Exist

Have you ever
Stood and felt
Cold
Have you ever
Enjoyed
The crisp hand of winter
As it grabs you
As it steals away your lungs
Have you ever
Lived in the reality
The realness of the harshness
Have you given in
To the unextraordinary
Are you trapped
Are you established
Have you ever
Given thought to the evil
The devil of comfort
Death is a foundation
We live through destruction
Go and stand
And feel
The cold
Exist

What if I was silent?

What if I was muted
What if I was muffled
Unable to provide the world
With my me
My translation of this
Soul
What if I was silent
And the outside defined this
Forced to live through my eyes
Would you trust me
Do you trust my eyes

What if I couldn't thank you
What if I was silenced
Unable to enchant you
With my colors
With the paint brush in my mouth
What if I only had a body
And only knew my hands
I am quiet
Do you love me
Do you love my hands

It's alright.

It's alright
To be left and deserted
To give to silence
Or a scream
To float away
Down inner streams

It's alright
To live through a feeling
To follow an urge
Of the body
Of a hunger
It's so natural
That you wonder

It's alright
To be honest with a mirror
To give in to you
To own what is your own
For the lion who eats grass
Doesn't fight
Doesn't roar
It's alright

Rapture

I believe
In the delight of the world
I have faith
In its innocence
In its ability to be kind
I rely
On the grace of the winner
On the resilience of the last of us
Soon to be our leader
I give
To the selfless, hard working smiles
To the private peace givers
To the man that can give no more
And then gives
I offer
To respect you
To smile

The See

Today I am here
To be here
To be present
Apart of the world
Am I
Not a vapor
Not today
Today I am
I am in
I am of
The rock in the stream
Of life
Of me
Obstruct
Effect
Change
Obstructed
Effected
Changed

Tranquil Times

For the past few mornings
I could be seen with you
Tracing every line
Treasuring every memory on your face
I run my fingers over your laughter
All the smiles you have offered out
The happiness you presented, selflessly
To the world and in spite of the gods
Carefully I outline every sunrise
Every morning you allowed yourself
To breath in the open air
To bathe in the Sun's burning hand
If caution can be spelled
It reads like a vapor
Dissipating on your cheek
My soft fingers run over a life
Outlining long nights in smoke
I follow you trembling
Knowing that you are reality
Realizing that these eyes
Though closed in repose
Once buckled under heartbreak
Once flooded with uncertainty
As my hand records your everything
I wonder if this could be prayer
A message in thanks for this harbor
An oasis in a desert world
When will we return to the real?

I Think You're Strong

I think you're strong
You have a courageous ability
The force of a gentle spirit
I think you're strong
Yet, not for the lack of your smallness
I think you're strong
But it's in your kindness
Echoed in my calmness
Yeah, I think you're strong
And not for a mighty hand
Or for Darwin's theory, or on whom you stand
It's your meekness
A smile to cut the pettiness
It's all for your willingness
To love
I think you're strong

To my Jon David

You spin my mind
Into daunting shades of blush
Hues of the perfect
Poetic promise
Of life and the forever
Shade me from
A cruel reality
Yet, only with you in the actual
Gallantly you stride
Over the hot coals
I provided as my past
With out fear you come
For me
For my red stains
You give to me
"I love you"
And the tears travel
Seeping down every definition
Flooding vision and visage
All with hope
Confidence in tomorrow
There has been a world
Full of the admirers
And plenty are the admired
It is not for the lack of them
I do not yearn for the multitudes
It is the one and the unparalleled
It's you

The Gift of Adoration

I feel like silk
Someone has taken their time
To experience me
To run their fingertips
Softly
With a slow, delicate hand
As if I were the last
A single drop of honey
I have been savored
And with just the eyes
The truthful gaze of this
Man of my power
Comes the release
The snatch of the veil
A breath from self deception
I am the moon
Singing to the night
"I am real
Regard me"

My night with Renata.

Last night
I slept with Tebaldi
She gave out strident, wholesome tones
I lay by her
Letting
The full force of her cry
Hit me directly
Between the eyes
There were lucid moments
There between the sheets
Broken by the crack
My open eye
Closing the door
Shutting my reality
Gratefully assisted
By a dead soprano
I fell away
Seeping back
Into a boundless world
The land we fear
Yet are completely sovereign
Into the world of possibility
Where I have wings
Because I, in fact, have wings
Where truth is malleable
And you, a set of hands

What is your smile?

A rigid, winter breeze
Wrapping around my neck
It gently presses
And for the briefest moment
I choke
Lose all air
The ability to breathe
Taken
But not sought for
I should gasp
Yet I need
I long for you
To crack your perfect
Painted lips
Mar the surface
Not for the world
Hide it
From the Earth
Against the heavens
Give to me
Your brilliance
Your cover
Your boundless
Smile

Red

Paint me
Red
Baptize me in the color
Of blury, furious nights
I'll lose my breath
Gasp for air
Paint me
With fire
I beg for the heat
The burn of my brother
Please
Paint me
With angry, euphoric red
I once tasted
Once wondered at the fragility
The devastatingly sustaining strength
Of hot, sticky summer stains
Still flickering flames
Leaving me seeing the world
Through rose colored shades
I ache
I starve
Hungry for boiling blood
I like you
I'd like you
To paint me
Red

Love poem.

I can't love perfect
Can't love in the seamless
I would fog the mirror of my own
Reflection
Should I place my heart in the flawless
Love is dirty
Love stays in the broken
Grows up through the cracks
A grand canyon
Fortified by perpetuation
You mark me
And I mark you

Welcome, Autumn.

Last night, I left the Cafe I work at in a hurry. Completely ready to escape the pace and the heat of it all, I stepped out into a dark relief, free from artificial lights and any thought but my own. The air out wasn't quite cold, it was brisk. It was a sharp breeze that could cut through any sweater, yet leave a gentle coolness across the skin, forcing one to feel the wholeness that is the body, that is identity. I began to walk to my car when the dulcet sounds of a church bell began to fill the empty space in the sky. Familiarity was felt, for who has yet to hear the ringing of a church bell through a slightly bitter night? I stood still in the street, considering the perfectness of solitude with in an overpopulated world, and I breathed it in deeply. A cold, slightly rainy bit of air encompassed me. I was not warm, yet understandably, fully alive. I inhaled memories, good memories of seasons passed; yoga in front of my open dorm window last October, the pulse of a cold hand I held in a love two years sour, the white, nit sweater my Grandma gave me and I wore every winter day of my eighth grade year, a steaming shower after a particularly long snow day, coming home to my mother's toothy smile and banana bread, hugging my Great Grandmother on her porch that last Thanksgiving, long and senseless drives with my brother and our favorite album. I inhaled every song and every meaningful vignette painted with lovely, solid people. I let go of negativity created by me and pointed at others. I inhaled good. I inhaled me.

My Best Moment

Somedays I worry
If it will happen
The climax
My pinnacle
Is it today?
Is today the day that I am
My best
Is there a day in the future
Where I look back
And say
"I wish I was then
I wish I was as capable
I yearn for my own
Zeal
I want for that time
The moment I was
All of me."

The Plea of the World

I don't have music
Playing when I'm alone
But I do listen
I do give attention
Lending my ear to the cricket
In the early morning
He plays
He gives a song of searching
Of longing
For love
No
Companionship
Maybe he's been searching an entire evening
The tune grows desperate
A bird
Belting good morning
Gives the cricket pause
Yet he begins again
Fearlessly
Or with a greater fear
Perhaps the poison of seclusion
The bird
Changes its melody
It is strident
And more keen
Quick and more primal
The bird searches
But the cricket is relentless
He has waited and invested
His time
Himself
The two duet
Dangerously
Out of hunger
Out of familiarity
The bird stops
The cricket's solo
Goes from longing
To telling
From pitiful
To relatable
Justifiable
Major
Silence

The shadow.

My shadow is
me on the world.
A light shade,
a glimmer of my whole self
lying for the world
to see,
to wonder at.
I wait for it
to embed into the Earth.
Some days the light is pale.
Somedays I ask
if I will ever see
that dusky depiction of me,
reflected on the pavement.
Maybe I don't stand so tall.
Maybe the light is falling
just over my shoulder.
Somedays there just isn't enough
of me.
Somedays I'm looking for someone to stand next to.
Somedays I'm looking
to cast a bigger shadow.

A search for solace.

You ask the Universe,
if it was a mistake
that you made.
Do I deserve
pain?
You fault yourself
for living.
You deny yourself
mournfulness.
Emotions are a gas.
You may try to keep them,
hold them,
bottle them away.
But there is only so much space.
It will seep
out of you,
a combustion
of you.
Self loathing will ignite
into rage,
then solace.

Love At The Hotel Chisca.

Light falls
easily
through the ever open
windows. Glass panes,
 left vulnerable with anticipation,
allow
rays of sunlight to pierce
the inner workings of a shell,
an abandoned hollowness. The
 light lands lightly
upon broken floor boards
and unpainted, dirty walls,
 illuminating the secret
of a forsaken stronghold.
Why would any person leave a space like this?
 A place once painstakingly fortified?
 Who do we expect to rebuild us?

Am I good?

Am I good
Enough?
I just can't grasp
Good.
Is it bodily?
Can you smell it?
Does the scent,
The cloud of my past,
Overpower my chances?
Perhaps if someone gave
Me
The opportunity to bathe.

(For Linda.)

Good morning.

Be careful where you lay your head
The sun will set and you'll be dead
Be careful where you lay your head
Your life be published, your life be read
Be careful where you lay your head
You make the sheets, but what's in that bed
Be careful where you lay your head
Dreams will go where dreams are led

I'm gay.

I’m gay. Know that I realize this lacks the surprise of the Casey Anthony verdict (though I’m sure it’ll hold much disappointment to some) and has the shock value of a Pixar sequel. “What? They’re doing another Finding Nemo, but the first one was so average.” To a few, this may feel like a sequel. “Isn’t his twin brother a queer too???”  Yes, we were born this way. *Cue Gaga* I am hoping, however, that this is more like Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, self-explanatory,  and less like Son of the Mask…..Really? Don’t remember it?

For a good, long span of time (20 years), I have been playing it neutral.  In a reality where all three of your sisters are pastor’s wives, the decision to come out could also become a decision of eternal damnation (bring SPF). I should note, however, that I have three very loving, beautiful sisters, who care about me very much, but that’s exactly why I am writing. Many young people with my sexual status have been unfortunately stranded within a family whose idea of support is punishment and exile, due to the misconception that children are more property and less people.  In my experience, most of this distress created by family and given to a homosexual is brought on by a spiritual belief, the one in my family being Christianity.

It is an extremely volatile atmosphere to grow into adulthood in, strongly feeling drawn one way by your body and fervently being taught and conditioned inversely.  All of you struggling with this one currently know that your body will ALWAYS prevail over your mind, always. In my life, my body has frequently led the way into the search for my soul. Think about it, what’s more trustworthy, some concept an outside source has given you to mull over, or your own flesh.  The biggest barricade in my search for me has been the Church’s idea that you have to “let your flesh die away” in order to become all that you were meant to be.  

Luckily, truth is the most potent and addictive of drugs. It only takes a single hit of veracity to completely ruin your life. I remember my first trip, it was the sixth grade. So many of my peers taunted me for being gay that if someone shouted “Hey, Fag!” in the hallway, I’d immediately look up, and then quickly back down as if I had a nervous tick. “I probably have Tourettes, going to the doctor this week.” I was in the bathroom, where I spent much of my time in school, this one located on the sixth grade hallway. Some very unfortunate girl in my math class, one of those girls who drew ponies on her notebook and cut her hair like Rachel Maddow, had asked me if I was gay. “Are you gay?!” she asked assertively and a little too loudly for my liking, “because I have a horse who is, and I love him just the same.” In a mad rush of embarrassment and in an attempt to be as rude as possible, I excused myself to the bathroom directly. Looking in the mirror at my blondish brown afro and the brail on my face to match, I laughed. And just as I laughed it came out, “I’m gay”. Not counting the current event taking place, this was the single most liberating experience of my entire life. As a result, I cried in that bathroom for the rest of the period.

There are most certainly children and young people in my vicinity, daily, which are just like me.  Growing up, all I wanted was an adult to tell me that there was nothing wrong with me. When I realized that I wasn’t inherently nasty or disgusting, I was free. My hope for all those living in this stage is that you live your life ardently and with kindness. Understanding that those who oppose you are not always an obstacle, usually they are merely senseless opposition, and a big waste of time.  I’m gay. I’m not a pedophile, and I don’t worship Satan (mostly because that went out of style).  I am tremendously happy, because I made the decision to live that way, and I hope you do as well. 

Head on.

Every once and awhile I will glance into the eye of things. Like when someone I'm with takes a swift turn in front of oncoming traffic. My heart races and I look straight into the faces of those that could destroy me. I wonder if they feel it too, if they can sense the life in every cell of their body awaken. I wonder if they too, sense fear and exhilaration simultaneously, the pleasure of panic. This is my love for you, dear. I am just passing in font of you, hoping to catch your gaze. But do I want a collision? I want to be held and secure with in my own car, with in my own. Yet, the idea of your life exploding into mine, tantalizes me. I have stalled, will you destroy me, head on?

Hey, Daisy.

You grew up through the sidewalk
Cracks
The world was busy without you
But you have a silent will
The tree that has
Gnarled roots
Embedding yourself riverside
Splitting the force of the collective
Sure that we had washed
You away
We hope, and doubt for you
All you do is stand
But do you know how firmly

Together, we are two.

Currently, the seat across from me is vacant. Occupied merely with the gaze of mine own eyes, and the thirst of my own heart. It is conceivable that the seat needs a rest. Perhaps I overwhelmed it with too many, too early. The cushion may still have some residual imprints from some previous ass that sat down hard and got up fast. One thing’s for sure, the draft has become more direct, clear and steady. There isn’t a soul to block my access to the flow of air. I see, now quite plainly, through the window that previously was denied to me. It’s funny how little of the outside world is visible when the seat in front of you is taken. I gag at the thought of sunrises and sunsets that have exploded all around my obliviousness, the everyday being thwarted by the present. Still, there are times that I allow myself to slip the lids of my eyes together, to drown myself in every sour memory that now leaves me this way, alone. So many have sat and dealt their hand to me, as if I, or we, were shopping, purchasing each other. Some have taken their seat and required something of me, most often some sort of verification of personal value. There has never been a time, however, where I was able to fulfill anyone, even though I may go on trying for the rest of my life to do so. There have been others that sit down and want nothing. There was not a thing that I could give to them, and not a thing that I could reap. Reminds me of a disappointing audition, no one tells you what you did wrong, or what to work on. They just tell you to go. “You must always leave an audition with a gracious smile, saying ‘Thank you, for the opportunity!” The trouble with me is that I haven’t ever found a show that I wanted to be the leading lady of. There is way too much responsibility and weight to carry. I would much rather be cast as the supporting guy with five scenes and all the witty one liners. The audience doesn’t expect much out of the actor, and the actor doesn’t anticipate much from the audience. I guess that is it, expectation. There has yet to be a person to sit across from me and not hold me to some previous conceived notion. All I have had to offer is me, it would be impossible for me to deliver the hopes that have been perfected in another’s mind. It is probable that I may just need to slide over, leave some space next to me. That way, I can’t block your view, and you can’t get in the way of mine. We can take in the world as individuals, because that’s what we were made to be.

Follow me towards the moon.

Here I lie in the line of things
In synch with the population of beings
Restless within the flow of creation
A world of all of us
Waiting
Anticipating the salvation of our bodies
What of the direness of our souls
My heart beats for my skin
And my skin aches for a heart
Giving up on fates and destinies
Simultaneously bending to the will of the world
At the brink of deconstruction
Grab my hand

Too close for discomfort.

I can feel your heart beat racin
Runnin up the line of my mind
My thoughts keep pacin
I can't see your eyes
Your face is hazin
Is this feelin real?
The bed is movin
Disinfect the soul
We keep spinnin
Everybody whispers
But I keep feelin
Maybe they're all right
I'm wrong, I'm sinnin
This may not be love
But at least it's livin

Steadfast Prayer

It is in your voice

“Do you pray?”

Do I have a say?

Have I got a choice?

It seeps in my reply

“I’m alive, anyway.

Had I wanted not to pray

I would need but to die.”

“Who do you call on?”

My heart, I suppose

To the world I compose

The earth I will rest on

It is all I may see

An action in perpetuation

Life is just communication

A prayer to be free

“To the boldness of me.”

Living higher than smoke from the fire.

It is after now
A probable moment
Barely considered
Who could give thought to the ash
While the fire burns
Choking on cold air
Our desires would have warmed me
For a lifetime
But I didn't stifle the flame
It would grow quite large
Once fueled by our passions
It ignited with blame

But I am now
I am present
I am one
Forgiving me for any damage
I've done
Sometimes it is safer
Just to drown it in the distance
Naturally, I'll go back there
Consider all that I have lost
Remnants of a love that's rare
All we are is ash in air

Pure Identity

I am fat

I’m too thin

I am nothing more

Than what’s within

I am happy

In despair

Yearning to know

That someone’s there

I am gay

I am straight

Love’s not sex

But sex is great

I am animal

I am man

I am crippled

I can stand

I’m not bad

I’m not good

I’m not sorry

Or understood

I am you

I’m what you see

I am the world

I am me

"It Gets Better"

We grew up in government housing, though I still have a very small understanding of what that means. We always had food to eat, yet we often went without the things money could buy. My parents were given six children together, and at times our home felt like Grand Central Station. In a household of eight, it can be rather easy to be forgotten. As sand falls between floor boards, so does a child fall into reclusiveness. Yet, for me, if I ever happen to fall behind, I was blessed with a personal guardian from God. His face was a reflection of mine, and there between the floor boards, I never failed to feel his hand grasp mine. We were not friends. We were not lovers. We were not siblings. We were twins, and we shared emotions. 

Poverty can be a dangerous space to grow into a mature adult, and often children are more apt to garner hopelessness, mostly in the space meant for friendship and companionship. I cannot possibly begin to express how thankful I am to have had such a guardian on this battlefield for social survival. Having a twin is having an upper hand in life. I did not learn life lessons alone, it was not always my own actions that taught me. He was my cushion for constant, reckless crashes. All of our pain was dealt with together, all our smiles learned from one another. We are similar in genetics, identical in spirit.

Beyond being twins, David and I were distinct reds in the Mississippi shades of grey school system. As we developed, so did our free thinking minds. I admit that it was easier to go against the grain with David at my side, without a doubt, criticism became more manageable. Yet, the more one ignored the vicious taunts of our peers, the heavier their words would become. Although we were active at a young age, David and I were certainly not athletic and never were we interested in football, the heart of every southern school. More often than not, I was a pariah. Outcasted purposely, and reminded daily. Others began to question our sexuality before we were even aware of the concept. 

"Fag", "Faggot", "Queer", "Gaywad". All of these words painted my childhood, all of them defined me against my will. I protested, daily and from roof tops. I prayed that my God would paint truths in the sky, but he never would. Frequently, I felt the hot rush of angry tears take over my face. I tried to change me, my clothes, my voice, my mannerisms. Sexuality was a sea and I was choking on its reality, a reality handed to me by my peers. For the longest, I assumed that David and I were waging this label war together; we were not. Unbeknownst to me, David had accepted his name tag.

David had his first liberating experience in high school, forming a relationship with a fellow Mississippi fugitive. Though his encounters with this individual were secret, David's happiness was sudden and apparent even to the blind. He smiled when there was not a given reason, he smiled just to smile and this gave me worry. Twins were supposed to know the completeness of one another, and I was outraged by my lack of insight. I began my search for the root of his joy. Scouring his room, ripping open journals, my search was long and fruitless.  Then one day I saw it for myself. It played out in front of me like a Broadway show, a smile exchange. It was small and happened with in a blink of an eye, yet I was there for it and I now knew. 

Regretfully, I was very critical of David. Once the person he could divulge himself to, a safe haven for his true feelings, I now presented only coldness and harsh, disapproving glances.

He did not consider my feelings on the matter, did not once ask for my approval. David would go on many dates; he would continue to search for my foundation. Too slowly, I began to love past my fears of a hateful society.  It would not be until I was in college, nearly 75 miles displaced, that I would reestablish my incessant support for him and all that he endeavored. A great dreadfulness fills me when I think back on those days and I long for forgiveness, not just from David, but from myself. 

David grew beyond standards and boundaries. He managed a good paying job and is putting himself through nursing school. Barely a shadow of the boy that used to hold my hand under the floor boards, even though I know he would still if I needed it. In my absence, or more appropriately, in his found freedom, David met and fell in love with a wonderful, kind man. Grant Young was a member of the Justice League, as drawn through David's words about him. In person, he was meek and mild. Seeing them together, you may never realize the pain it took to buy their freedom. 

                In their midtown Memphis apartment, there is little trace of angry words said with no known purpose. It is an odd, yet perfect feeling to not have to look around your shoulder. The soft sounds of police sirens are no longer heard from his window. There is an overall feeling of love and acceptance that hangs in the air like the fragrance of some past meal. Laughs seem to flow like the Mississippi, perpetual and with no end in sight. All over the walls you can find pictures of a journey together. A twentieth birthday, a first year anniversary, an engagement, and one set by the door in a purple t-shirt, aptly labeled "It Gets Better."

Religion of the Insecure

Yesterday I had a can of flavorless chicken soup and four stale peanut butter crackers to eat. I was not busy, and it was not easy. When I got done with my day, my head was pounding and my hands were aching, I have come accustom to the feeling of hunger over the years. The feeling I have not embraced, however, is that pitiful hateful feeling I get directly after I eat. This will usually occur after a "good day" where I have eaten healthily all day(or the smallest amount I could.) On many "good days" I spend the day unhappy, telling myself constantly and irrationally what happens to food after you consume it. At the end of "good days" I am normally emotionally unstable. I most commonly end up at Wendy's on West Jackson. Here, I can be seen eating and normally crying in my car. I have sat there on many nights, staring out at a starless, night sky, wondering why I have zero self-control.
Food runs my life. I spend more time looking at my waist in the mirror than I do looking at my face. Having the knowledge of the notion of a healthy body image, I have tried, desperately, to love what I see in the mirror. Countless hours have been spent staring and hoping at a never changing reflection. Frequently, I am caught in a restroom pinching the sides of my body in confusion and pure hate. I remember the first time I saw myself as fat. I was a senior in high school, and in the bathroom where the guys in choir sometimes practiced. Though I had recently lost over a hundred pounds, I caught my profile in the mirror and started sobbing. I had been overweight and unhealthy for awhile, but at the time I did not hate myself. Vanity had crept in me and I had a pulse in my body towards perfection. I retreated to a stall and told myself I could not leave, fearful that someone might realize that I was fat again. I spent an hour in that stall, and that moment has stayed with me since.
I am aware of the struggle, and I write this to free me. Fully aware that I am not the only one who is waging this war, I write to encourage. Often when people speak about their distaste for their body, I consider them selfish or perhaps vain. Then I reread my previous two paragraphs and how often I use "I". My obsession with my body is an obsession with me. I have given into conceit. The battle is hard because I fight alone. Perhaps if we, the insecure, would start thinking outwardly, instead of constantly inwardly, we would be more equipped against the enemy, us.
This body is the only one I have. When I speak ill of my body, I encourage others to do the same. If I don't respect me, how can I expect others to. These feelings will surely not leave me, yet I feel that with honesty comes healing. I serve myself so many lies, and have become my own barrier in life. Let brutal honesty be a sledgehammer.

Or Are We Painting in the Water

Time was a vapor on the hill

We were deaf, so we stood still

Was it day or was it dusk

We can't linger, but we must

And the wind blew through her hair

We are lost, yet I am found

Lost all will to look around

Transfixed by her solid eyes

A painful yearning makes me cry

And how the wind blew through her hair

Is it true that you will stay

Lost all need to run away

Or are we painting in the water

You are here, but then you saunter

All I see is golden hair

Be Kind.

Yesterday I got some pretty disheartening news about a friend of mine. Said news required, in my mind, that I make the hour drive from school to home. From the moment the phone rang I had begun to pray to God. It took me only minutes to get into my car and I prayed the entire time. With great effort, I futilely attempted to remember a helpful scripture from the Bible, or an encouraging message from a pulpit. All that came to me, however, was It is Well With My Soul. Having sung the song many times, the words poured out of me with ease. Yet, no matter how many times they had been sung to me, or in me, the words held their meaning for the very first time. The seemingly unfeasible idea of acceptance had become a cooling sensation in my chest, and fierce, bottled up tears had begun to stream down my face. I had no idea what the future held, but I could accept it in advance. My vision began to blur, and the whole outside world seem to fade. It was just me, my tears, my peace. The moment, though, was quickly interrupted. Despairing blue lights appeared in my back window and my heart erupted in my chest. Not thinking of road regulations, and just simply not thinking, I slammed on my breaks and pulled over to the left. My window was already rolled down, and I had been driving in my sort of silence. My face still covered in tears, was most obviously red with distress as the Highway Patrol man leapt from his vehicle and ran towards my window. With no time to spare, the tall, muscular, and terrifyingly young patrol man started to yell at the top of his lungs. Never in my life have I heard such socially unaccepted words used with such hatred, pure, unadulterated hatred. I had pulled over to the left, instead of to the right. This "jack-ass move" nearly "cost us both our lives!!" After repeatedly asking me how I could be so stupid, he let me know that all he wanted was for me to move in the other lane so he could "get to where he was going." At first glance, one might actually begin to think that such a spectacle was being displayed just for my benefit. I really do not think I am that special, or that evil. While he was still yelling, I realized he was angry, beyond that, he was furious, but it wasn't at me. Something, or someone, had gotten to this poor man before I did. No matter how I was feeling about my own life, I simply could not ignore this man's emotions. I had problems, he had problems. As I stared into his viscous eyes, it dawned on me that we were the same. Pain is met and dealt with in a multitude of different ways and fashions, how we deal with that pain correlates to how we treat and coexist with the others around us. We can relay one of two things: cruelty or kindness. Kindness is a solid stone used to fortify a structured, stable life. Cruelty is a sledge hammer that is highly powered, and has no chance of making improvement to anything. The Officer chose to configure his hurt into oppression. If he continues to turn pain into anger, his life could take many detrimental turns. Thanks to God, I have consciously decided not to do the same. You really never know what events are taking place in one life, be kind.

Stressful Speaker

I wish I was a rich bitch, who owned a BMW

Dollar for each I pain have, breathe it in, start anew

Not only will I change the world, but from it where I catch the view

Sick of all the walls I see, fly to Paris out the blue

Money changes everything, changes what I look like to

See me in the street someday, on me where yo eyes are glue

It's okay, I would too, especially after I get through

Wanna know what I do? Look up to the skies a blue

Wanna know where I flew? Check the heavens, where I drew

There For All the World to See

Saw her flying free

Freer than I'd ever be

Not as beautiful as me

There for all the world to see

Not near as small as I

Such a smile makes me cry

Why aren't you wishing just to die

Can't you see your life's a lie

Why pretend to keep your gaze

Like my body doesn't phase

Beauty is as beauty weighs

See me now, and give me praise

True happiness is in me

My appearance is what's free

Earned the right to vanity

There for all the world to see

Shallow breathing.

There was a chill out, just cold enough where my heavy breaths were being carried in a smoky wind around me. I had left the partiers inside, as not to damage the reckless out of body experiences they seemed so desperate for. Standing near the middle of the road, my car sat near me with no destination. Left alone in the piercing silence of the air, my sudden loneliness fell with panic in my heart. Quickly I pulled out my phone, with not a name to call, my breath began to shallow. In desperation, I looked to the sky but there were no stars. There was no God tonight. On a planet of a billion people, I was one. I was a single, insignificant compilation of DNA, soulless. I held my hand in front of me and questioned it's existence, with my own. If no one knows me, who am I. Only the shiver vibrating in my abdomen, thought to be caused by the weather, would validate any sort of reality. If, affected by the world, I shudder; I must be present with in it. For a brief moment, I feel that my legs might buckle underneath me. In that instant, a fighter is born and I sense my feet begin to move. Quicker than I would have imagined, the houses around me become blurs of dark greys, every turn becoming a shadow in my mind. As I futilely pound achy steps into the ground, the wind cuts into my eyes. Tears run in every direction across my face, soaking the collar of my shirt. Blinded by a sea of my own despair, I abruptly stop running. My destination is a hill looking over several houses, so close it would seem the residents struggled to breathe. Forsaken tricycles and dolls sat discarded, and uncared for across the span of many front lawns with barely definable territories between them. It struck me, suddenly, how much I enjoyed riding a bike when I was younger. It had taken me so long to learn what now seemed to be such an easy task, and I would ride my bike for hours. Cool relief poured over my hot, wet face, as I remembered how much I adored the spring air slapping me as I rode up and down my childhood. Taking advantage of my new sanity, I decided to trace my steps backwards.

Two of Us Boy, One of Us Girl, All of us Together

The sun was setting directly upon us. Shades of orange and yellow had begun to pierce the sky, once the reflection of our pale green eyes. The three of us, innocent enough to the outside world, had transcended to a dire realm. Leaping from each patch of grass to the other, we playfully avoided the dirt and sand which had been distorted in our minds to become wonderfully dangerous amounts of fire or lava. Dizzy, we frantically giggled our way to certain, imagined safety. Two of us boy, and one of us girl, all of us together were complete. With leaps and bounds around each other, ceaseless spinning began to pour into a hazy tornado of ourselves. Through the whirlwind of confusion, all that was visible was her hair. A briar bush of tangled, rich brown locks a glow with the aftermath of what the day had been. A careless blanket of carefree curls all ablaze with the setting sun, twirling all around a giving, blithe toothy grin. Three forgotten, uncared for smiles dancing without precision, all gleam with the pureness of happenstance and the ignorance of an impending future. On the wind a foreboding cry is carried. A siren pushes faster towards us with fingers outstretched for our open hearts. Familiarity wins, as we callously grab dirty identical hands and fling into a delicate circle. An army of infants can be heard in the distance, proudly displaying a war cry. Utterly unaware, we three almost angels continue the quest for exhaustion, and the idea of present purpose.

Waiting

Tears in a bathroom stall

No one left for me to call

Waiting for a real redeemer

Stomach falls, left to crawl

On my knees just to see her

An angel who will have all

She'll let me know what we were

Why it is you never call

Answer why I have the feelings

Why it is I search the ceiling

Every time I hit the floor

Hazy. Don't know what I'm seeing

Watching for you by the door

Remember only you agreeing

Couldn't be a burden bore

Always thought my love was freeing

I Can't Make You Love Me

I went for a jog here recently. Running in the neighborhood nearest to my house, I inevitably came to that dead end where we used to park. It's an odd sort of feeling, standing all alone, especially in a place where we spent so much time together. The weather was so muggy then. We would stand under those stars until both of us were drenched in sweat. Now the air has grown cold and bitter. The stars are still here, but tonight I stand under them alone.

Planted firmly on the outside, I look down this small broken stretch of road. I replay every moment safely until the air is soaked with the scent of your hair. In a frenzy I take off, sprinting to the end of the lane. My feet dreadfully linger in every stride towards the middle of the road. When I reach the end, I feel it. That same feeling of loss that I have experienced at funerals, the same feeling you get when you bury a pet. It is as if our love has experienced a physical death and I am succumbing to the pain of it's absence.

Turning around, I make my second jog down the dead end. I used to think of this as a pit stop for us. I was certain that we would recount those days to grandchildren. With every step, my eyes fog up through sour tears. The memories of you and us form a pool that I can not swim in. I stop towards the center and gasp for air. Yet still, the only thing I breathe in is the smell of hair conditioner, and all our broken promises.

Eternally Internal

Memories make me ill

Once recorded with a pair

Bitterly loom in me still

Serve to remind me you aren't there

Makes me sick that you don't care

Wasn't really perfect then

Done some growing since you went

Often wonder how you've been

Getting letters that I sent

Promise that I won't give in

Someday there is you and I

No matter where in life you've been

To your heart, there I will fly

Ask you for my love again

Give it to you by and by

I was bad at loving you.

I see you in greener grass

Smiling with a different man

Dreadfully wishing you to hurt

Hoping just to see my pain

Reinvented on your face

Praying that I made a stain

Once a lighthouse in the fog

Your smile now becomes a poison

Catch a glimpse into your eyes

Realize that you always knew

Not that we just didn't work

But I was bad at loving you

Past Participating

You're a distant memory

Embedded in my attractions

Remember you in another's face

But not all your infractions

I never put your smile down

Hand imprinted in my own

Aimlessly I search for you

All the love that had been sown

You'll remain with me forever

Translated in a future flame

Yet, no matter all the joy they give

Love won't ever be the same

I am me and we aren't we

I ain't ever belong to you

Independence is what I do

Free fallin, through the skies of blue

Let go of all ya put me through

A cancer only holds on tighter

Every time yo up to bite her

Ignorant that I'm a fighter

Reassure you I won't die here

Every breath to push me down

Draws in water as you drown

Recognize I'm not around

Just before you hit the ground

Oh, boy you hear that sound

It's the new one I just found

Laughin at you while you down

Come on baby show yo frown

Bet you think that I'm crazy

I don't beg and call you baby

Thought you were my leading lady

But yo words are too shade

Fool! What'd you think would come to prosper

Pushin feelings I'd never foster

Suffocating all of me

Tried to blind but I can see

That I am me and we aren't we

Thirst and Recieve

A portion of your heart

Fell to my possession

It will not return to you

For fear of soul regression

Burying it deep beneath the soil

Place your love out of security

We weren't meant to tape together

But grow into maturity

I water you with every fight

Nurture you through tear swarmed eyes

Relationships aren't rights and wrongs

They're built upon soul compromise

Once you're standing, straight and sturdy

I will leave you to the breeze

I have taught you, not to abstain

But how to love with ease

I Miss You

You're a figment of my past

Recreated quite half-hazardly

Distorted reflections, they've been cast

To refresh old reality

There are times, through the haze

The ripple on the surface stops

Sadly, after I appraise

You're an empty, worthless box

You Must Tear Muscle to Grow It

The actions will define the speech

Speak less, and we shall reach

Distinction of character

Excuses are the exchange of boulders

I push my burdens on a new holder

Falsifying achievements

Surely, you may bury mistakes

Rooting yourself in deception aches

You will just grow pain

Owning faults is owning you

Life's about soul solitude

Personal Evolution

Kind words are flickering flames

Signaling someone to do the same

Set fire to the world

Dusk may come, but we are young.

With every soft and supple smile, you hold me. I hope you hold me. You plant a sickness in my abdomen. Every muscle in my body succumbs to the fever of your eyes. My pores open and sweat with the sight of your affectionate glance. An overwhelming thud in my chest will surely betray my brave and stolid face. If it were not for the pounding willingness pulsing through my body, I might think of your intentions. The touch of your fingers on my back are unquestionable. Swiftly, freely I give you my pride, gift you with my shame. Hot. HOT is the air, and I can not grasp it. I am not brave. I am not happy. I am not sad. I am not certain. You smile. A fervent feeling of serendipity delights and calms me. Nothing inside of me doubts you, or the fact that you will be with me as long as I need you. I need you.

Cloudy Consciousness

Hates a virus of the heart
That trickles in your speech
Bitter and a hasty word
Spoken with an evil power
Air to blood and word to leach

Tasteless words breakthrough our minds
But the strength falls to the meek
Stumbling through ill-tempered fog
Blind by vanity and pride
Anger makes you weak

Obstruction Seduction

Targeting the eyes of many
I harvest validation
Feeding off a made up sense
Of personal confirmation
I will pick so many lies
A pool of fabrication
Then I'll drown within my prize
Of identity destruction
Floating far away from me
And into integration

Free As a Bee

Dear little bumblebee
I kept you in a jar
Left inside, you'll never grow
Or realize who you are

Holes,I pushed in the lid
Gave glimpses of the show
But there are great, abounding places
That you have yet to know

It's for me, and it's for you
I put this to a stop
Now you'll see so many things
And never reach the top

Ballad of the Battered

The lady sings a smoky song
Of dead beat men, who did her wrong
In mournful tune, she'll tell you soon
That she will not be prey

But I'm familiar with the beat that's heard
The second time it sounds absurd
The bitter chorus, most surely shows us
Girl can't bare to stray

She will sing in grievous tones
All the while, hold to her stones
Yet, the audience waits, and let's her state
That she'll go far away

An Agreeable Goodbye

It dances near, yet far away
A spectator to the world
Painted sun meets rusted lips
As Earth meets light, and curls
From the wreckage of a kiss
Comes amorous clouds of yellow
Hoping to escape today
The desperate star does bellow
A heavy eye, the sun did have
And met the ground in sigh
Praying just to give, for now
An agreeable goodbye

You Can Only Break The Broken

The world will try, with futile stab
To take your courage from you
Smile in the face of drab
And you'll be met with angry jab
Revel in their undo

Sunshine falls on every face
But only some will see
The others live in dark disgrace
And boy they like to share it
The world don't like to set you free
Looks like you'll have to take it

Far Off Ways Fill My Days

Flustered, standing on the edge

I look in desperation

My heart ran many miles here

And pulses for redemption

I stare deep into the void

Dense with disappointment

Feebly, though, I'll keep on waiting

Set on a reaction

When will my life's sunrise come

In form of your affection