It takes a shade of lipstick
To acknowledge me
That we are unknowing now
Unknowingly
It gets stranger
We're stranger, once a danger
To my identity
I'm counting inventory
Just to maintain
Some sensory
Once natural, elementary
Once a wonder from your company
Now more cumbersome to a degree
Searching for the sound of your voice
By choice
That was fully equipped
Fully enriched
Words that lay
Behind that new shade of lips
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Just, If I
This is me, in the heart of fall
Coldness lurks, death’s frantic call
And this stillness shakes me
Reflecting on things that break me
Crushing the spirit, but in the end
It makes me
And I don’t even know it
Like a true spoken poet
Stumbling since I was born
Clothes worn get so worn
Torn
By the sacrifices for greater good
Sometimes unaccepting yet always understood
And if I could
I’d choose a path well justified
If not at the time, then at the end
Besides,
It’s just, if I
Could be aware, well then
I’d feel spared
Broken,
Or rather, temporarily impaired
But is it not so?
Amidst all my woes,
I’m here, with less fear
And all my fingers and toes
And in turn, all my paths Undeniable
Justifiable
Through and through
Sweet tragedies, renewed
And regret is but a debt
That is way over due
Respectively
I’m repressed free
Earning my yearnings
War wounds of stories
And as I’ve written before
Nothing less, nothing more
To the core
Extensively
Expense free
This is me. This is me.
Coldness lurks, death’s frantic call
And this stillness shakes me
Reflecting on things that break me
Crushing the spirit, but in the end
It makes me
And I don’t even know it
Like a true spoken poet
Stumbling since I was born
Clothes worn get so worn
Torn
By the sacrifices for greater good
Sometimes unaccepting yet always understood
And if I could
I’d choose a path well justified
If not at the time, then at the end
Besides,
It’s just, if I
Could be aware, well then
I’d feel spared
Broken,
Or rather, temporarily impaired
But is it not so?
Amidst all my woes,
I’m here, with less fear
And all my fingers and toes
And in turn, all my paths Undeniable
Justifiable
Through and through
Sweet tragedies, renewed
And regret is but a debt
That is way over due
Respectively
I’m repressed free
Earning my yearnings
War wounds of stories
And as I’ve written before
Nothing less, nothing more
To the core
Extensively
Expense free
This is me. This is me.
Friday, August 19, 2011
The Best When Depressed
Although this sentence is being read seamlessly by your eyes right now, the time it took for me to put it together was frustratingly long. No, I’m not a slow typer but I’m at a place in my life where I can’t seem to write; more accurately, I can’t seem to finish any piece that I start. Call it writer’s block if you will but I think there’s more to it. So after countless unfinished sentences I’ve decided to force myself to write about something. Anything. Take it back to elementary school, you know? Book report style.
I read an article recently about a theory surrounding depression and how it may not be an illness. In fact, the author, who’s name I can’t recall anymore, stated that he actually would categorize depression as a skill for survival; a tool for evolution. He goes on to say that when someone is depressed, they dwell on their problems. They analyze it. The focus alone will eventually lead to ways of resolving the problem. Which makes sense. I can definitely see a homeless man inventing something beneficial to society, like a cardboard waterproof vest as oppose to some rich spoiled Hollywood kid. Which would also explain how cave men invited fire and such. I can picture it now.
“Hey Larry, wanna go hunting?”
“No…”
“What is up with you man? Seems like you never want to do anything in the winter!”
“What is up with me? What is up with me!? I’ll tell you what the fuck is up with me, Travis! Unfortunately, I wasn’t born with chest hair like you! Which means that I get bad coughs every fucking time I go out hunting in the snow! And my teeth! Look at them! They aren’t as sharp as yours either so I don’t need to hunt! I can’t even chew that raw meat! I just pick these damn berries all day long! Which doesn’t do much for my ego and I just cry myself to sleep at night, which actually works out because thanks to the exhaustion from crying, the freezing nights can’t wake me!”
“What are those words you’re using. foock-ing? What is that?”
“Fucking? I don’t know man. I’m so angry lately and that sound seems to help. Nothing else does.”
“Wow, that’s depressing.”
“Yeah…I’ve been thinking about it a lot. We need to invent fire, sweaters and cough syrup.”
“Ok man….Hey, on another note, can you help me write a poem about how I’m feeling. Lately, I haven’t been able to write anything. And you’ve got like a whole novel over there on your wall. Love the stick figure that’s stabbing himself, by the way.”
“Thanks. It’s because you’re happy Travis. She was a good catch.”
“Who? That bear I killed the other day?”
“No, your new girlfriend.”
“Yeah, we are definitely not fucking.”
“….doesn’t sound as good in that context for some reason.”
“Yeah, true. We’ll work on that one.”
I read an article recently about a theory surrounding depression and how it may not be an illness. In fact, the author, who’s name I can’t recall anymore, stated that he actually would categorize depression as a skill for survival; a tool for evolution. He goes on to say that when someone is depressed, they dwell on their problems. They analyze it. The focus alone will eventually lead to ways of resolving the problem. Which makes sense. I can definitely see a homeless man inventing something beneficial to society, like a cardboard waterproof vest as oppose to some rich spoiled Hollywood kid. Which would also explain how cave men invited fire and such. I can picture it now.
“Hey Larry, wanna go hunting?”
“No…”
“What is up with you man? Seems like you never want to do anything in the winter!”
“What is up with me? What is up with me!? I’ll tell you what the fuck is up with me, Travis! Unfortunately, I wasn’t born with chest hair like you! Which means that I get bad coughs every fucking time I go out hunting in the snow! And my teeth! Look at them! They aren’t as sharp as yours either so I don’t need to hunt! I can’t even chew that raw meat! I just pick these damn berries all day long! Which doesn’t do much for my ego and I just cry myself to sleep at night, which actually works out because thanks to the exhaustion from crying, the freezing nights can’t wake me!”
“What are those words you’re using. foock-ing? What is that?”
“Fucking? I don’t know man. I’m so angry lately and that sound seems to help. Nothing else does.”
“Wow, that’s depressing.”
“Yeah…I’ve been thinking about it a lot. We need to invent fire, sweaters and cough syrup.”
“Ok man….Hey, on another note, can you help me write a poem about how I’m feeling. Lately, I haven’t been able to write anything. And you’ve got like a whole novel over there on your wall. Love the stick figure that’s stabbing himself, by the way.”
“Thanks. It’s because you’re happy Travis. She was a good catch.”
“Who? That bear I killed the other day?”
“No, your new girlfriend.”
“Yeah, we are definitely not fucking.”
“….doesn’t sound as good in that context for some reason.”
“Yeah, true. We’ll work on that one.”
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Oh Life, Tell Me a Story
Oh Life,
Tell me a story
But please don’t bore me
And spare me
The carries
Of noble allegories
They do nothing for me
At the moment
Most potent
Are the damaged
And the broken
For I’m older
Colder
And for the most part, outspoken
Yet, accepting
exceptions
To even sounds so deafening
For these stains
Are still gains
No matter where we step in
Cause intentions justify
The inventions of white lies
And grey paints rapid
Whether in t-shirts or business ties
And love
Oh love
Will drive our souls
But intention is
The weapon,
Has a stronger hold
So this story
These tears
Need understanding
Real near
So hand written
Or typed
Tell me a story
Oh life.
Tell me a story
But please don’t bore me
And spare me
The carries
Of noble allegories
They do nothing for me
At the moment
Most potent
Are the damaged
And the broken
For I’m older
Colder
And for the most part, outspoken
Yet, accepting
exceptions
To even sounds so deafening
For these stains
Are still gains
No matter where we step in
Cause intentions justify
The inventions of white lies
And grey paints rapid
Whether in t-shirts or business ties
And love
Oh love
Will drive our souls
But intention is
The weapon,
Has a stronger hold
So this story
These tears
Need understanding
Real near
So hand written
Or typed
Tell me a story
Oh life.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Death Makes a Leap
My morning eye lids shuts by death
It breathes right next to me
And support, it seems, has up and left
Based on the absence words received
I inhale strong, drowsy with an overdose
Of urgency to build myself
Scratch my mark so to be tangible
And not as a cry for help
Push secret deep in pockets, steep
So that those I love won’t mourn
And trivial things that use to win
Brush aside as I am reborn
Mother please, amongst the disease
Think me not anything more than a son
For this bed may swallow all I am
But it can’t erase all that I’ve done
It breathes right next to me
And support, it seems, has up and left
Based on the absence words received
I inhale strong, drowsy with an overdose
Of urgency to build myself
Scratch my mark so to be tangible
And not as a cry for help
Push secret deep in pockets, steep
So that those I love won’t mourn
And trivial things that use to win
Brush aside as I am reborn
Mother please, amongst the disease
Think me not anything more than a son
For this bed may swallow all I am
But it can’t erase all that I’ve done
Another Chance for Better
Mother,
The silhouette
Of a moment in time
A joyous embrace
Of unconditional proportion
Flashes in the image of you
As it once did for us
Mother,
Within your arms lies a new beginning
In little hands and feet
A second chance for me
To appreciate your nature
That was forgotten in older things
Father,
I yearn to be that guidance
More than I once denied it
And in its little cries
I'll deliver understanding
And acceptance
Father,
It'll be better than all of us
See things we'll never know
Carry us in its eyes, it's lips
In blood and name
Mistakes and blames
Mother,
Father,
It will be me
As I am you
The silhouette
Of a moment in time
A joyous embrace
Of unconditional proportion
Flashes in the image of you
As it once did for us
Mother,
Within your arms lies a new beginning
In little hands and feet
A second chance for me
To appreciate your nature
That was forgotten in older things
Father,
I yearn to be that guidance
More than I once denied it
And in its little cries
I'll deliver understanding
And acceptance
Father,
It'll be better than all of us
See things we'll never know
Carry us in its eyes, it's lips
In blood and name
Mistakes and blames
Mother,
Father,
It will be me
As I am you
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Answering Without Question
The cold doctor's office feels like a jail cell; a single-bed-like apparatus locates to the left of where I sit; a sink to my right. Turn the chair I'm on into a toilet and I'll be gripping my soap a little tighter if you pick up what I'm putting down. I'll give you a hint, it's not the soap. Did I mention that this room is cold as hell?
The doctor's footstep approaches the shut door to my cell. He pauses to look at my file before letting himself in.
"Ok buddy," he starts, "I got some good news. Item number one; your back is fine. Here's a letter for you to get an MRI on a bone scan for your leg instead. My prediction is it's your sciatic nerve, which can be treated much easier than a back injury. Item number two; the blood that was found on your little friend there is nothing sexually transmitted. It's just a tear; like if you got a paper cut on your finger. Now let me have a quick look and you're all done."
I undo my jeans in front of my audience of a doctor and the cold unforgiving furniture and expose the wound south of the border. "It's really cold in here huh?"
"um not really pal." he replies as he inspects.
Asshole. "Well I'm going to go to the gym after to pump some iron. Then I'm going hunting just for sport and if I have some time later I'm going to--, do you want to go to a warmer room while we do this? It’s just that--"
"Hey," he says softly taking my hand and looking me in the eye, which is quite uncomfortable when my pants are down. "I'm your doctor. You don't have to prove anything to be, ok? Now zip it up. We're done. Just no activities for a few weeks ok?"
"Thanks, doc." I said, and gangsta limped myself outta there.
Do you find yourself wasting your breathe trying to prove something to people who you never really had to answer to in the first place? Like an ex-girlfriend that could care less about you now or some gang members who never will? Or maybe it's a doctor that never really questioned you to begin with? Let's save this energy for something positive. Yeah?
The doctor's footstep approaches the shut door to my cell. He pauses to look at my file before letting himself in.
"Ok buddy," he starts, "I got some good news. Item number one; your back is fine. Here's a letter for you to get an MRI on a bone scan for your leg instead. My prediction is it's your sciatic nerve, which can be treated much easier than a back injury. Item number two; the blood that was found on your little friend there is nothing sexually transmitted. It's just a tear; like if you got a paper cut on your finger. Now let me have a quick look and you're all done."
I undo my jeans in front of my audience of a doctor and the cold unforgiving furniture and expose the wound south of the border. "It's really cold in here huh?"
"um not really pal." he replies as he inspects.
Asshole. "Well I'm going to go to the gym after to pump some iron. Then I'm going hunting just for sport and if I have some time later I'm going to--, do you want to go to a warmer room while we do this? It’s just that--"
"Hey," he says softly taking my hand and looking me in the eye, which is quite uncomfortable when my pants are down. "I'm your doctor. You don't have to prove anything to be, ok? Now zip it up. We're done. Just no activities for a few weeks ok?"
"Thanks, doc." I said, and gangsta limped myself outta there.
Do you find yourself wasting your breathe trying to prove something to people who you never really had to answer to in the first place? Like an ex-girlfriend that could care less about you now or some gang members who never will? Or maybe it's a doctor that never really questioned you to begin with? Let's save this energy for something positive. Yeah?
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