I hope so
I really do.*

I do too.

If I must choose
'twixt Music and You,
I'm gonna choose
what make me need to.

Don't practice
and **** up
and acquire finesse and skill,
but, rather,
pay a fuckton of money
and get some gimmicky ****
to fill that void
in your ego instead.

Noise is not always Music
and Language isn't always Poetry,
but, when it means some thing to you,
Noise becomes Music
and Language becomes Poetry.

Be as "easy come, easy go"
as you can manage,
while still being able
to be grateful along the way.

One, incapable or unwilling
to think critically or creatively,
is forever the slave
to the Political, Religious and mundane.

Green is my favorite color.
But I hate that shade of it.
Because it will always remind me of
The green scrubs you wore,
haunting cold barren rooms,
Where they took your bootlaces
so you couldn’t choke the dreams out of yourself.

I wore blue that day because it was your favorite color.
You probably didn’t notice.
You felt hollow when I embraced you
All strength within seemed gone.
Your eyes, my favorite shade of green, were frighteningly distant.
You were there, but it wasn’t you.
Who were you? Who are you? Who should you have been if…?
You kissed me goodbye in front of the nurses,
And I saw tears in the corners of their eyes.  
Even my mother seemed touched.

I walked in a haze across the hospital yard,
It was a bright day.
I wanted it to storm.
The garish sun seemed to mock me
As I curled in the backseat of my father’s car,
Staring at the food I couldn’t eat.
I hadn’t known
“Sick with worry” to be literal.
I haven’t known it since.
I hate that shade of green.

In complete and utter disarray she woke in pain to greet the day
Shaken by the violent sound of a silence that was too profound
Night and day there were faint whispers of what couldn't change
as she lay bewildered
While vivid memories placed a shroud upon her tired sweaty brow
Suffocated by the ache she chased a shot with hopes to obliterate
It takes three to remember and five to forget
That unrelenting grief that plagued her head
She swore such strength
She swore she'd love to mend the wounds left by wicked hunters
But too soon her blood had left her pale
and as the warmth rushed in she let out a long exhale