my anthem.
The fault in ourselves, Dear Brutus, is each other's stars.
our stars shine so brightly but who knows what they truly are,
a million miles away from this concrete jungle of
fear and tyranny
false hopes and false witnesses who
take an oath upon the court that
they solemnly swear...
I solemnly swear that I have had enough of this fucking nonsense.
I have had enough of the screams that
rip through my mind but never through my ears and mouth.
I've had enough bad luck for five and
I've had enough midnight despair for everybody.
Lay your faults on me like an anchor and keep me at bay.
If you don't the surge from the storm may
swipe me into the nearest Forever 21
where I will be on display for people to buy unaware
of the price of beauty stitched into the fibers of my being,
slavery is sewn into the fabric of our clothes.
I'm creating an anthem.
This one is for the girls who cover their faces with makeup to hide their
souls from the world.
This song is for the boys who think they are men but deep down they are just
infants.
This is for the ones who want to sing but hate the sound of their voice, for the ones who
paint their nails to cover their flaws the one with cracked broken
lips,
the ones who suffer from the nighttime tormenting fits.
This an anthem of dreamers and believers,
of condescending critics and
their peers
for the poets who are told if it doesn't rhyme it's not a poem and
for all of us who have been knocked on our knees just one time to many
This is for the ones who write because their souls need to be fed,
for the ones who sing for their emotional bank to be kept clean
and for the ones who express who they are
each and everyday.
This is an anthem for all of us, for all of us here
who take a stand against normalcy and society,
who think the -ologies have taken it just a little to far.
This is for the spirits that want to burst out and
for the rib cages who keep them in.
I'm talking about an anthem.
Listen to my anthem and let wildflower vines tangle with your bones.
Let their stems clog your veins and let your soul take
over in the grey area where it meets the body.
When the man up there returns back down I hope you're not in a house or
a building or in anything for that matter than
your naked body stripped down of fabric,
the fibers of your being shown to the world because
we are the beautiful ones.
We are the ones they hate because they love,
the ones that get thrown against walls because we break them down,
the ones who feel a need to sit on rooftops and explore the depths of humanity;
Don't let that wildflower die.
Listen to my anthem.
The fault in ourselves, Dear Brutus, is each other's stars.
November 11, 2012
Tidal Wave
On the high tide of bliss trouble is covered,
covered but the seaweed and life forms and sea shell that have
drifted in to cover up murky bottoms.
I wish my soul had a moon,
my heart could be a moon,
I want some tides in my soul,
but the kind that stays.
I need a high tide,
I need a sunrise,
I need some concealer
to cover up this dark spot and wrinkle.
You see, a smile is just a piece of the tide,
a laugh is just crying without tears and
when I said,
I'm so happy I found you, I meant it because
you make it so the
high tide never goes down.
Maybe that's not healthy.
Maybe I need to see to the sand in order to
dig for the gold which I seek,
but I say,
fuck the ordinary, I want to be extraordinary,
unlike the name implies.
I want to be strong like the waves of a hurricane,
knock me off my feet,
I want to pretend like the last six years didn't actually happen,
and I want to pretend that I can actually express my feelings in cryptic, creative, unusual ways but instead I end up just dumping my brain and dumping my feelings into a box carved into my computer screen, my blinking cursor mocking my pain, my hands are covered with the blood that I lost when you went you left you left you went you're gone and somehow I'm fucking jealous. I'm jealous you're in a place where it's all fucking dandelions and daffodils meanwhile I'm stuck here picking up the pieces of the debris after the storm.
You know how hard it is to smile when people ask how you are?
If I told the truth I'm sure I'd be locked in a mental ward.
You know how hard it is to watch a grown man cry his eyes out?
You know how hard it is to imagine you could be next?
To know you could be next?
To think that the one you love with your whole heart could be next?
I'm sorry but I really can't go through this again. I really can't go through this again. I really don't have the strength or the courage, or the classical beauty that you say I do to go through with this, to go through this, to make it through this one. I need. Help.
Help me, I'm drowning in a self-induced tide
to cover my motives.
covered but the seaweed and life forms and sea shell that have
drifted in to cover up murky bottoms.
I wish my soul had a moon,
my heart could be a moon,
I want some tides in my soul,
but the kind that stays.
I need a high tide,
I need a sunrise,
I need some concealer
to cover up this dark spot and wrinkle.
You see, a smile is just a piece of the tide,
a laugh is just crying without tears and
when I said,
I'm so happy I found you, I meant it because
you make it so the
high tide never goes down.
Maybe that's not healthy.
Maybe I need to see to the sand in order to
dig for the gold which I seek,
but I say,
fuck the ordinary, I want to be extraordinary,
unlike the name implies.
I want to be strong like the waves of a hurricane,
knock me off my feet,
I want to pretend like the last six years didn't actually happen,
and I want to pretend that I can actually express my feelings in cryptic, creative, unusual ways but instead I end up just dumping my brain and dumping my feelings into a box carved into my computer screen, my blinking cursor mocking my pain, my hands are covered with the blood that I lost when you went you left you left you went you're gone and somehow I'm fucking jealous. I'm jealous you're in a place where it's all fucking dandelions and daffodils meanwhile I'm stuck here picking up the pieces of the debris after the storm.
You know how hard it is to smile when people ask how you are?
If I told the truth I'm sure I'd be locked in a mental ward.
You know how hard it is to watch a grown man cry his eyes out?
You know how hard it is to imagine you could be next?
To know you could be next?
To think that the one you love with your whole heart could be next?
I'm sorry but I really can't go through this again. I really can't go through this again. I really don't have the strength or the courage, or the classical beauty that you say I do to go through with this, to go through this, to make it through this one. I need. Help.
Help me, I'm drowning in a self-induced tide
to cover my motives.
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