I cannot romanticise the fact
That I have no clue what I mean
My thoughts are an uncoordinated scramble
Here this
That
Something else
Something something
Something with meaning
Elusive words I pass through like mist
It is cloudy in my mind
I itch to knock on a door
And have it be Clarity who opens
But I only ever stand on the threshold
My feet glued to the ground
As a voice calls “come in!”

Perhaps when I
Warn myself
Of unrealistic fantasies and dreams
I forget that there
Is such a thing
As unrealistic nightmares
Too

If I were a painter
I would capture your likeness
When sat under yellow light
Playing games at the table
Or bathed in the flickering glow
Of a campfire underneath the night’s sky
Your skin a playing field
For different shades of red
So I might remember
With perfect clarity
Your contour that I could see
Sitting opposite of you

Even when no one on earth
wishes us together—
still, I will stand by you.
Facing the scorching sun,
without the aid of shade—
just a greenish feather.

I adore your might,
your lenses, and your sight.
However—what's on the façade?
Don't bring the cat out of the bag.
There is no need to be shy.
Let the world think they can defy
what we suffice with:
capabilities, resonance, and affection.
Like true pathfinders,
let's take that action.

Perplexed and astonished—
conjuring both of our minds.
Doubts and fears
are there too,
moving us out of the line.
Shed the scare.
Let's brim through the darkness,
out of the lair.

The path forward is something
you’ll never know until you walk on.
With a mightier pen in hand—
and no swords—
we challenge, we fight,
despite the odds.

all an irish catholic boy loves
to know the words from goddess
changing my religions

Intimidation across the nation,
High tension,
But don't mention,
Boats and woes of the misunderstood,
Angst and throes of the disheartened,
Of how we live, or where they reside,
Both sides against the same tide,
Against the will of the proportion,
Drunken fools without rules,
Pretending to defend the crown jewels,
Broken folk not from round these parts,
Struck by a brick cast by the thick,
Not sure who they're tying to scare,
Both sides said a prayer,
Don't leave it there,
We're all immigrants who came from somewhere,
It's not West side story,
Nor morning glory.

Perceiving and being
are two very different things
And I never know from which view you're seeing
I'm still trying to figure it all out
I don't feel like there's any direction I'm facing
it's making me feel dizzy
and a little ******* crazy
Losing grip; dreaming
where I only see silhouettes
that resemble memories  
Some that I recognize
and others that I don't
Like cigarette stained walls
that I can't scrub clean, it lingers
There's evidence of you existing everywhere
in my habits, in the weather
Today it feels like a boulder on my chest
and other days, like a feather