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Hometyping fingers, momentary lapse
I haven't done it in so long
do I still know how?
eyes closed, stopped heart
please stitch it again
wandering words wither within
do it for me, please
hands halt, the beat goes
it's like a distant dream
and it's nice to be home
it's nice to be home
eyes eager, tears gather
in the silence, I hear you
dim lights, and its all me
from my lungs, I breathe
and time stops, just for a second
if I could go back, I would
lips laugh, and smile at the irony
and it's nice to be home
it's nice to be home
Cultural SpinThe smell of cigerettes in a car.
I spilled her coffee that day.
We were high,
things were fun.
Dancing to a fake
The photos tell it all.
Nothing is unique.
Kissing with red lipstick on.
My hair all tied in knots.
The beat goes on.
Our hearts racing,
but don't press pause.
I like the spin (out of control).
Open-Ended ConversationsA part of me wonders why -
you don't know me.
Why no one does.
Is it because you choose to-
not know me?
Can it be true that so many people
encase themselves in only their own lives?
I thought I was outside of the
But when you said "i'm finally finding myself",
I felt like I lost everything.
Have I yet to know myself?
Do I even have a self?
You said that I helped you open up.
That was what did us in.
I wanted you to only open up to me.
But when you find something special,
chances are you aren't the first.
And if you're the first,
well you better hold on pretty
because someone will always
take it away.
That's how it has always been.
From one forte to another.
It doesn't matter what it is.
The time on the TV says
But what happens when you don't
have anything of your own?
Remember?We took a train into the city,
where the lights from the sky
ran into those of our eyes.
My hands were cold,
but smiles were warm
as the wind pushed our souls
back into harmony.
Remember that day,
how every person we saw said
"it's great to be in love"
and we both agreed.
The Highest TravestyForgive me god,
for I have sinned-
and committed the
oh, excuse me
did I get it wrong?
Your god complex
really does impress.
An apology is never enough
for a diety as great as you.
Perhaps a slap to the face
Or square that number-
to make it two.
Turn the other cheek
the bible says.
God should know that,
But of course again
you must be confused.
Immortality isn't bestowed
upon the gods-
in case you weren't aware-
And lonliness falls heavy
upon the shoulders of-
one such as you.
But I'm sure the price you pay-
is worth it in the end.
A cheap drum beat
made by an androgynous machine.
The machine of god-
what perfect symmetry,
the divine and his follower.
I'm sorry I have strayed so far,
I'm sure it must really hurt.
I didn't know friendships
were so easily given up.
But being used gives false
in songs and lies
Do you think I feel bad?
I don't because you are-
You are no god-
and I am no follower.
And I will be
How Pathetic You AreThere's nothing special to be said for a person if they
smoke a cig, roll a joint, pop a fuckin pill.
I can do all those.
It's no accomplishment.
It doesn't make me special, or "cool" or "in"
That's never the purpose.
If it is, then you are lame.
Bragging about it, are you stupid?
Oh wow you fucking got stoned?
You had 5 hits?
I've spent days just smoking
You were so high you couldn't think straight?
5 hits doesn't have you out of your mind
A cigerette make you feel cool?
It makes you look stupid.
Those are worse than pot.
At least I admit to the teenage immaturity and boredom,
and have grown up and found something real
to fill a void.
Just when people act as if they have experienced everything,
it makes me mad.
Sitting in your rich house, with all you want,
doesn't mean you have experienced anything.
We all have.
Just don't pretend.
I've fucking been there.
And I see right through that shit.
It doesn't make you sophistica
Simplicity SmilesSimplicity smiles
through clear glasses
and loving gestures.
insures my happiness
and determines good days.
teach mature moves
in dimly lit rooms.
because we know
that it's true.
Superficially FakeSometimes people are beyond pathetic,
reaping in the anger at being called "fake",
yet they'd do anything for a person with good looks.
Walk all over you
You don't care.
She's hot and "cool",
but forget her ever being there for you.
"I'll pay, I'll pay" you say
to the girl with the cigerette
who needs her Starbucks coffee,
since she doesn't have her joint.
"I'm broke, I'm sorry" she says, pouting.
It's alright, you can be as fake as everyone else.
Pay for her, any other guy would.
She's hot, so why not.
But I'm not going to listen to your whining,
about friends who aren't really there.
You set it up each time.
I feel sorry for you.
Blinded by certain aspects of another,
you fail to see the faults.
"But she's nice to me,
so I'm nice to her."
What a lame qualification for a friend.
"But she's hot" would seem more like it,
"But she's exciting"
Only because you accept weaknesses from her
that you don't allow in others.
You hate scenesters you say,
but what is she?
the truth about growing up
1. It's easier when you don't think.
1. It starts early,
on a cloudy day when you recall
the 'childhood memories' of
two summers ago,
that's when you start your backslide into
2. On the bright side
you won't notice this until you're
good and ripe in age,
so maybe it doesn't matter
3. That tightness in your chest?
The feeling that you're not ready
to take on the rest of your life; it
4. It stews in the pit of your stomach
makes you doubt,
but there will be days when you look back
on the mountains you climbed -
the raging rivers you crossed -
and you'll have a sneaking suspicion you were
more prepared than you thought.
5. There's nothing like your own bed.
6. Laundry will never smell right
without mom's sweat and tears.
But you still have to separate lights from darks,
keep the zippers pulled tight
and the buttons unhooked.
7. There is comfort in your parents' presence.
8. Things change
the future gnaws and rips
Stranger's funeralUnder the clouds
Under the rain
Staring at the coffin
At a stranger's funeral
We're all alone
Feeling the storm
But not the pain
For he's but a stranger
And the graves around us
Are just there
Keeping us company
During this empty moment
LullabyHush, my baby,
Be still, don't cry.
Lay with me
A little while.
Close your eyes,
Slow your breath.
Hear your heart
Inside your chest?
Your heart is strong,
It guides you well.
Be sure to listen
To what it tells.
I hear him now,
Outside the room.
It won't be long,
He'll find us soon.
Now close your eyes,
Slow your breath,
And rest your head
Upon my chest.
CarolineYou loved the fire
of rogues -
imperfect men who shot up
the endings of the day
and drank down
too much beauty.
And like one of them,
you bellied with rebellion,
felt his tense seed
toil where women
and craved his notoriety.
Poor girl -
his verses won the day
and the call of words
was too fickle a lover
for any constant star.
Don't blame yourself -
are more attractive
and all poets are
Darkest MoonI celebrate my right to live;
To the dismay of some, perhaps
It should be noted
These words I write, however true
Are only portions of the moon
I’ve decide to shine light upon.
But who am I to preach respect?
Who Am I to preach equality?
An advocate for re-personification
Of the female gender
But exhibits cannibalistic characteristics
Within dark spaces.
I am a shadow
Hidden within an Eggshell, painted pink,
Waiting to hatch.
Is the darkness
The night brought upon us.
things to tell you before i leave for collegeto mrs hatcher:
i promise that one day i will write that poem you asked me for
(the only thing you ever asked me for)
and i will finally tell you that you deserve
so much more.
to mr. walker:
i promise that i will not pity you.
i promise that i will not envy you.
i promise that you will always be part of my forget-me-nots and marigolds.
i promise to always be grateful.
i promise to be careful.
i promise to be crazy.
i promise that i will remember what it feels like to be needed
and what it feels like to let someone who needs you down.
i promise that i will never resent you for asking for help
and that i will always be there when you do.
i promise that even sixty years from now,
i will not be surprised to find a letter from you in my mailbox.
i promise to always remember what it felt like to be young and crazy with you,
how scared and lonely we were.
i will remember that we both survived it,
and that we'll survive this, too.
it was a broken sense of beautifulhis smile was like dust caught
in sunlight; more like a dreamy state
of being than reality, like the half-
remembered yesterday that still haunts your
memories because you
didn't want to forget how it
we'd lie on the floor with
slats of light shot across the ceiling, drinking
in the atmosphere
with windows propped open by
books and yellowed pages,
and by the time
we wandered into sleep, we were drunk instead
smell of roses --
he was a broken kind of beautiful, a
beautiful kind of flawed; love-letters, anonymous
and never sent littered
the dusty floorboards beneath his
of what we were before
love found it's way
back around; hours passed in a sunset haze
as my fingers ghosted over words
he'd written half-asleep, ink smudged on his fingers --
they say the music
comes when your heart's about to break, more
like a whimper than a bang; but i've
never heard a song so
sweet, and this sense of lovely has found it's home
inside my bones --
It's All Semantics
Journals. Entries. Written words.
It's all semantics.
Study of a human language,
that has yet to hold any meaning.
Boldface word in type print
emphasizing nothing in the abyss.
All the people tossing down their
simplistic ideals for a piece of
that instant happiness.
Smoke that perfect joint to find
the perfect bliss of euphoric-
It's what we all want isn't it.
Wear the perfect jeans as you down-
Hold your hair back as you empty
your emotions with the toxins.
What emotions? The ones force fed
down the tube of knowledge and loss.
I'm in. Are you?
Fake the grade, and mask the smile.
Maybe it will last a while.
As for me, I'm almost down.
Are you down or are you out?
You can't win without losing it all.
Toss your smile out the window-
of glass that breaks.
We know no smiles here.
We know no emotion here.
What have you to ever fear.
All the same, carbon copied-
one by one.
Or why should it be one by one,
individualism is gone.
Processed and packag
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