This is my box,
home to contrived chaos.
I open and close it
many times a day.

Beside my box
are other boxes
bigger and smaller,
all of them surrounded
by an even bigger box.

And if you left this box
you'd see a field
of boxes
sprawling the land
further than eyes can see.

And how odd is it
--the mere idea--
that all these boxes
adhere to this sphere
we reside upon
like a collection
of living magnets.

To understand me, one has to go deeper than the surface.
On the outside, I’m glass half full but on the inside it’s completely empty.
On the outside there is a warm rain with the sun just over the horizon.
Inside it rains cold crimson drops with the smell of iron in the air.
On the outside, smiles grace those around me causing mutual happiness all around.
Inside sneers and jeers are thrown at me from all angle, cursing my name.
On the outside I'm some popular kid who has friends.
Inside It’s me with the spare real friend or two comforting the empty inside that’s left.
On the outside, I manage to mutter the phrase “I’m fine” to those who care.
Inside I’m dying and alone but I refuse to allow anyone to worry about me.
On the outside, I seem like a ball of confidence with no fears.
Inside I’m a shut in who can’t stand to see the light of day, yet I punish myself for missing it.
On the outside I’m happy with myself.
Inside I hate who I am, physically and mentally I despise myself.
Why would I hide such a reality?
Behind a dreamlike state where no one can even recognize, let alone find, the real me,
If I ever needed help.
No one could reach me behind the pile of lies i throw, just to “protect” myself?
Protect myself from what?
Those outside who only want to help?
Meanwhile I’m alone inside dying screaming “I’m not fine. Dear god, I’m not fine.”
No one can hear.
No one can see.
No one can do anything to help.
Why won’t anyone go deeper?
But it’s no one else’s fault but my own
How can I expect someone to go deeper, when I lock up anything past the surface?

creative destruction
too beautiful to fault until ashes
(and even then all I want is a different ending or none at all).
silent sunrise that you can’t hear but you can feeeEEEEL
elsewhere.
the hum of existence and how you always danced around it
and coincidently it never lined up for me.
self is such a strange concept that sometimes I forget
and other times it consumes and I am    sorry  so    sorry.
what are you if you aren’t always discovering?
what is she when there is a cost?
what would she have been if rewind and stand outside to see truth
it’s like looking through a kaleidoscope
what is the magnitude?
axiom
this is called spring
and I’m through wasting it.

there is a blackened land mass
lying between
the Atlantic
and Pacific
and it is not America.

you are a cathedral
I am woods.

the kind that are peaceful and inviting,
tall and knowing
from the outside
in the light.
once you step inside
and journey deeper,
it gets darker,
more consuming,
and you can feel
their isolation,
their severity,
their boundless
emptiness
that both fills itself
and eats itself.
only they are able to know their own expanse
and those that make it to the center
cannot be released.

your sanctuary,
it holds stained-glass windows
that let in tainted light,
turning everything
a shade
of rose.
pristine architecture
that stands against the sky,
challenging it--
all that is visible
when looking up at you
from the bottom of the hill.
inside,
there is a tenderness
that can be felt at certain angles,
a coldness
a sigh
that cannot be released.

As I dig into the soil
I feel more and more grounded
More and more connected
To reality
It's very calming
The sun beats on my back
The birds are chirping
Soil cracks under the shovel
I take a sip of ice cold water
I look into the clear blue
Sky
Life is beautiful today

Did I tell you?

I’m kind of quiet… no, really, I am. You should see me around people I don’t know…. Ha, yes, I know you don’t believe me… I talk my socks off around you. But, you’re different. You already know the contents of me… I mean, you may not have read every page in detail, but you get the rough draft. Not many people get that. Man, what a stuck up ***** they say… Miss goody two shoes is too good for us… Not all of us are rich like you they say. Oh, how I wish I was any of those things…it wouldn’t sting when they mistook me for anything but the plains, but instead they see skylines and frosted mountains. I am not as complex, I am not as breathtaking, I am not such a climb. It’s funny. i have it together - it appears from the outside looking in. On the inside, I’m so tired. I know you know this - but they don’t. They don’t see 14 hour days, 98 hour weeks, 5,784 hour years… of on the go, here you can have my time, my peace, my arms, my legs, my soul. They don’t see that. They don’t see me helping the family when they need food that week..and me not eating. They don’t see my sore back, my restless nights, or the loneliness that follows endless hours. I’m the one missing out… and they think I am better than them. If they only knew how much I wished I could be more like them and less like me…. how they are the morning skies… and I am merely a spectacle to their bold colors. They’re outspoken, care free, sociable, …extroverted. I wouldn’t dare say a word. I know even then they wouldn’t get me… not like you do. I just sit back - quietly, watching, listening, absorbing…an abused sponge from one too many passes on the burnt pan. Ha, that’s me. Still giving my all - in whatever pieces are left of me, trying to shine the world. Silly I am. I’m ready to get out of here… or find myself again, and stop smothering my heart. It’s an out of control fire and my day to day has become the dirt. I think if I exhale in a week you may just see smoke pouring from my lungs… I’m burning out. Can you tell?

He bit the curb.
Does that make you disturbed?
She laughed at tears.
Does that deepen your fears?
They don't know when to stop.
There's no stop signs in this town.
If it's you, life's sad.
But if it's them they shouldn't make a sound.
Some don't fit in,
and they just can't help it,
no matter where they been.
I guess no one really developed it.

Whom I kiddin?
Some people are fake,
on the outside their only,
the character they make.

"Who wants to run like me?
Who wants to get away?
I look around,
but they all seem A-okay."
Well if he judged you,
He'd seem to be just fine.
But you'd never guess,
He's scared of being left behind.
If she beat you and spit in your face,
you'd figure she was spoiled,
but her life was just so misplaced.

Why do they have to smile?
Why do they have to drown?
Why do they have to go away,
after smashing into cold, hard ground?

I'd say you need a lesson,
but you've probably had one too.
Stop being arrogant,
if there's one thing that you do.

They've seen the grey clouds,
and you've seen the rain.
And surprisingly we've all gone insane.
So why drive us mad?
Why call us bad?
Make us sad?
What have I done?
Nothing,
but yet I'm being pushed.
Off my feet, off the swings, off the air, off the edge.
By you, by them, by me, by life?
I'm going to stand here,
and proclaim to the skies.
"For once, let this life be mine!"
"And please vanish the outer lies!"

Outside of our school
The pine trees are majestic
Brings thoughts of christmas

the sun shines crookedly
into the cracks that beat the light
into my head
and i blink away the weather, but only for a moment
as i am temporary
and it is forever
and i feel like forever too when i'm walking down this road
but if i look behind
my footsteps disappear into the melting snow
and i know that i will fade

but how? i feel like concrete
man-made and unmoving
while the leaves crushed into my surface
by rain
are the transient ones

i will remain long after i am gone, if only in spirit
since my mind and my body
have not been friends for a long time
when the time comes, i will cast
that shadow from my skull
and my thoughts will be the weather

if i beat you to it
(i don't dare think that thought, just this one time)
will you hear me on the wind?
will you smile back at the sun?

you know that you're the reason
i can say those silent words
and yeah, it's a burden
but it will be you who makes the sun shine

and now i'm done with that morbid thought

words, make me eternal
let each scrap of paper ***** with my letters
speak the truth, and nothing but
the stupid truth
but is it so stupid?
the truth, to me
is becoming less of a fear
and more of a blessing

and sure, it's still a fear
since the blessing scares me
but the sun has become less of a shadow
and more of a light
and i'm pretty sure that's a sign

i'm pretty sure you're a sign
that i should wake up and go outside

cold cement reminds me
of the steps outside school
where i balanced myself on the railing
and stood on that column
feeling better
than the people below me

cold cement makes me think
of the road outside my house
and the way the potholes filled
with wet maple leaves
after a day of autumn rain

cold cement, in my mind
is that long, straight road
hot beneath the summer sun
but still cool in the shade, and somehow
riding along that stretch
was always enough to calm me down

cold cement, to me
is the end of the line
and the transition from earth to rock
from open sky
to cityscape

cold cement, to me
is a love-hate relationship, really
as it began to grow on me
fond memories overlapping
the edges of the sidewalk
and washing over the toes of my boots

and cold cement, today
was somehow comforting
below me as i wavered
between burning and frozen
on the steps outside

i am no longer alone