Self-medicate to keep the hatred down
Self-medicate to keep the ***** down
Self-medicate to keep the sadness down
Self-medicate and pick your poison
pick the one you haven't tried for a newer
buzz
for a newer feeling
for a newer hate
self-medicate, extrapolate
miss yourself and all the hate
because the devil is mine today
the devil is mine today
to do with what I please
self-medicate and fall
a spiral
a helix
something familiar to feel the feelings
something familiar to feel the people cry
self-medicate to feel your mother cry
what am I becoming today, who shall I be
a dashing rogue who doesn't care, someone alone
a dashing rogue at the bottom of an ocean
with a portal to another world where I am normal
where I matter
*self-medicate

A teachers heart is one of learning.
Of constant modification.
Lending pieces of it at the sound of a child's voice.

What is not seen  
Are the broken parts.
The times when my heart falls out of my chest.

My child, I am sorry
My child, you don't deserve it
My child, here is safe

A heart of protection.
Showing each student their worth
Value more valuable than the words of this poem

Without you my child
My heart
Would simply

collapse

I'm so happy-
I've masturbated until I can't feel
and that's okay.
My hair is brittle;
the water's iron and so are you-
your love's a mess.
God is angry
because he doesn't have to exist
to be real.

Hipsters ruined liking Wes Anderson-
Bill Hicks was brilliant
and everyone is an intellectual.
Your ideas aren't yours-
your words are mine
and mine are yours.
Writing to be antidepressed,
because singing is for the shore,
for your shore.

Let's pick each other's psychology,
like we're removing clothes
or missing ads,
and get lost in each other's darkness,
because, "I love you,
I suppose.
I suppose."

this really is a nowhere land
filled with nowhere things
viewed from anywhere else
in the vastness of space

I ask my eyes to remember.
They have so much to tell.
I ask my memory to work with
Them, but it's stubborn,
Like an old pair of shoes
Letting in rocks and
Gravel.
We've walked enough.

I ask my lips to remember
Old juvenile softness,
My ears the sound of wind
Through rainforest foliage; a
Creek drizzling down a water-

Worn hillside, but all is so
Vague after the years between.
Some things resurface,
Then sink back into oblivion.
So much mind wasted on
Everyday trivialities.

I was there,
I tell myself when
Trying to recall the Italian song
Thrown between the brick walls
On either side of the narrow
Canal, as the gondola slid under
Yet another ancient bridge.
I could smell
The water. Filthy and beautiful.

I'm here,
I'll keep telling
Myself as always. Eyes
Resting on the
Ground Of Now,
Neck too sore to look
Back and focus.

Ears hearing her muttering
In sweet sleep, then opening
Her eyes to look into mine,
Touching my

(I'm here)

Face with feather fingers, then
Closing in on herself to
Sleep on, safe and warmed
By present love.

My eyes still see.
Ears still wallow in music.
My skin still

(I'm here)

Feels the touch of something
Wanting to touch it,
Touch it.

For now, I'll listen to
My shoes.