It's how I remember how to cry

I'm alive tonight.

it's how I remember

how to cry.

It assures me

I won't die.

I'm sad.

Humans cry.

I'm normal...

alive.

Is this world alive? I am.

i wish i could say the words come to me, as if i was evan of august rush. but they don't blaze through my soul like music graced with passionate desire. my whole heart bleeds to know this world is alive; my body trembles to feel I'm alive

Do you?

do you come to know me? do you come to pick my mind? do you want to know me- to find out I'm insanely mundane? or do you come to judge me? to presume knowledge based on words is like reading a chapter of one book without knowing that chapter was cut- edited out for more noteworthy work.

how many sets...

how many sets of lips have those lips kissed? how many sets of eyes have those eyes felt? how many sets of hands have those hands held? how many sets of every kind, and not one set of mine.

my exercise in creativity

my exercise in creativity is to live- to dream and hope- to... try and fail. my exercise in creativity is to be. Be with me?

Love Is The Movement

Love is the movement. Love is my movement towards being me, towards being free. Love is the movement that once displayed openly lets me feel fine, teaches others to be alive.

stories contain everything and nothing

I guess I'll always need people to hear my story- to know who I am and who I have been, to know a part of me and to accept it fully. I want to be loved; I want to love in turn.

Chicago's river seen from the train in July

the river glitters in filament light. somehow, its ripples aren't sad. I think it's possible to obtain a greater perhaps than our chance, but how do we break free of the mundanity? Do we choose our combined humanity?