I’m a poet. That is what I am.
13 Jul 2011 Leave a Comment
in on me
I’m in need of poetry –
Of words bending and flowing
and tugging at the strings of my heart.
I’m in need of poetry –
Of her eyes shinning and smiling
and filling me with their warmth.
I’m in need of poetry –
Of warm summer breezes
and walks along the ocean-side.
I’m in need of poetry –
Of talks about hearts and hands
and how we all need a little faith.
I’m in need of poetry –
Of you talking to me
and me talking to you,
of stories coming together
and colliding into one.
I’m in need of poetry,
because I’m in need of you.
Fuck-Up
13 Jul 2011 Leave a Comment
in on me
The smoke fills my chest.
White clouds distorting faces
as the haze fills the room.
I blow out.
The tightness in my chest releases
and with it my head and inhibitions.
I am floating.
Jazz music grounds me
as the room empties.
I grasp to its words,
looking for something with meaning.
All I know now is pleasure.
It feels good.
It is good.
Those words, though,
have substance –
something solid to fill
my holes.
If a clock could count down to the moment you meet your soul mate, would you want to know?
02 Jun 2011 Leave a Comment
Part of me says yes, and part of me says no. I believe that the anxiety over finding someone would be significantly reduced if I knew who I was to fall in love with. However, I also think that takes away from the magic of it, ya know?
What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever been given, and who gave it to you?
02 Jun 2011 Leave a Comment
in not poetry, on living
“Ride the weird.” –Daniel
When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?
31 May 2011 Leave a Comment
in not poetry
Depends on the age. Before third grade I was pretty set on being a pilot. From third grade until I was twenty I was pretty set on being an orthopedic surgeon. Weird, right?
I’m still Patrick
23 Jan 2011 Leave a Comment
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.
Things to Work on
23 Jan 2011 Leave a Comment
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.
Dear God, Remake Me
23 Jan 2011 Leave a Comment
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?
Jake
23 Jan 2011 Leave a Comment
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
my writer’s block interrupted by a back spasm
23 Jan 2011 Leave a Comment
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.
