and good bones are so hard to come byDon’t let the bones boilOr you’ll ruin the stock, loveAnd then we’ll need more.
Lost Dream of Flying FlowersThere are bitter skiesLingering over my eyesI press my hands closer over my heartBut I’m not all that desperate to stop the bleedingI’ll keep my hands thereAnd I’ll keep my eyes on the skyAs I keep moving on.
CephalgiaThere is a complexity thatDrapes itself across my browIt helps me to regret the choicesCircling around in my brainThere is a complexity thatCaresses the side of my face as I try to sleepIt helps me to not sleepPrickling at the skin that resides near my templesThere is a complexityCurled up on-top my crown, the way a cat would if I were merely seen as a warm bedAnd in this caseI am.
Bone AcheBoiling rageThat is like acidI swear I feel it eating away at my bones.
That's How Life IsWe’re falling to piecesAndHonestly that’s how life isWe are born likeA basketball through a strawAnd we breathe air for the first actual time, oxygen that is not transferred through blood or tubesAnd we cry, some of us do, some of us don’t but we’re breathing, we’re living outside like we’re supposed toWe’re falling to piecesAndHonestly that’s how life isWe grow likePlants in a garden, or maybe even in a wildernessAnd we are taught, and we learn how to move each muscle, we learn that we don’t have to think to breatheAnd we walk at some point, but before that we have to learn how to crawl and to learn that we have to want toWe’re falling to piecesAndHonestly that’s how life isWe learn likeVines reach for the sunlight, to grow and prosper, we go to school, we learn “right” & “wrong” or we try to at leastWe are taught how to act, taught how to react, we are taught how to adapt and
Will You Find Me?Are you,Coming to meet me?Didn’t you want to run with me?
Dear Deer, will you allow me to run amongst you?Honestly I find myselfDesperately desiring toDon a pair of antlers upon my headCast clothing away&& venture into the woods.
Small TalksI have a questionQuestion awayWhat would you do if the woods took me, and didn't give me back?Quit my career as a chef and become a lumberjack.Why?I would have heard that trees ate you so I would cut down every tree to find you. And if that isn't possible then I would destroy them all.Don't destroy that which gives us life.Okay... You have a point.
but you kept insisting i tryYour soul gave me permission to put you back togetherBut your bones didn’t.
Words Are Powerful ThingsYou’re so angryYou let words swarm up inside.Screaming to get out.They yell and shout.They sit there,And fester.Turning into horrid things that should never be even whispered,In the softest tone.You get so angryCause you’re so afraid.Like so many other peopleYou let your fear burst into rage.The monstrous words inside of youRefuse to remain in their cages.You let those words escape your lips,All of the sudden you feel like your words have killed someone.As you see their face.Words are suddenly bullets.They’ve pierced your victim’s heart.Fragments of a once pretty, friendship scatter on the floor.The pieces so broken, I doubt you could find all of the shards to make it whole again.There’s a slamming of a door.Whether that be real,Or just a metaphor.To say you’ve been locked out,Pushed away.From this once dear friend of yours.I hope one day.You’ll find better wordsTo form a key.So you can find your way back to them.
I am LostMy thoughts are orcasTrapped in bathtubs.Macrocosms trappedWithin microcosms -Stuck, glued tight,Melting like Dali's clock,In a cock fightWith my conscience.Sometimes I forgetAll that regretBurning through -A pain so foreverThat I hardly everFeel it anymore.A cut so deep and quickThat it stops -Time is static -Before it bleeds.Eyelashes likeDandelion seedsFluttering in the wind.So much to see.My heart is vacant,My lungs made of leadAnd both are my enemiesBecause I'd rather be dead.But no I wouldn't.Not anymore.I'm fake, made of a paper -A corporate rock whore -And I don't knowWhat I stand for.But maybe I don't have toStand for anything -A word without a definitionStill leaves a markOn pure paper.A meaningless sparkCan still become a fire.A tickle of loveCan still become desire.
untitledthere are a thousandunwritten love letters in your eyesnow I keep thinking aboutgravityand the color greenall I know is thatmy skull's beenovertaken mapped cleanwith inkwarriors traversing well worn pathsboots leaving tracks acrosschests and necksand it's comfortablethis sinkingit's not like drowningmore like slowly loweringinto hot bathwaterand we are just skin and cosmosbodies and wordsour tongues landlockedwe are adrift inour own little seawe've plucked our wingsand now we can't flytell me the truththat the sky's overratedI'd rather be with youon the groundor buried beneath itskeletons entwined truthfullyI've always thought heaven was a pretty sort of liebut I've read a book or twoabout heavenor people's idea of itat leastand I disagree with myselfpopping thought balloonson the idea that heavenis in the way your eyes fold origami swans when you smilethat shitty laughthat hollow above your heartlike your chest's caving i
the last poem i write about my depressioni want you to know that it took me yearsto figure out the worst part. cause, sure, there’sso many bad parts, there’s so many momentswhen dragging air through your mouth feelslike letting in all the water. your body becomesyour own battlefield, your mind—the mostruthless enemy. it does not cut corners.it will not spare you. it will leaveno summer-tinted memory untouched.every exit sign looks like a suggestion.if you ask someone if they are happy they will say yesbut they will not look you in the eyes.you will never learn how to feel permanent.you will drink grape juice and try to remember how it feltto be holy. you will not think of yourself as wholly,you are not complete. something vital is missing.some dark monster has been feasting on youwhen you lay down for sleep.these are bad moments. these are scars that mar your skinlike tattoos that have too much meaning, like a mapof all the dirt roads you’ve walked down.some days.some days i can
When the Sun RisesI miss the way you used to be.I miss the way you'd smile at me.How the joy would make the corners of your eyes crinkle.You'd laugh softly.Shaking your head,I miss that.How real it sounded.I listened to you now,And that old little light melody of laughter is no where to be found.You still laughYou joke.But your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes.I don't think I've ever met someone with such sad,Solemn eyes.As you look upon yourselfAnd you can't help but despise what you see.You used to walk,With your head held high.You don't anymoreYou keep them glued to the floor.Scared to acknowledge your train wreck of a lifeThat lays before you.I still think you're beautiful though.Even if you're growing faintLike a sunset,Falling into the darkness of the night.With each slowly fading ray of light.You're still perfect, and make people stop and stare in awe.But just like the sun sets.And you get pulled under into the dark of the night.When all of your light is goneYou'
I Am Only a MarionetteI am only a marionetteDancing on a stringForced to entertain the massesFor joy I'm meant to bring.I am only a puppet,A plaything to be shown.I can't escape the mass's willOr make decisions of my own.I am just an instrumentForced to bend to standards.I cannot rise and free myselfAgainst society's banners.I am only a marionette,Made for other's sake,Made to do as others wishUntil the day I break.
Let It BeOne of these daysThere won't be enough room forme.