many little bits and pieces
are what create the whole
take a person, for example
body mind, and soul

every idea behind every word
are lonely letters near
until they form a distinct thought
confusion unto clear.

even this piece is made of bits
or random artful thoughts
strewn together in tragedy
love it or like it not-

every single thing you know
are made of tiny parts
and once you truly learn that friend
gift control over it's art.

Pray for Truth
n Prey on Lies,
what is a prayer if not worry's disguise?
and then what of said worry, now so clear in our eyes?

Pray that fate wont fail me now-
preying on doubts which always allow,
In worries disdain, the unwavering Tao,

to this critical prayer's
undone what-ifs and what-nows?

You proved that fear of failure is to be overcome
through such compelling creativity;
and that total dissatisfaction and unprecedented contentment,
well,
are within each of us already-
all we need to do is choose.

Here I am- still incomplete,
devastated by defeat,
pointlessly these words I wright
just to maintain, this written fight.
My writings before, which I now read,
seem to mock me with their speed...
Why, on earth, do I choose this?
There's clearly no synthetic bliss.
So couplets here leak out of me,
an idiotic tragedy
who now can I come to be?
when I keep myself from growing free.
With stupid serendipity,
I chant this foolish melody

as if everything was alright.

Its so unlike the heart to pass anothers sadness by
To leave them at the mercy of all complainants and their cries
Its also so unlike the brain, to remember whats forgot
nothing stops intrusive thoughts in a memory where learnings caught
And so unlike, the lungs, it is
To forfeit all their breath.
To suffocate, in anyway, is the most unnatural death.

when you feel the inevitable toll, in your
heart or mind or voice
acknowledge that in desperate times

you always have a choice.

to hug with your heart, & laugh with your lungs
and remember with your mind-
& to never let these vitals go as wonders undefined

Right now it might seem like a waste of time.
trust me.
to write down a scheme or emotion
some half dreamed-dreams, particles of truth amongst a mostly fabricated memory.
It isn't.
well when you trigger that human desire
for repition yet seamlessly profound plotting
of the ear
you may hear
all the music I'm writing about.

twenty seventeen
hostile, hurting and honest;
you begin to set.

oil paint
your poetry
onto the caravan
of my lungs-
so that tonight, may I still see;
all the colors
of your thoughts.

We made it blue, the most loyal colour
Plunges into ocean
Surrenders up to skies
Blurs the constant motion
With longing it implys
The truest of emotion
The most loyal colour.

“I imagine a dreamscape
crafted in fluorescence, by your words
Where no razors fall like trinkets from the sky
But a blindfold of trust comforts the eyes.
May you, I pray, feel un-alone
Though we be strangers in our own homes,
I get it.”

Hey- you,
Am I doing it right?
You're gone- as always

But you know im still here.

If I had a happy, beautiful government
public punishment
in its loneliness and isolation
would near an ending;
& brilliant lives we'd guide
till it's time to cure the world

Look like the flower but be the serpent beneath
Teach for the hour but speak only for minuets
Love for the passion but **** for the pride
Climb for the high, screaming never enough
Remember the happiness
And weep, when you feel its echo.

A unique love owns
Both me and my Father (and brother)
As it's special home's
Found within one another.
So be what you are. Dare and think and move free
But humor always
the lover
your dad raised you to be.

In Ashleigh's book, I now write
& provide her with this true insight:
We have yet to be friends- how we're connected despite,
all of the habits we-

Choose; Still,

to diminish the light.

I see you, in your miserable high

I wonder if last chances gone by

In protest you'll hear me screaming Why?

N hope the you thats loved wont die

Alone, we're caught in Meg's Constant's
sigh.


Thank You for Taking Me to The Disco
I'd Like to Go Home Now

✋

when I hold
my own hands
My imagination does ensue
they aren't burning
in the cold
and are somehow holding you

And when, away it is you slip, my hands hold tightly still onto
the belief you now know and understand- to me,
What this wickedness did do.
feel it break
a constant ache
construe
when I'm holding my own hands,  
it's to pretend that one's  from you
and to comfort the soul as this life's
suffered through.

The sincerest example
of love
Is suffering.

To suffer
For what you love;
is to understand
Passion.

What would you like? Was the question I asked
To the person lying in what once was my past
Can it potentially, ever last?
I'll dictate instead of typing This fast

An easier way to communicate to
The thoughts and the Feelings that make up virtue
I'm saying this here for me and for you
though you've no idea, not even a clue
what exactly I'm looking at when my eyes pierce on through

Your face is guna tell me what ur mouth can't say
N I hope you figure your **** out someday.

I looked into his eyes while he said his truth
laying in the next room, on the bed
Receiving; then believing, what was expressed-
my glass white, while his red.