beauty contrasting an otherwise shitty day

grown up

as a child
I dreamed
of skies filled with pillows,
and a moon that was the largest block of cheese known to man,
glistening in the depths of the night, holding an innocence that could only exist
in dreams.

andthingschange.....

toy guns become real,
and those we love
disappear.
love becomes a compromise of ideals instead of the uncontrollable emotion
that forced me to almost wet my pants,
kept my palms sweating,
hoped that my lips would touch the softness of another's,
drifted me to sleep to the sound of someone else's voice,
wishing of nothing else.
we forget about the romantic moments.
instead we await the taste of sex.

andthingschange..........

the astronauts we could not wait to be,
exploring the universe,
pushing through the sky like the black depths of the sea,
become irrelevant.
we push into conformity,
money,
the false requirements society places upon us,
and strain towards the lack-luster jobs we think we need.

andthingschange....................

needles pierce our skin.
ideas become set in stone.
we continue to fight for things now that we only think we know,
information becomes a double edge sword,
along with our words,
which we cannot help but use to exile ourselves from others.
we place worn out dirty guns in our hands hoping
that killing will make something clean,
it won't

andthingschange..........

now I dream of problems I cannot solve,
think that love no longer exists,
place the beautiful and soothing taste of Pabst down my throat
simply to keep my mind from
thinking,
dreaming,
moving,
crying.
what happened to broken guitar strings?
bloody fingers and thoughts of being a rockstar?
staying up all night simply because there was so much to do the next day that you could not wait?
when did my chest hollow it self out?
what happened to the heroes we loved?
did they start drinking?

andthingschange.....

the standstill

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It comes in waves,

everything

ambition, fear, self loathing, happiness, art,

love,

everything.

sometimes it's so deafening we can't hear ourselves.

lost,

we find ourselves grasping for a former self....

reaching out, dreaming of being the writer we once thought we were.

screaming aloud until we get it,

because all along I've been saying it

with my own two fucking lips.

you've heard me say it,

giving you advice...........giving myself advice,

that solitude isn't for the worst

it's for the better,

and that this too shall pass,

this empty feeling,

this writers block.

when our minds are blank and the silence is stunning

"let us sit in out banality and appreciate it for what it is, even if it means embracing the, all I want to do is get drunk and listen to punk rock stage."

sometimes I need someone else to say what I'm thinking.

sometimes I need to relate.

.........

we'll be free
when you can stop looking in the mirror
stop holding one so close. carrying things to fix who you are
when I can stop being driven
by something so destructive, wishing for the kinda of love
that is only about objects

when man is more than sex
and women stop trying to fix
when we can be ourselves
not driven by sex
not shadowed by failure
the failure to be perfect

whenwecanacceptwhoweareforthereasonsweareandputpurposetoouremotions

we'll all be free
when we can stop wishing
to
be
who we were just minutes ago

the last good thing I can remember

why are we so beautiful when we sleep?
dirty clothes,
messed up hair,
sweat soaked skin,
breathing like animals,

but still
simply beautiful

the first night of poetry

your silence says it all
how we are all hurting you
but that wasn't the plan
you seemed so shy the whole night
me, ashley, and megan were just trying to make it a good time

a good day to die
a night to remember
something we won't want to ever forget
I mean the name game was amazing

you were just somewhere else
maybe thinking about failure

or worried about the future
thinking our jokes cut like knifes
but these knives are rubber

poet after poet we all quietly waited
laughing and joking, drinking and smoking
talking about delivery like we were poets ourselves
like we could push our souls onstage
two feet from a microphone begging to bleed
hoping everyone claps and no yells
"you suck"

the lighting was dim
the counters were made out of some elegant concrete
and there was some guy with a his face tattooed next to me
but I didn't care where I was
I was with my best friend
that was really all that mattered

clearing out like ants
the coda collapsed
I try to drag you where I think you wanna go
but it seems I am wrong
kicking and screaming you let me know
so I push on ahead

walking straight to the front you wouldn't guess that I was shy
hugging someone I amired and laughing for a short time
keeping conversations on the surface talking about you
I was much to scared to speaking anything of the truth
through the doors and pass the chairs
raising arms, coming to save
me from myself and the shyness I've built

you asked her the only thing she wanted to hear
"how to you get up in front of all theses people and talk about past relationships
and ex girlfriends?"
her eyes where so big
laughing she told you something so honest
I cried in the bathroom twice before I got up here

I was standing right there
but I was only backround noise
scenery in a coffee shop somewhere in chico
no different from the abstact art on the walls
I was simply shoes on your feet
taking you there then just waiting quietly

the car ride
you just slept soundly, I hope you were dreaming of beauty
I hope you never take what I say personally
if you need something to cut I am standing right here
hoping to hold you up
I know you would do the same

this is my apology
in case I need one
I am sorry
jokes mean nothing
you know we all admire you
you just seemed like you were somewhere

else

some sort of attempt

conversation, conversation, conversation
listen, dream, do NOT NOT NOT NOT NOT.

Amy: just write exactly how you feel, document youself at that moment!

I cannot even begin to inform this paper how I feel.
sometimes I am scared,
scared of who I am.
I never yell.
I never shout.
I never scream.

in my head its different,
someone just throwing rocks at a wall,
wanting to destroy everything.
I am always screaming.
my thoughts are rich with everything I am afraid of,
but none of them are definitive.

I am always making these statements, and I believe them, but I don't believe in them, but I do believe in them, but I don't believe in them. I believe in change, but I never want it to happen. I hate my writing. I am not even sure I can tell myself how I feel right now or what I feel. When I was younger I knew I was in love with someone if I never thought of them naked. If I never wanted to have sex with them. If I wanted to be around everything that they were. Now I have all these strings I never wanted, but now they're there. I am rambling, thats my feeling. I am not in love with her, but I really could be. I think I might have this all figured out. I don't have this all figured out. This is my head. Wrong. Then right. Wrong then right. I stand defending her because I would be in love with her if I felt she really loved me, truly, but I am not right now. I don't want to be un-optimistic, lest I cease to exist