She was the type of girl that read books no one had assigned to her
She refused to take the sidewalk if the quickest path went through the grass
Her eyes were the color of mud saturated with rain from the night before
I loved her and that was the biggest mistake I'd ever make

This isn't a poem about how girls are evil
or how the world is rigged
it's just that when I saw you I believed in love at first sight
and maybe that was wrong of me

When the strings stop strumming
Where does the music go?

This isn't a happy story
I don't think it's even a story at all
It certainly has an end
and by virtue of being told
it has a beginning

It's the middle part that becomes murky
how do you a quantify a human life
the little intricacies that you can't even remember
the butterfly, whose wings
flapped a few too many times
leading me to this

Standing 746 feet above the water

I wonder if it would always end this way
if every fork in the road would eventually curve inward
if every call would remain unanswered
if every love would fade

I think that's the funny thing about objectivity
it exists in isolation

this is my story
or lack thereof

*Jump

Sometimes I want to take my car
and drive to the middle of a desert
and get out and lay down and just stay there
until something happens.
Like a coyote eats me
or a dust storm blows me away...
I don’t know why I come up here
all the time,
maybe it’s like weird,
free therapy for me. I’m sorry,
I know that when I talk
I *** people out...
I think I’m poison.
And maybe getting up here is like me cutting
off bits of my infected self and
sharing it with you.
But the pieces are small
so the poison’s diluted,
so you get to go home ok.
And I… I get to hurt a little bit less.

Statistics say
I am smarter than 95% of the people I meet
People say
Intelligence is overrated
Statistics say
I was born into a better situation than 98% of the people I meet
People say
It's not where you start it's where you finish
Statistics say
I will live longer than 94% of the people I meet
People say
Life is fragile
Statistics say
I won't fail
People say
I might

I'm struggling to write the first few lines of this poem
1. because I haven't written in awhile
and 2. Because I think it will be a very good poem
and don't want  youto abandon it
trust me
we give up too easily
for example
when I'm older I want to write movies
but when I watch a movie I constantly check my phone
even if I like the movie
we are worse off than we know
I've been thinking
lately
that is a lie
it's only been recently
very recently
regardless
why I do write best when I am depressed?
why is that when I am most profound
why must my life be strewn about around me
for me to have a grasp on literary prose
then again is it wrong of me
to consider my only important writing
the ones that can be deemed "good"
is that unfair to myself
there's a select few I always come back to
they are very good
but I was hurting a lot when I wrote them
were they worth it
maybe
I remember something I read one time
it was written by a woman
and she was talking about her pain
and her writing
she said that pain was now fluid in her life
all that really mattered was her writing
no matter how much the pain hurt
as long as her writing benefited
she would welcome it with open arms
what a **** way to live
maybe it's just nostalgia
that's *******
you wrote better before
you know that
I'm right
I've become a better person
and a worse writer
and both
frighten me

Do you realize how badly I want to be you
how I would **** to be in your position?
to have the responsibilities
that you are so quick to ignore
you are destined, you are divine
you are the chosen one!
a prophecy passed down for centuries
proclaims you to be a demi-god
and you want to **** that all away
you want to run from all of that
and why? because you think you're not good enough?
WELL YOU'RE NOT
i'll say it
but here you have a chance to do something
something great and necessary.

I would **** to be you.

Love is not unbreakable
It is not undeniable
Nor is it everlasting
Love can not conquer worlds
Love isn't hard to define
because that implies that it can be
Love exists (if at all) in fleeting moments
so quick that if you blink you'll miss it

We can not see the proton
We can not touch gravity
We can not hear silence
We can not taste air


We can not feel love

A team of black doctors
working to save the life
of a KKK member

That's a feeling

A man shot dead
attempting to stop
the **** of a woman he didn't know

That's a feeling

A man not getting a job
because "He Was Mexican"
even though he grew up in Maine

That's a feeling

A Muslim teacher
stabbed by a student
who didn't want to be taught by a "terrorist"

That's a feeling

We can not see the proton
We can not touch gravity
We can not hear silence
We can not taste air


We can not feel love

The father knew it as soon
as his son walked in
it was his first broken heart
and it had been torn thin

so the father followed after
stomping feet and slamming doors
this was the big one the one
that shakes young men to their cores

The father entered
and dropped to his knees
it's time I tell you son
about the birds and the bees

Heart break like this is normal
but a love like yours was pure
even though you will have many
of this one's meaning I know you're sure

love, real love, is everything
it is a cataclysmic spastic
smattering of everything you held true
suffocating as if you were asthmatic

It's not that love is hard
it shouldn't be
in fact that's how I knew
your mother was the one for me

but somethings aren't meant to be
so when it came time for the power's that be
that took her away from me
the falsehood of love was clear to me

love as if you'll die tomorrow
because you might as well should
because a life without love is silly
stupid, and no good

I killed a butterfly today  
then tried to write a poem  
I don’t know why I did it  
It died without a home  
It struck me as compelling  
as I recalled what my parents used to say  
be mindful of your surroundings  
a flap of butterfly wings can change a day  


I thought little of it then  
yet now I obsess as I reminisce  
if a butterfly flap can change so much  
what of the absence of it?  
Have I sealed my fate to infamy  
or paved my way to riches  
but maybe if I **** another?  
my unforeseeable fate switches  


But what’s a butterfly to me?  
it wasn’t much before  
now you expect me to believe  
it holds the key to what’s in store?  
Free will must exist  
at least as long as I believe it to  
foolish of me to think my dead butterfly  
could have some affect on you  


Yet I sit here thinking  
of thoughts I’ve never had  
a liar I would be to tell you  
that I haven’t changed a tad  
It did not have a name  
and I did not have a reason  
yet as I blankly stared down  
I felt as if I had committed treason  


So I sweep away the body  
and leave the room to clear my head  
if my hand’s never clapped  
this butterfly would not be dead  
so be wary of the change you bring  
the waves you choose to make  
that butterfly could have changed a day  
and not believing that was my mistake

There once was a chicken
and there was once a hawk
the hawk would talk
non stop
about his ability of flight
his speed his force
he'd talk so long
the chicken would bash his head against the door

The chicken hated the hawk
hated listening to him talk
the chicken wanted to beat the hawk
so he would no longer have to hear him talk
and then the Rocky music played
as the chicken flapped his wings
up steps sliced out in the sky
till he would reach the top then dive

the chicken became very good at this
though not as good as the hawk
and when the hawk won the race
he would just continue to talk and talk
the chick was sick of it
he fled to his own getaway
feeding on solely chocolate
and liters of gatorade

The chicken consumed
until he couldn't see his toes
he stumbled out his front door
where man found him
unaware of his past
caring just for the fire and not the wood
why the Hawk is fast
and the Chicken tastes good

There once was a poet
who was very much alive
he'd write everyday
sometimes late into the night
his poetry was his craft
a never ending ascent into madness
a read of his work
was a trip into darkness

He was fascinated by death
by how simple it was
he imagined the light being as bright
as the white of a dove
he loved rhyming tricks
how they'd guide a reader
along a waterfall of words
the more the steeper

but he wasn't famous
he wasn't beloved
this tore him apart
and led him to what?
no i didn't hear that
a modern day Van Gogh
only 25
too young for him to go

The Emperor left his palace
with something shiny on his shoulder
it weighed as much as an apple
but was the size of a boulder
it was the greatest weapon
his workers could build
the town awaited its appearance
even though they had foot the bill

Amazing said the scholar as the emperor passed
so much power but such little weight
this right here can save a country
what you hold will educate
we will teach people
and they will listen
and if they won't
we will show them this weapon

splendid said the old lady as the emperor trotted by
I have been waiting all my life for this
we must end all wars
that is my dying wish
now we can do that
we can fight off the opposition
and make sure peace reigns
while our leaders stay in top position

I don't get it said the kid and the emperor stopped
what could you not understand about my gun?
the boy answered this world is full of idiots
and while you are surely not one
there are people out there
who would **** for that gun
let's not act like one large weapon
can change everybody under the sun
what's more likely is that it will only amplify
the issues that should be regional
we'll proclaim "Our gun is big!"
to justify that our choice is final
the bigger the gun
the more people it could ****
and the more people that can die
the more people that will

I wonder what I'll see right before I die
Not the moments flashing bright
nor the memories passing by

I mean the last thing
the image that I'll see
the feelings it'll bring

Will it be a neat summary of things I've seen
or perhaps a dying shout
at what things could have been

Or maybe it will be nothing at all
just a slab of concrete
after one long fall

If all good love poems
rest on metaphors
Then I'll write with one
that you could've searched
the world three times over for
and never found before

like the last puppy
lying on its on back
in front of a convenience store
the one that was unaccounted for

that little crease on the windshield
the one your wipers could never reach
or that annoying kid with ADD
the one your teacher could never teach
(me)

time is at once infinite and definite
life is short, yet is the longest thing we'll ever do
why must we lust for forever
when we know a dinner for two at 2 would do

Prince and Princess charming aren't walking through that door
which makes me question what we believe in happily ever after for
and I won't become a cynic
and if only a writer that could never write is deemed a critic
then i'll drop my pen
and drink all the ink in it

love is a four letter bubble
what looks to be
a meandering ascent into nothingness to those outside
but is a self sustaining world to those who inhabit it

what good is an art
if one can not master it

face it
a critic's a poet and a writer
that could never quit

At this point I know it's over
They've told us where the plane is heading
I've always thought I'd know what to think if something like this happened
But I'm lost here
I'm not thinking about my beautiful wife
Or my daughter
My parents who will outlive me
Or my friends who are off living their lives

I keep thinking about the mailman
No really I do
How he'll have to go around tomorrow
Passing this tale of tragedy
Gracing my family with statistics
Thousands dead thousands hurt
I feel bad for that mailman
For he will never truly understand the pain he will bring

This mailman does not know my name
He does not know my wife, my daughter,
The man next to me,
My first grade teacher, my first girlfriend
He does not know my dog
He does not know my true dreams or my hopes
My ambitions, my musings, my innermost thoughts
No this mailman only knows he is passing out the paper

Delivering news to millions who do not want it

I keep having these memories
of whose I do not know
to whom they do belong to
of this my mind won’t show
will you help me friend
decode the message I have seen
I cannot do this on my own it seems
the walls are caving in
The vision is getting brighter now
while all else slips away
let me tell you of my vision friend
before there is none else I can say



I am driving down the road friend
of this I cannot forget
The road starts shrinking
to as small as it can get
I try to keep my wheels straight
but against my will my grip begins to slip
careening off the road
through traffic cone and traffic cone
suddenly I stop
this is where it gets fuzzy
the man who was next to me is no longer there
he lies in front of my vehicle glass tousled in his hair


This is no confession
for I know I have not sinned
these are not my memories
yet I feel the pain they bring
I am good my friend
I pray, I laugh, I care
I am one of the right ones
I have made it this far and I will make it further
I am what’s right
So why must I see these wrongs
This is not my memory
and I will drink until I believe that

The Past
is just that
Past
Move on

A plant grew in a forest
beginning as a sapling in a crowded opening
two inches tall
with no idea of what it was becoming
it rose slowly
but consistently
as others rose above it for light
it reaped the benefits of leftovers
this plant grew
not to be the tallest
not to be the prettiest
but it grew
It took in carbon dioxide
and released oxygen
it did its job
it was a good plant


eventually like most things this plant died
after being trampled by a young boy
this boy visited this forest everyday
its nature was his greatest toy
he knew the surroundings by heart
from the tallest tree to the smallest shrew
he saw all in his dreams
he knew all the plants save for a few
one of those few was our plant
although it stood tall, it was not tall enough
although it was pretty, it was not pretty enough
it died unremarkable
it was a good plant
it did its job
but it died without a trace
because it never risked to take another's place


and so the boy grew older
he left the forest for an office
in the hopes that one day
he’d be rich enough to return
so he climbed the ladder
and said all the right things
he was a good man
he did his job
until he met a girl
a girl so powerful
so unmistakably perfect
he had to rise above the others
he left his job because he hated it
he stood tall to reach the sun
he took risks not because he had to
but because he wanted to


this man died poor
he did not succeed
there was no beverly hills
no millionaire mansion down the street
this man never climbed that corporate ladder
never got lost in the rat race
never missed the birth of his son
never broke a promise to that boy
he took a risk he shouldn’t have
an unnecessary leap of faith
he looked back on his past
the trouble he left in his wake
he remembered that plant
the one he didn’t see
the reason he is who he is
the man who became a tree


take risks because you should
because one day you will die
buried under dirt
while your life has passed you by
life is too short
too precious
to be a good man
to just do your job

It was the 25th
which meant only one thing
a trip to grandpa's house
every 25th of every month
we traveled the 10 minutes
down the gravel road
to see my grandpa
and his rocking chair

man that rocking chair
sculpted from reddish brown wood
balanced perfectly
like a pedestal
I had never sat on it
just out of respect
I admired from afar
every 25th

my grandpa was always in that chair when I arrived
rocking back and forth
and forth and back
like Galileo's pendulum
rain or shine
snow or wind
when I pulled into that driveway
my Grandpa was in that chair

it fascinated me as a kid
like he was some video game character
programmed to do this mundane task
it was familiar
it was calming
but I grew older
and thought about that chair less
along with my family

but every 25th
even on a windy day like today
I'd travel down the gravel road
to see my grandpa
when I arrived the chair was rocking
back and forth
forth and back
but my Grandpa was not sitting

It was the 25th
which meant only one thing
a trip to grandpa's house
every 25th of every month
we traveled the 10 minutes
down the gravel road
to see my grandpa
and his rocking chair

man that rocking chair
sculpted from reddish brown wood
balanced perfectly
like a pedestal
I had never sat on it
just out of respect
I admired from afar
every 25th

my grandpa was always in that chair when I arrived
rocking back and forth
and forth and back
like Galileo's pendulum
rain or shine
snow or wind
when I pulled into that driveway
my Grandpa was in that chair

it fascinated me as a kid
like he was some video game character
programmed to do this mundane task
it was familiar
it was calming
but I grew older
and thought about that chair less
along with my family

but every 25th
even on a windy day like today
I'd travel down the gravel road
to see my grandpa
when I arrived the chair was rocking
back and forth
forth and back
but my Grandpa was not sitting

Why do i still care is probably too simple a question
it implies an easy answer like “her eyes” or “her smile”
but it isn’t that
it’s not love at least not yet i’m too young
so it isn’’t that
think think think
there’s been other girls
four in fact
but what did they not have?
what were they missing
what made them Roseline and not Juliet
does “it” exist? it’s possible i guess
maybe nothing tangible could account for what i’m feeling
i doubt it but it’s a possibility
So what is it?
Seriously(tension builds)
Maybe it’s because you still care
sure I only know because of the grapevine
but i’ll just assume it still counts


I refuse to believe im the Pip to your Estella
I’d like to believe I have too much pride for that
Pride pride pride
maybe that’s the answer
I messed you up pretty good the first time
but then again you did win round 2
so maybe it’s just a game
a game my mind is just set on finishing


Maybe you’re just evil
crazy i know
really crazy
lunatic crazy
but still is it that crazy a thought?
you say you love me when you don’t
you say you don’t love me when you do
you say you miss us
but somehow “I” am not included


Maybe I have simply ruined you for myself
I’ve built you up in my head
to be something you simply can not live up to
It’s hard to explain but to me at least in my mind
you are a different type of “perfect”
Flawed in all the right ways
proficient where it really matters
In my head you don’t make mistakes
In my head you choose me first so you don’t regret it later
In my head you act rationally
In my head I create fake things


So to answer my question I must decide on an answer
and i choose all of them
because that’s life
that’s what it is
you’ll meet a girl who you feel is perfect for you in every way
except for the fact that she isn’t
and it won’t make sense
and it will drive you crazy
and you’ll write some stupid poem at a late hour trying to find an answer to your question
until you realize it doesn’t matter
because you’re young and she’s young
because there are mistakes to be made
nights to be forgotten
people to meet
places to see
and all the while there is time to sit down
to really ponder and finally come to the conclusion
that You
yes You
are not the one I end up with

Why do i still care is probably too simple a question
it implies an easy answer like “her eyes” or “her smile”
but it isn’t that
it’s not love at least not yet i’m too young
so it isn’’t that
think think think
there’s been other girls
four in fact
but what did they not have?
what were they missing
what made them Roseline and not Juliet
does “it” exist? it’s possible i guess
maybe nothing tangible could account for what i’m feeling
i doubt it but it’s a possibility
So what is it?
Seriously(tension builds)
Maybe it’s because you still care
sure I only know because of the grapevine
but i’ll just assume it still counts


I refuse to believe im the Pip to your Estella
I’d like to believe I have too much pride for that
Pride pride pride
maybe that’s the answer
I messed you up pretty good the first time
but then again you did win round 2
so maybe it’s just a game
a game my mind is just set on finishing


Maybe you’re just evil
crazy i know
really crazy
lunatic crazy
but still is it that crazy a thought?
you say you love me when you don’t
you say you don’t love me when you do
you say you miss us
but somehow “I” am not included


Maybe I have simply ruined you for myself
I’ve built you up in my head
to be something you simply can not live up to
It’s hard to explain but to me at least in my mind
you are a different type of “perfect”
Flawed in all the right ways
proficient where it really matters
In my head you don’t make mistakes
In my head you choose me first so you don’t regret it later
In my head you act rationally
In my head I create fake things


So to answer my question I must decide on an answer
and i choose all of them
because that’s life
that’s what it is
you’ll meet a girl who you feel is perfect for you in every way
except for the fact that she isn’t
and it won’t make sense
and it will drive you crazy
and you’ll write some stupid poem at a late hour trying to find an answer to your question
until you realize it doesn’t matter
because you’re young and she’s young
because there are mistakes to be made
nights to be forgotten
people to meet
places to see
and all the while there is time to sit down
to really ponder and finally come to the conclusion
that You
yes You
are not the one I end up with

I miss you (lets get that out of the way)
2. We have not talked in 9 months
3. The reason for that is that our breakup wasn't great
4. It was barely a breakup because we were barely dating
5. I don't know if you wanted more but I know you knew that I wanted more
6. I told you I wanted more
7. The amount of time I've spent with you is about a thousand times less than I would have liked
8. I went to college and gave you an ultimatum
9. You chose to let me go
10. I made you hate me for that
11. I judge every girl I meet by how much they remind me of you.

Let's play a game
grab a glass and take a seat
let's play until you or me
can not rise to our feet
think about your lover
and where she is now
that she isn't with you
and the sweat above your brow

Did you over think?
Drink

think about your life
where you thought you'd be in 10 years
20 years ago
how you're holding back tears

Did you over think?
Drink

think about yourself
the man your parents raised
have you lived up to expectations
as your EKG plays

Did you over think?
Drink

I waste time worrying about the things that won't happen
therefore preventing things that should

I don't want to be disingenuous
perhaps using the word disingenuous isn't the best start
I am depressingly self-aware
so much so that it took me 45 minutes to write that line

I wish I was younger
just so I could live with ignorance a bit longer
and let it cradle me like a baby
I now understand why every movie follows the unknowing hero
We all want to relate
like one big game of the emperor's new clothes

I thought I was destined for greatness
to be fair I still do

I've been having a ton of existential crises lately
suppressing each one more than the last
it's like there is a little man inside of me
banging on the glass
begging to be let out
but I don't want to
because he strikes me as an honest little man
and I'm afraid I might not like what he has to say

One time my therapist asked me if I had ever thought about suicide
I don't think that's the right question
I think about it a lot
not for me specifically but others

I don't believe in God
not so much the creator thing
because who knows
but more the life after death part
because if there's truly nothing
if it really is black
then that might be better than the hell some people live in right now
death is better than torture, death is better than the loss of hope

What I'm saying is
maybe I'm afraid the worst thing that will ever happen to me is death
and maybe I'm wrong
but I'm afraid I won't live a life worthy of being lived

Today I told a doctor that time heals all wounds
he said no that’s aspirin
and if  you have have allergies
you’ll need epinephrine

Today I told a priest that time heals all wounds
he said no that’s God
also prayer and hope wouldn’t hurt
if I was no fraud

Today I told a psychic that time heals all wounds
he said to get a reading and I’d be fine
and he’d throw in a magic ball
for only $9.99!

Today I told myself that time heals all wounds
as I looked in the mirror staring my body down
It better I whispered
because in this pain I soon will drown

I hate to admit my feelings
because to admit makes them real
and in my experience real things end
eventually
so i'll keep it to myself
and maybe whisper it softly
so if you listened real hard
then maybe you might hear it
I can't explain how I feel about you
I'm not in love with you
nor am I infatuated with you
but I want to drink coffee and eat biscuits with you
want to look up from the newspaper and see you
pick up the telephone and hear you
reach across the bed and feel you
I want to be near you
To admit is to make it real
to be real is to end
so I guess this is goodbye
to someone who was once
a very dear friend

If you put everything off until tomorrow,
Eventually tomorrow comes.

Is it possible to be too happy?
Can too much go right?
That's sort of a depressing question
and why is it that every time
I feel so happy like I do now
I am brought back to you?
Does that make sense
do you understand what I am saying
I get happy
So i come back to you
the one who makes me not happy
do I hate happiness
do i hate myself
jeeez
I told you that would be depressing
you're my heroine
my addiction
not in a cute way
or romantic way
or even an ironic way
you are a drug
nothing more
nothing less
you're no good for me
I can't seem to grasp that but I know it's true.

To write a love song
you need to love
with a feeling as pure
as the white fur of a dove
clean as a whistle
sharp as a knife
with the vision of a psychic
to make her your wife

Hello's
from you to me
seem like a distant memory
I can't look into your eyes
partly because
I'd break down
but also because
you won't let me see you again
and I care about you
more than a father
and his first son
and in return
you toss me out the nest
like a mother bird
throwing her baby
to it's a eventual death
maybe you just expect me to fly
I guess it doesn't matter now
fool me once...
and so the story goes
"That's life"
you said when you left me
but does it have to be?
does life have to be anything we don't want
we have enough money
enough wisdom
enough anything to do what we want
why must I live through strife
why can't I write my own book
which mind you
if I was the protagonist
you'd be the love interest
and the antagonist
you're the only one
outside of me
that has a pull on me
you drag me to the dirt
like a lasso to a cow
and only pull harder
when I scream ow
you don't love me
although you say you do
that's life I guess
and from now on mine's without you

And here we all go
staring at screens
trying to distract ourselves
from what it all means

Is the grass still green?
Are the skies still blue?
Will every road I used to take
Slowly lead me back to you?