Revelation

He's just not that into you..

Shit! Not again,
My heart sinks every time I hear that little voice because I can ignore it if I dare...but its always true.
And always you, beautifully enticing and surprisingly persuasive, mute that voice.
Loud and bold are your empty advances, lost chances, almost romances...
But this time...
I'm not that into you either.

The Day You Walked By

Would you believe me if I told you I was insecure?
That I second guessed myself after I sent the text and waited by the phone for a response.
I am not always as strong as I seem, in fact sometimes I feel quite weak...and forgotten.
One day I'm a leper, the next day I'm spoiled rotten.
Would you believe me if I said my feelings change like the tides?
And that the only day I almost cried was that rainy Monday when you walked by, head high, talking to some guy.
The contents of the conversation were irrelevant, still you chose to ignore my presence, and it sent a chill down my spine.
You found it so easy to push me aside, how could I cry?
Tears wouldn't change that Monday.
Or every Monday after that when I stood in the same spot you saw me in, staring at the people walking by.
Hoping that maybe in that spot I could become invisible to them, like I was to you the day you walked by.
Hope. Such a childish fantasy, I should have outgrown it by now..
But it is the last strand of a perfect romance and I clench it in my fist, knuckles turning white, refusing to loosen my grip.
Don't judge me.
Don't you dare judge me.
You are me.

Timothy and Joshua

I have two friends named Timothy and Joshua.
They are Cuckoo Heads.
Two peas in a pod they are.
As looney as a tune and as wacky as snow in June.
They're brothers till the end and partners in crime.
And they can sneak up behind my chair and scare me every time.
Timothy hates Velveeta, but he knows silly bands like a champ.
Joshua loves baseball, he probably even goes to baseball camp.
They are two of the best friends I ever could have known.
And when I look back to when we first met, I see how much they've grown.

Powerless

I need to stop trying to ignore it.
Tucked away in the recesses of my mind, in a box labeled “stuff” is you.
I had to do this.
I needed to hide you from myself, smash you in a box with a conspicuous label and shove you under a bunch of things I never look at.
See I'm not one for pain.
It grips me like a huge wrench and grinds me into a helpless, crying heap of flesh and emotions.
I hate it.
And this “relationship” (that's as far as I'll go to label it) is like pain on a stick beating the life out of me with every new day.
The problem is that I thought it was over.
I thought if I just got over you, on to another one, that I could ignore what was always there.
I can't.
Its becoming more and more apparent to me that I loved you all along.
All along.
I couldn't explain the fascination at first.
Maybe like a new toy or a good book.
But it grew into admiration, adoration, agitation.
Do you know what it's like to love unconditionally? Unrequitedly?
Of course not.
But I do.
To love, and to wish to be loved back.
To expect to be loved back.
To believe you are loved back.
Is like waiting for a train that will never come.
The tracks are rusted, the station deserted, yet the eager traveler stands at the edge of the platform peering into the distance, convinced the train is just over the horizon.
Its pathetic.
I was pathetic.
I can't promise I won't be pathetic again.
But I will try.
I hate the way you make me feel.
Powerless.

Hedonism

Hedonism. Pleasure over pain. A lifestyle worthy of the gods. That's just it. Are we worthy? Are we mere mortals worthy of a lifestyle created for the pursuit of pure pleasure? Pleasure that surpasses any pain we could ever experience? Well, whether we are worthy of this lifestyle or not, we, as human beings, chose to live hedonistic lifestyles. This choice is made in infancy when we are taught that we cannot have each and every thing we want whenever we want it. As babies, our first contact with the adult world is through our pleas for attention and the immediate and accurate responses they receive. As we grow and are able to fulfill our own needs, we are no longer the center of attention and must cope with the fact that we are susceptible to the trials and tribulations of the world. This hurts. It hurts like hell. We are instantly shoved from our fluffy little clouds of perfection and plummet thousands of feet into reality. At least thats what happens to most of us. Some are able to float on those clouds for awhile longer, but the longer they float, the harder they fall.
Here is where we decide to be hedonists. Because we realize that we cannot possibly have each and every thing we want whenever we want it, we decide to focus our energies on the things that bring us pleasure while simultaneously allowing us to forget the pain. Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll are all tools of hedonists. But we can add money and power to the list too. Now, arguably so, everybody can be considered hedonists. Who doesn't want to be happy? But its deeper than that. Hedonism is a way of life. A philosophy if you will. A simple idea that determines the way a person thinks, acts, reacts, and defines themselves.

Is this bad? Is it terrible for someone to live their life for the sole pursuit of personal pleasure? Arguments can be made for either side, but I, for one, believe nothing can be wrong with a little happiness. :)

Respect

Confusion. Disillusion. Disregard.
Silly me. I thought that maybe in a household that supposedly honors the hierarchy of age, I would have leverage over one younger than I.
Not even leverage so much as respect.
Is it too much for me to ask?
When I go out of my way to create a positive relationship with you.
Maybe that's the problem.
Would it be easier to demand respect of you if I hadn't worked so hard to make you feel equal to me?
If I treated you like a nuisance, a bother, and therefore an insolent useless factor in my life, would you be more apt to treat me with respect?
I have noticed you have a certain disdain for authority, and as a rebel myself, I respect that.
And I respect you.
Regardless of the many disrespectful, dishonorable and despicable things you do to me.
Am I a fool?
I should think not.
I take pride in the fact that I remain civil and respectful to you while you deliberately flout my authority as your elder, even as a human being.
I suffer these injuries from no one silently.
No one that is, except you.
Maybe its because I find it distasteful that I should even have to ask you to respect me in light of everything we are.
Or everything I thought we were.
Or everything we pretend to be.
Lies.
All of it.
You do not love me.
You do not honor me.
You do not respect me.
And now, finally, I know it to be true.

These Hands

Born empty-handed
The verve of life snatched from my bosom.
I die empty-handed.
Stolen from the cruelty of a society uninterested in my lack thereof.
I witness life at its fullest empty-handed.
These hands, filled with only lines and scars, stretch outward toward the sky and receive each drop of light as if it were the last.
These hands reach down into the Earth and are warmed by the life of the soil.
These hands beautifully craft masterpieces, made to be felt and not seen.
Seen, but not heard is the lattice-work created by these hands, large enough for those hands to lose themselves in.
These hands empty as the clear sky, with intentions just as high. These hands were made to fly.
And fly they will.
Across the pages of papers, essays, novels, poems, prose.
Across the lives of the young, old, wealthy and destitute.
Across the hearts of the good the bad and the ugly.
These hands were made to create.
Watch them work.

Courage

If I had the courage, I'd tell you that you are beautiful.
From the way your eyes disappear with glee when you laugh, to the way you purse your lips while deep in thought.
From the way you twist your fingers to the scars on each one, symbolizing yet another amazing feat you accomplished.
The way you say my name, the way you say your own name. So simple, yet with the power to move every mountain that surrounds the heavily guarded fortress I call my heart.
Some how I always knew it would come to this.
This confession.
I could use every word in every dictionary in every language, and still couldn't describe the feeling that comes over me when I see you.
My heart actually skips a beat.
I feel it flutter.
Then my breath quickens with my pulse.
As I recall our previous encounter a smirk creeps across my face and I begin to nibble on my bottom lip.
I wet my lips.
Praying that this act won't be in vain and they finally get the satisfaction of meeting yours.
All this happens in the second before we embrace.
I clear my mind of all these irrelevant factors and turn my attention to you.
You always have it.
All of it.
Even when you think I'm on my phone, or watching television.
You always have my full attention.
Painstakingly I watch and admire your beauty from a distance.
Never allowing myself to show you how I feel.
I must remain composed.
I must remain focused.
I know you have the ability to make me throw all sensibility out the window.
I also know that once I start I won't be able to stop.
So I wait.
Yet no matter how much it hurts, I can't let go.
I could never leave you.
Ever.
If you need me you know I'll be there.
Always.
If I had the courage, I would show you how much you mean to me.
But I'm afraid of losing you.
So I play your game, by your rules, and do everything in my power just to keep up.

Purposefully Untitled

When I try to write about you it never comes out poetically.
It always just spills out in a huge emotional blob.
Waterfall even.
Hoover freakin dam.
Because once I start, there's no stopping.
I wish I could tell you all that comes to my mind without losing it.
I wish you would tell me what I want to hear, and end my suffering.
Once and for all.
I can see the possibility of perfection, if we just let go of inhibition, and acquiesce to intuition.
See cause in my tummy, where there used to be butterflies, now reside mature fantasies, distant memories, lovely tendencies, and that little bit of jealousy.
This scares me.
I don't get jealous.
I make them get jealous.
I never knew I could be so protective of someone who needs virtually no protection.
But then again maybe you do.
You said you needed me.
I believe you because thats the easiest thing to do.
It also seems to be the only thing I can do.
For some reason I can't wrap my mind around the fact that you would ever intentionally hurt me.
I love the way that feels.
I feel like I could get lost with you.
I could lose myself to you.
In you.
For you.
Around you.
Within you.
I don't know what I'm saying, and I don't know how it sounds.
I feel like I'm talking in circles.
Around and Around I go.
But there's no stopping it.
Endless and repetitive merry-go-round.
I'm spinning.
I'm dizzy.
I'm yours.

Jesse

“Man, I don’t love them hoes,” he scoffed in the dim light of the room. The air was thick with smoke and indifference. His closest friends surrounded him, vaguely following the conversation with dazed smirks on their faces. It had been a long night. Longer than any night Jesse had seen in years. From school to work to the club to after parties to the liquor store to the alleys to the cab back to his home. He sat in semi-concentration, pondering on his last utterance. These words were all too familiar to his lips, but suddenly they disturbed him. Not enough to make him take them back, but just enough to keep him awake that night.
He didn’t love the hoes. He lived for the moment, and only the moment. He couldn’t care less about the feelings of this one or that one. They knew what they were getting into long before they got into it. How could they blame him for his nonchalance? He lay in his bed trying to convince himself that every one of the females deserved the treatment he gave. Each one managed to screw up one way or the other, and he knew that it was always only a matter of time before the new fling became the old thing. This never bothered him before. But oddly, the more he thought about it, he felt incomplete. He decided to call his mother.
“Hey Ma, uhm I was just calling to say hi. I know its pretty late but there was something on my mind and I wanted to talk to you about it. I guess I’ll just call back tomorrow. Love you…” was the message he left. Jesse decided he wouldn’t figure out this massive problem in one night and forced himself to sleep. Deep in slumber, a dream came to him. In this dream he was lost in the jungle, running madly from something. A creature maybe? He couldn’t tell for sure, but he knew he couldn’t stop running. Up ahead he saw a clearing in the trees and he felt grateful that maybe he could finally see what was chasing him. He reached the clearing, and came to an abrupt halt. The jungle ended and as he peered over the edge, the cliff he was standing on dropped 100 feet into raging rapids. Jesse panicked. He had nowhere to go. The thing would get him. He heard a rustling in the trees behind him signaling the approach of the foreboding. With no time to think Jesse crouches down into the fetal position. But just before he ducks his head he sees the thing leap over his head and take flight across the canyon to the other side. Jesse looks up to see what was chasing him. It was him. Well not exactly him. The him he was running from was a bit more valiant and proud. He held his head high in the morning sun and his smile betrayed a brilliance that only comes from inner peace. Jesse stood confused and stared at his better side. The figure across the canyon smiled, then turned around and kept running.
“BRRRRRIIIIINNNNNGGGG!!!” Jesse awoke to the ringing of the phone.
“Hello..” he groggily moaned.
“Hi baby! Did I wake you?” his mom’s shrill voice sang through the receiver.
“Uhmm yea, but it’s ok. How are you ma?”
“I’m fine baby. You know all I need is the Lord and my babies. How are you?”
“I thought I was ok, but I’m not so sure anymore. Can I ask you something ma?”
“Anything baby”
“You ever felt confused? Like about life in general?” Jesse asked, hoping he didn’t sound too ridiculous.
“Well, I’m not exactly sure what you mean Jay. Can you explain?”
“I don’t know Ma. Lately I’ve just been feeling like I haven’t been myself. Or the me I have been isn’t the me that I really am, if that makes any sense.”
“Oh, I see. Well baby, there’s only one thing you can do. You have to figure out who you are. Then decide to love yourself, no matter what anyone thinks.”
Jesse pauses for a long while, deep in thought, he’s interrupted by his mother.
“Baby? Are you still there?”
“Huh? Oh yea Ma, I was just thinking about what you said.”
“Oh I see. Well I’m glad to be of assistance. But Jay I have an appointment with Sister Harris, so can I call you back?”
“Oh sure, no prob. I love you Ma.”
“I love you more baby, bye-bye.”
Jesse listens to the phone click then slowly takes it away from his ear. Laying back on his pillow, he marinates in his mother’s advice. The thing that was eating him up was the fact that he didn’t really know who he was. He knew who his friends were, what his accomplishments had brought him, what his actions portrayed him as and even how he got to where he was. But who was he?

The Soul of my Heart and Body

My heart flies, but my body stays here.
My feet, firmly planted beneath me, reach deep down into the Earth, intertwining and interweaving, grabbing hold of the vibrancy that lives in the soil, and with it, I grow.
And as the sun comes up, I stretch my arms tall and wide, above the tops of the greenery to meet it. Its rays paint me golden, while I gratefully accept all my sun offers me. Drinking its light to protect myself from the dark.
When it rains, I am unworthy. The heavens open up, and liquid perfection drains from them. I soak up each drop with meaningful resolution and harness the power of this gentle, yet forceful element.

With these connections, I grow. I grow strong and tall. I grow fast and I grow peacefully. I am grounded. And still, as my heart flies, my body remains rooted to this Earth.

Blessed the gracefulness of a nighthawk, and the delicacy of a butterfly, my heart flies.
Into and out of danger it floats.
Barely escaping the grasp of hasty thieves, hoping to capture it, and frame its beauty.
It floats over streams and valleys, meadows, lakes, and mountains.
Through rain, sleet, hail, snow.
Through fire.
My rebellious heart battles this fire, knowing that victory may not result, willing to accept the burn of yet another battle scar.
The battle wages on war, and the flames get impatient. They are ready to devour my poor little heart.
Backed into a corner, I only have one thing to offer this monster. Love.

Love of self. Love of life. Love of love.

My heart emerges victorious because love is what its filled with. Love is what it carries so serenely through the landscapes and atmospheres of this world.
Love is what navigates it through the nights when its far from home, and the air grows cold. Love is what fuels it, to fly.

And fly.
And fly.

My heart flies.
but my body, remains rooted, to this Earth.

You Made Me

She was just a child, innocent and pure.
The elegance of her rhetoric and forward thinking had you under their spell, and you believed she was so far ahead of her time.
She perched, ladylike and effervescent, on your pedestal, proud was she to be the apple of your eye, at least until the next piece of ripe fruit made your mouth water.
Creative and inventive, she was impressed by your actions.
But alas, these things never last, and as quickly as it had begun, it was over.
Now she trusts no one. Selfish and impulsive, she puts her feelings first. If theirs get hurt in the process, they probably deserved.
She has no regrets, and she has no issue with their addiction to the poison. That’s a personal problem.
Her ideas are no longer innocent. Her motives no longer pure. Cruel intentions shaded by insincere smiles. She lives for the moment.
But don’t you dare judge her. You made her this way.

Then he came along and stole the stars just to make her eyes light up at night.
Like a whirlwind, he took her and spun her in circles, leaving a dizzy feeling that made her knees buckle when he smiled.
Carelessly, she threw away all the walls she had built up to protect herself, how else would she let him in?
And let him in she did. Foolishly believing that he’d let her in as well. That her walls wouldn’t be the only ones to shatter, sacrificing themselves for happiness.
And he fed into it, giving just enough to keep her coming back, never too much as to upset the balance of things.
A treacherous and slippery slope this thing called life becomes when we lose our senses. Dangerous and unchartered, the land of emotions is a vicious forest we fight not to get lost in.
He was the one that got away. The one that, for all intents and purposes, could have made her weak.
But he was too far gone, just out of her reach, and steadily moving further and further away.
Chasing him was out of the question, so she made the first adult decision of her life…she let him go.
But it wasn’t that simple.
For, he left a void, a space that needed to be filled. A lie that needed to be told.
So she became the pretty, poisonous flower that’s attracts most passersby, warning them to stay away. But do they listen?
Logically, they choose to fall, they choose to take another hit. And she obliges.
With no remorse, she feeds their habits.
But you, don’t judge her.
For you made her this way.

As in uffish thought I stood...

I thought it'd never be the same, once I had gone against the grain and played by my own rules.
Who's to say I hadn't invested my feelings into it equally?
I just knew when to take my light back, I knew I had to shine on my own once again.
It didn't make any sense to lose our heads when we had already put our hearts on the line.
Your's shot out the starting gate like a winning steed, mine a little slow at first, but soon in stride with yours.
This was the time when we had it all, and forever seemed to be found in each other's eyes.
In your arms were my inhibitions, and in my hand was your compassion.
What a delightful way to be.
Oh how I dreamt that we would be that way forever.
My dreams were haunted with images of you and I at our best, glowing from the inside out because we knew we had each other.
But times change.
And as swiftly as Spring had swept us up and carried us off into the green pastures to awe in its beauties, and Summer had whisked us away in a frenzy of heat, romance and unpredictability,
Fall came, with its crusting leaves and whipping winds to snatch the green from our pastures, and replace it with a dull brown.
Leaving us to attempt to regrow our seeds that normally thrived on sunshine.
Then the snow came.
Neither of us was prepared for such a season.
We grew colder with the thick of winter, and created a distance inhabited by frozen dreams, forgotten even after they thawed.
Nowadays we don't even know each other.
Sometimes I wonder...
what if we had never ventured?

Chocolate

Listening to this song reminds me of you. Putting on this shirt reminds me of you. Watching that video, reading that story, seeing those hats remind me of you. Eating this candy reminds me of you. You with your boyish smile that melts my heart and tells me you can do no wrong. You take this assumption of mine and run with it. While I’m admiring your ebony skin, you’re stand-offish attitude reels me in, and before I know it, I lose my motive. You said you’re too smooth to get lost in my eyes, but I never believed you. The fact of the matter is I’m as capable of rendering you powerless as you are me, so we struggle. We struggle and we fight because neither of us is selfless enough to give in to the other. Neither of us is strong enough to let the other take lead. I must admit, I’d let you take lead, if I thought you knew where to lead us. And the saga continues.

Then, every so often I lose interest, or am unable to give in where you want me to, and I tell myself I’m through. I’m through, and so are you for thinking I would ever go that far. That, however, only lasts a little while. Long enough for me to remember how adorable you are when you let me win. How much of me is lost when I see you. How much of me is taken when you walk away. Then I realize that I could never let you go, never lose this mountain of ambiguity that I am steadily climbing, positive that on the other side is peace, harmony, and chocolate. Endless chocolate. My addictive habits leak over into my sensibility, and before I know it, my face, my hands, my heart, are covered in chocolate. I need my daily dosage to stay sane. Delicious and sweet, the only time I ever regret our encounters is when my stomach is aching after an overdose.

If only I knew why you were so willing to share with me that which makes me fly, only to snatch it away when the delight of satisfaction is painted on my face. Then I feel used, abused, and ill at ease. I turn, with my tail between my legs and run back to my senses. They cradle me, and give me faith. I begin to believe that I am stronger than my addiction, and I want control again. I think I have it. I am content with the ball in my court. Then you saunter up to the hoop, begging me to play a game with you. One-on-one. How can I deny such a challenge? How can I turn my back on that sweet, innocent, delectable chocolate?

Sacrifices

Sacrifices are things we make even when we don't want to.  We make these sacrifices so that the people we care for know that we would go to great lengths to prove our devotion.  We may sacrifice our happiness, time, money, or even dreams.  The idea of willingly sacrificing is an amazing gesture for both parties.  Once you sacrifice for someone, the sacrifice you made becomes miniscule in comparison to the strengthened bond of the relationship.  In this light, sacrifice is good.  It allows one to show how deeply committed they are to a friend, family member, or love interest.  Sacrifice, under the proper guidance, is beautiful.

The beauty in sacrifice also lies in the reassurance that the person you sacrifice for will sacrifice for you.  Not that sacrifices should be made with this in mind, but to begin a relationship with someone in which the two of you are willing to sacrifice for each other is the epitome of good company.  If, however, you realize that the person is not willing to sacrifice in the manner that you did, or in any manner at all, pain is nearby.  Pain because its not easy to be out on a limb for someone, risking everything, and they refuse even to help you.  Pain because you feel alone and unworthy of the kindness and good treatment you bestowed upon said person.  Pain because you have sacrificed, and even in the light of disappointment, will sacrifice again, for that person's happiness; but who will sacrifice for yours?

I personally don't sacrifice much.  There are a chosen few people on the planet who I would truly sacrifice for.  Once I develop an attachment, whether it be romantic or platonic, to any person, I am willing to sacrifice for them because I enjoy their company.  For these chosen few, I would go to the ends of the Earth and back.  But would they do that for me?  My first encounter with this happened to me in elementary school when my brother's friends would tease me.  They would ridicule me and annoy me relentlessly when my brother wasn't around.  When I told him of this treatment, he plainly told me that he wouldn't give up his friends just because they made me mad.  My problem was in the fact that their willingness to disrespect me was a blatant display of their disrespect for him, and although I didn't want him to lose his friends, I had lost countless friends behind the same rules.  Needless to say I was hurt, but I learned quickly that just because you are willing to sacrifice for someone, doesn't guarantee reciprocity.

I was altogether shocked, however, to find myself in the same trap recently.  My prior exposure to such treatment allowed me to rationalize the situation, but the pain was the same.  I tend to find myself in this situation a lot.  For some reason I do the most for those who do the least for me.  This road is not one of flowers, daisies and sunshine.  But rather of false hopes, numerous disappointments and the strengthening of my resiliency.  Herein lies the problem.  Solutions anyone?   

Switch

Have you ever thought you liked somebody...until you met their best friend?

The story of my life.  For some reason I can never find the patience to wait for a better opportunity to present itself, I just accept the first offer.  A good business person would say to NEVER accept the first offer.  It's a sign of weakness and desperation. Now wait, I'm not desperate, I'd just rather have it all.  Have it all meaning I'd rather have the first offer, and also the second one too, when I'm ready.  But enough about me...

So, the obvious dilemma in the above situation is what to do.  Do you settle for the one you're with just to avoid drama and complication? Or do you go get what you want? Settling presents a few problems.  One, you're unhappy, like a child who sits outside the candy store with their face pressed to the glass.  Secondly, the person may really like you, whereas you're just being nice to save their feelings.  Thirdly, and most importantly, while your settling for second best, your opportunity for what you want can very well just pass you by.  I say this from experience because as was mentioned before...this is the story of my life.

Lets say that your a fighter, and settling for less than you're goal isn't an option for you.  Then of course you create a plan of action, and implement said plan.  Issues arise however, if the friend is loyal and whatnot, they might like you, but not be willing to act on it behind the guise of friendship.  This is bittersweet because although you love the fact that the person is loyal, you don't want to be on the wrong side of it.  Clearly, this situation can become sticky... 

Freshman Year

The most amazing, difficult, painful, joyous, chaotic, undefined and unrealistic journey there is. I found myself in places I would never have thought possible (double meaning). Where is that scared, shy at times, and sensitive adolescent that first set foot in the AUC in August? Honestly, I have no idea. I lost track of her so long ago, there's no point in wondering her whereabouts now. But she had to be ousted. I had to lose her hand to grasp my own future. I had to find the person I wanted to be, and introduce to the person I thought I'd never be. Combined with the woman my mother would be proud of, I created an individual. An individual who thinks less of consequences and revels more in the moment. An individual who's feelings are no longer on her sleeve. That was such a dangerous place for them to be. They were so easily affected by common elements that they had begun to lose their fervor. But alas, I rescued them and now the reside in the safety of their lair.

Freshman. Freshwoman is more like it. I coined this term when the feminism of the pearly gates infiltrated my judgment and I began to feel disrespected when people called me a man. Not too shabby huh? Well, behind this label I was able to charm more than a few and humor most. Now, however, I don't know what it means. Does it mean I'm fresh? Well in the urban vernacular sense of the word, I had always been fresh. Does it mean that I am rebelling against the institutions that place masculine labels and such in place in society to secretly keep control over all women? Ha. Thats a bit too excessive, even for a causeless revolutionary such as myself. Maybe its just my inner desire to always be set apart from the rest. My yearning to be considered unique. But a desire to be considered unique is disgraceful to those who truly are unique, whether others consider them as such or not. I am not altogether sure why I created this label, but I do know that it worked for the time being.

Now, as I matriculate beyond first-year status, credits, mistakes, and drama, I admire the journey I took to become who I am now. Not a shadow of regret lives in my heart. It was all worth it. Every smile, every giggle, every date, every denial, every tear, every double-booking, every time. Friends I made and lost before I knew why. Foes who became closer to me than the fake friends I had known. Friendship under the guise of physical attraction, and physical attraction that should've remained friendship. It was all worth it. I have hundreds of stories to tell, although I most likely never will. Some will be shared, and other will be taken to the grave as they say. But it was fun. All of it.

Dreams of a broken poet.

I just want to be deep.

I want to write something that inspires the general public and causes in uproar in the comfortability of the way things are.

I want to be a rebel with a cause worthy of fighting for, while my words ignite fiery and passionate resistance.

I want to be an influence, and push everybody under.

Maybe then you'll listen to me.

Listen and take heed instead of just smiling and nodding your head.

Listen to my dreams and believe me when I say they will change the world.

I want to be heard.

From the rooftops and mountaintops, from the basement to the attic, I want there to be static.

Maybe then you will cling.

Cling to my voice and it will guide you.

Of course you need to hear me first.

Ignorance

I'm trapped between the past and the future.
Whoever said there's no time like the present was right because there's no time like the present to wait for time to decide on what the future holds, or what lesson the past has to offer.
There's no time like the present and in the presence of this essence I must express the ambiguity that strangles my hand.
This hand.
The right one.
The one I live with.
The one I write with.
The one I die with.
I need it to be free.
Heaven forbid my hand stays strangled and these words go unwritten.
How shall I survive?
How do I find the surface I so desperately need to gather air before I delve back into this abyss we call pain?
The grip is tightening, and I can feel the bruises forming around my wrists.
The harder I fight, the tighter it gets, I'm losing for lack of complacency.
I lose because I know that its worth the fight.
I know that the pain now is easier to suffer through than the eternity of pain that bondage guarantees.
So I continue to fight.
But I am not alone.
Behind me is an army of warriors, equipped with weapons of mass destruction if they would only learn to use them.
For now we are at war with ourselves.
We haven't figured out how to use our weapons against this beast, so we bicker in frustration.
Each advance is followed by a humiliating retreat, and it feels as if we've lost valuable ground.
The enemy is closing in on us from all sides.
We've put our best soldiers on the front lines, but the lines are weakening.
Our passion is waning, and we are almost ready to accept defeat.
Just as the last sword is dropped I escape from my captor.
Valiant and proud I march into battle and am able to fight the enemy off for awhile.
But the pressure is too strong, I need help.
I can't win this alone.
I need my soldiers.
My soldiers need knowledge.
Knowledge.
Its the only thing that will fight off this massive assailant.
The only cure to this disease.
The only antidote to this poison.
The only light in this darkness.
We must use knowledge to fight this beast, and maybe one day we can win.
Maybe one day we will call ourselves the victors.
Maybe one day we will defeat this enemy we call ignorance.

Smile

Ignorance is bliss

and happiness is the pot of gold at the end of this rainbow.

We hold back tears to make others feel better, and once we let them go, they wash away our fears.

We fight battles and lose wars only to find out that we don't support what we're fighting for.

When in our lives will we be able to relish in the wonder of whats behind the next corner of our minds?

When will we find out that what we fight so hard to create, need only be harnessed as we are equipped with it?

When will we learn that we have everything we need, right here?