untitled 2 7-7-10

What doesn't happen doesn't matter

nor does what we want necessarily count.

Our lives are not meant for regret.

I'm here to say let this moment pass.

Let this feeling of worthlessness and rejection

be something of the past.

Let the moment pass.

But heed this warning:

do not let them restrict your desire.

Please, want. Dream big.

Let your heart soar

like the kites we used to fly

when dreams were reality.

I want to write.

So, for today I'm a writer.

I'll not let you take that from me.

I'm creating my destiny.

untitled 7-6-10

I'm so close to happy

I can feel it rolling as a wave in my mouth,

building in power like the anticipation

you feel as you bite your lip before you say the word

fuck.

Fuck

fuck

fuck.

Fuck you

is what I say to all the people who don't believe.

Believe in me!

because I am going to be...

something,

for just being is worth

some thing.

Now, I'm not sure what that thing is yet,

like I'm not sure exactly who I am,

but I know this:

life is worth living

as long as your heart is still beating.

Crazy

They ask me,

what is it like to be crazy?

I'm sorry,

you must have mistaken me,

because I'm not crazy.

Manic?

Yes, sometimes I can be manic.

Depressed?

Yes.

Panic?

Oh yes, I've panicked.

But crazy,

not yet,

not me.

You must be crazy.

Do you feel me?

I feel freely.

So when the drums beat,

so, too, does my heart beat.

And when the babies cry,

so do my eyes cry.

So, yes,

when I walk down the street

I feel depressed if I see a friend reduced to begs,

and I feel alive when I see children playing and singing.

And yes,

sometimes I cry

when the world moves too fast.

And yes,

when the moonbeams

dance so perfectly on my chest,

I feel bold.

If that's crazy,

then I am crazy.

But, tell me, who's crazy-

The one with or without

the audacity to live?

Do not let them know your thought.

Do not let them know your thought.

If in the dark their whispers ask,

then hide, hide fully your heart.

When we were lovers we dearly sought

to stay abstained of their repressive caste.

Do not let them know your thought.

Naked in your arms they caught

me and reprimanded me too fast.

So hide, hide fully your heart.

Men to women we are taught;

Class to class to make the system last.

Do not let them know your thought.

And others before us have bravely fought,

but lost to hatred, fear, and darkness.

So hide, hide fully your heart.

But for you I broadcast:

Fuck society and its masks.

Then, Lover, let them know your thoughts,

and never, never hide your heart.

a voice mail for Mom

Yes, Mom,

I am a tortured artist,

because when I cry

I don't need a reason why.

When I cry it is like there is a hole

gnawing at my chest

and the only way to fill

it is to sob.

When I cry people ask

Are you okay?

and no,

I'm not o-fucking-kay.

I feel like I am dying,

drowning in undefined pain.

But you want to know why?

Why do I cry?

I cry because I'm afraid.

I cry because when the feeling

starts I don't know if it

will ever stop.

Daddy

Daddy won't be happy.

30,000 dollars

for that school,

30,000 I pay.

We both know

he doesn't pay.

The loans pay.

It's borrowed money

for a rented life.

I'll be in an office soon

wishing to be back

in collegiate life.

Weights crash at my feet.

Who cares about a C

in four years of glee?

The first days of Autumn

It's cold.

An autumnal breeze cuts through my gray sweater

to chill my bones in spite of their fleshy protection.

There's moisture in the air.

I feel it as pin-pricks on the bare skin of my face.

I came outside to sit for the cold-

to feel the cold.

My empty emotions exuding

what nature is producing,

its frost a reflection of my

jaded thoughts.

I used to feel empathetically-

the warmth of a summer's kiss extended

to others in an understanding of connectivity.

I lost that feeling.

Blown out by the gale that this Fall

is beginning to produce regularly.

Pelting drops- large heavy doses

of cruelty lofted in the direction

of those around me.

Do not surround me.

For I will feel what you feel

but I want only to know my pain.

It is too soon to feel guilty for

speaking as an ass to you.

Too soon to feel happy for

rays of sun after autumnal gloom.

It couldn't hurt

It couldn't hurt...

it couldn't hurt.

not me

not this

not now

not ever

it couldn't hurt to try

anymore than to cry

Attention! My passion

what does it mean not to remember what living means?

what does it mean to have dreams dying to vie for your attention?

ATTENTION!

your eyes and ears can give no assurance to my fears.

to be assuaged, I have to find my own passion

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.

poems live where life is and yet I have no life living quietly in this sin. So what am I to do? give up me to become you? just so I can have these damn words to write on this forsaken forgotten paper? do you believe me to be that shallow as if I am the waters we are wading in

I'm not your savior I'm not your shining star what if I'm not a doctor what if I don't succeed will I be your failure? will you disown me?

what right do their pressures have to command me my life is not your blank pages to write as you see best fit what am I? your mindless beast? to do your will unwittingly? I want to sing. I want to dance. I want to break your iron-clad chains I want to find my own will's way.

logan heart is indifferent to the feelings and emotions of others not in the sense that he doesn't care just that he doesn't care for at the moment your pain only increases my apathy yes apathy i can use the word if i so please i don't govern based on your lease why is it that we don't speak yes you who spends his time gabbing away do you not notice me or do you simply not care for my existence ahh i see you simply don't care for my appearance sorry if i didn't come across as nice i simply don't give a shit i rent emotions but i don't pay

i don't care to write about love when love only brings painful thoughts of your mystery do you care do you really? why'd you bug me did you really? thoughts of pain and jokes about hate what is it to you what I do if i turn right is it wrong to pirouette on left?

point plie stretch through first to second explode opposition hips pause one down up slide can i just dance if i feel it it will look best