It's a quiet night for a walk.
Each step takes me farther past my lies.
A step for fear.
A step for courage.
A step for hating myself.
A step for love.
A step for drugs.
A step for pretending that I'm not.
A step for jobs.
A step for doubt.
A step for everything I'm not.
A step for death.
A step for life.
A step for inviting you in with open arms.
A step for a step.
A run.
A sprint.
A leap.
A jump.
A landing to the person I am.
I take a handful,
throw it in the air,
and watch the glitter in the snow.
"Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart." – Confucius
Monday, January 24, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Are you ready for the date partyyyy???
Yes, Annie, I'm ready. It's a little weird that you asking me on formspring.
Would you rather be a great athlete, artist, or musician?
artist. I know I can't be great at the other two, and I would really love to be published.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
I'm still Patrick
The rapid succession of breaths
masks the tears streaming down his face.
I can't do this.
I can't do this.
I can't do this.
He mutters to himself as he sits
curled in a ball on his floor.
He rocks back and forth as if the motion
will somehow make him forget his emotion.
I can't do this.
I can't do this.
I can't do this anymore.
His heart pounds and he feels it in his chest.
His mind races, looking for a solution.
But he can't do this.
He can't do this.
He can't do this at all.
New failures and new disgraces,
a new year filled with old hopeless
mutterings of his old mantra.
I can't do this.
I can't do this.
I can't do this.
NO MORE
No more failures.
No more fuck ups.
No more hatred.
No more racing.
No more tears.
No more faking.
No more masking what I'm feeling.
Fuck this panic.
Fuck this crazy.
Fuck this emotion that I'm feeling.
Fuck the old year and its meaning.
I am learning.
I am growing.
I am making myself earn it.
I deserve it.
Because.
I can do this.
I can do this.
I can do this.
Let's go.
masks the tears streaming down his face.
I can't do this.
I can't do this.
I can't do this.
He mutters to himself as he sits
curled in a ball on his floor.
He rocks back and forth as if the motion
will somehow make him forget his emotion.
I can't do this.
I can't do this.
I can't do this anymore.
His heart pounds and he feels it in his chest.
His mind races, looking for a solution.
But he can't do this.
He can't do this.
He can't do this at all.
New failures and new disgraces,
a new year filled with old hopeless
mutterings of his old mantra.
I can't do this.
I can't do this.
I can't do this.
NO MORE
No more failures.
No more fuck ups.
No more hatred.
No more racing.
No more tears.
No more faking.
No more masking what I'm feeling.
Fuck this panic.
Fuck this crazy.
Fuck this emotion that I'm feeling.
Fuck the old year and its meaning.
I am learning.
I am growing.
I am making myself earn it.
I deserve it.
Because.
I can do this.
I can do this.
I can do this.
Let's go.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Things to Work on
audio
These eyes are dammed--
built up from the weeks of unfeeling
bullshit.
My eyes are brown.
They have been for years.
It's all the shit they hide.
You think that's a smile.
You think I want to laugh.
I WANT TO CRY
I want to cry for every person
who ever learned
words can always hurt me.
These sticks, these tones,
they scar and burn me.
These words cut me
like razors across the soft
skin of my wrists.
I want to cry.
I want to cry for mothers who will never see their sons,
and fathers their daughters.
I want to cry for custody battles.
I want to cry for the soldiers on the fields.
I want to cry for anyone suffering,
for mental disorders and psychopharmacology.
I want to cry for Zoloft and Paxil and Ambien and Prozac
Abilify and Lexapro and
not feeling a FUCKING THING.
I want to cry for you ripping and pulling and shredding my heart.
I want to cry for the God that disappeared on me.
I want to cry,
and this long sigh,
this is me knowing I can't.
I can't cry.
I cannot ever, ever let these tears fall,
because I have to be strong.
It's a promise I made.
A man says forever,
and I won't walk away.
These eyes are dammed--
built up from the weeks of unfeeling
bullshit.
My eyes are brown.
They have been for years.
It's all the shit they hide.
You think that's a smile.
You think I want to laugh.
I WANT TO CRY
I want to cry for every person
who ever learned
words can always hurt me.
These sticks, these tones,
they scar and burn me.
These words cut me
like razors across the soft
skin of my wrists.
I want to cry.
I want to cry for mothers who will never see their sons,
and fathers their daughters.
I want to cry for custody battles.
I want to cry for the soldiers on the fields.
I want to cry for anyone suffering,
for mental disorders and psychopharmacology.
I want to cry for Zoloft and Paxil and Ambien and Prozac
Abilify and Lexapro and
not feeling a FUCKING THING.
I want to cry for you ripping and pulling and shredding my heart.
I want to cry for the God that disappeared on me.
I want to cry,
and this long sigh,
this is me knowing I can't.
I can't cry.
I cannot ever, ever let these tears fall,
because I have to be strong.
It's a promise I made.
A man says forever,
and I won't walk away.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Dear God, Remake Me
I sit in my room listening to the music of my friends
and I notice that I want to be different.
Not from them, but from myself.
There's so much music on Tumblr today.
There's such a need for music today.
In my head there's a void to be filled.
Do you remember when I was BRILLIANT?
It's hard for me to reminisce
It's hard for me...
I want to dance. Do you understand?
I want something to occupy my whole being.
I hate when people ask if that makes sense.
Does that make sense?
I hate myself, but you can't save me.
You, tall, redhead, and freckled cannot save me.
Neither can you.
No one can save me.
Do I need saving?
and I notice that I want to be different.
Not from them, but from myself.
There's so much music on Tumblr today.
There's such a need for music today.
In my head there's a void to be filled.
Do you remember when I was BRILLIANT?
It's hard for me to reminisce
It's hard for me...
I want to dance. Do you understand?
I want something to occupy my whole being.
I hate when people ask if that makes sense.
Does that make sense?
I hate myself, but you can't save me.
You, tall, redhead, and freckled cannot save me.
Neither can you.
No one can save me.
Do I need saving?
Jake
18 and hearing me
without any chance of sound
to be alive without a doubt
he'll be the best that he can be
self confidence from years of doubt
means that he knows what he's about
and that's a smile, a silly joke,
a heart of love behind a mask
but still you see if you try
that someone cares when you cry
without any chance of sound
to be alive without a doubt
he'll be the best that he can be
self confidence from years of doubt
means that he knows what he's about
and that's a smile, a silly joke,
a heart of love behind a mask
but still you see if you try
that someone cares when you cry
Monday, January 10, 2011
my writer's block interrupted by a back spasm
Next to Normal plays as I lay
on the ground of my dormitory box.
The music is slightly sad and picked
for the purpose of an angsty mood.
The scene includes past and present
journals strewn about the floor.
I read the old and stare at the new.
The snow is heavy and there's nothing to do,
like there's nothing in my head.
There's nothing in my head.
I move to stretch my back
and pain shoots down my spine--
neurons telling me that was a bad idea.
I wish they would warn me first.
Like, when there was a knock on the door
that I could have ignored.
But I opened it and you walked in.
I opened it and you walked in.
And now you need what I can't give.
There's music playing in your head.
It says love will come, but it's not here.
It says pain will end, but it is here.
This is pain, shooting through you,
and I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
on the ground of my dormitory box.
The music is slightly sad and picked
for the purpose of an angsty mood.
The scene includes past and present
journals strewn about the floor.
I read the old and stare at the new.
The snow is heavy and there's nothing to do,
like there's nothing in my head.
There's nothing in my head.
I move to stretch my back
and pain shoots down my spine--
neurons telling me that was a bad idea.
I wish they would warn me first.
Like, when there was a knock on the door
that I could have ignored.
But I opened it and you walked in.
I opened it and you walked in.
And now you need what I can't give.
There's music playing in your head.
It says love will come, but it's not here.
It says pain will end, but it is here.
This is pain, shooting through you,
and I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
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