Just Breathing

No names.
But I want to call out to you.

I want you to know that you are different,
since to you, I've never said that before.

You don't even know what I look like,
not really. My mistake.

I guess you're no different from the rest,
even though I wish that weren't true.

Like a mist in a valley,
you climbed out and left me there, alone.

Too bad I never brought myself to calling you,
I might have missed my only chance at having you, maybe.

Are you back?
Or is it just me, still waiting.

Weak in a beautiful way

The very thought of her brings the blood to my cheeks;

I'm embarrassed.

Not by her, but by the thought of loving her the way I do.

Hardened through love,

it's like the war I never had to fight,

because I'm just watching. Wanting.

And yet if she turns to me,

I'm broken down into a coward,

the one I never hoped to ever be.

And soon it's a jumble of nonsense,

spewing from my mouth,

like the slip of feet on frozen water.

For without bliss,

she would not be beautiful.

And with it,

I am weak in the most beautiful way.

What can you see, over the Horizon?

I had a poem,
but I lost it.
Like love,
it fell out of my pocket.

I went looking for it,
but it did not respond to my calls.
Maybe it didn't want to be shared?
Maybe it was sick of me.

And though I'll be fine without it,
I'm sick to my stomach that I lost it.
Because this always happens.
And it's always my fault.

At least it's reassuring to know that now, for sure,
there's not even a hope of you loving me.

"Hey Dood"

Waiting for the stars to shine,

I'm lying on my back in a field.

This is really happening,

It's not just words on a page.

I hate that you're taller than me,

but I'll never admit it.

Because it's kinda cute that you think something so simple is an accomplishment,

and I don't want to ruin that.

It's like seeing a child amused by something ridiculous,

and you don't want to ruin their fun.

I suppose you're a child, then.

One who always has to steal shotgun,

even when their best friend is riding in the backseat.

They don't talk the whole way,

because they're too busy being in the front seat.

You're raw,

powerful,

and definitive in your cause-

But I wish you'd just be docile and frail...

where is the fun when you take chivalry out of the picture?

You feel... less of a man.

But then all that frustration melts away.

Because of the white teeth in your perfect smile...

Your smile is huge. It almost seems wider than a normal smile,

but that's why it's the first thing I see when I come down to meet everyone at lunch by the pool,

I see that big darned smile of yours.

And it makes me happy.

But I suppose it's not just that;

I suppose I think of what that reminds me of too,

about you,

maybe.

That your smile come from your sense of humour,

good laughs, they were had.

There's more, definitely more,

but not that i can say.

Not until, another day.

A telephone call riddled with bullet holes to the heart

Ring, ring,
Telephone.

Cry me your sorrows because someone is calling.
You have the numbers.
I have the phone.
The cable in between us runs longer on and on.

Stretching round telephone poles,
under bridges,
over manholes,
I call you from far away,
so that if I get rejected then I can say:
Well thanks, I'm sorry, Guess this is goodbye.

Because then I'll be crying,
and I'll probably want to die.
But at least you won't hear me,
because I'll be so far away-
Is this what I wanted?
Or did I just want you to stay.

This is a journey, please let me be

I am red now,
let's just see-


if this is a journey,
then please let me be,
I'm going to go as far and as fast as I can,
let me document it here,
if I remember... 
waiting, I can't stand!


I probably won't even remember doing this,
I am having too much fun,
I'm a [0],
a hardly anything,
but it's been so long since we've been one.


So upset with my life,
so caught up in things that don't matter...
I wish I had had more time to enjoy with the ones that do.


What people want,
they feel lucky,
already it's kicked in and I'm at a [4] or more,
It's not luck,
it's the work of magic,
dontcha know.


I'm happy now,
can't you see?
It shows, in my writing!
Being like this treats me nicer than life,
I am kind to myself and I treat myself right.


My hands know what I want to say,
because they go to the keys to write words,
those words trying to speak from my heart,
they speak emotions.
And what is emotion, if not thought?
The truest thoughts of our being.


I will ride with you,
Ride with you to a castle unknown,
where I will go in,
trying to find your prince charming.
I will slay the dragon and rescue him for you,
because you are you.


Why would you,
so strong and feminine,
let yourself become a damsel in distress?
So no,
I know,
it would be your prince charming,
who needs rescuing.


And I will save him for you,
because that's what people do,
for people they care about,
no?
They do things for them.
And why would I,
a guy,
find your prince charming for you?
Because I became just your friend a long time ago,
didn't I?
I guess so.


I wish I could be pushed away,
to a land with clear skies and rolling clouds,
so that I could be away from all that is wonderful about you;
your in-comparability brings a sour taste to my mouth,
knowing that I will suffer for the rest of my life if I do not ask you-
and you, brain,
you know,
that you'll never ask her.

Good health starts with a happy heart

Thanks for putting this together,
You changed my mind,
Yet again.

This isn't a casual lie I tell myself to help me get by,
but it is an unquestioning step forward.
I guess you could call it a leap of faith.

When really,
it's self-humiliating actualization.
I learn more about myself than you realize,
more than I tell you,
so obviously more than you know.
  Because unlike me,
    You don't listen.
  Because unlike me,
     You don't really hear what I have to say.
  And unlike me,
     You don't think you're a sweet thing.

You can be a tree,
whether I like that or not,
because you will be happy.
And that's all I really ever wanted.

I hate saying sorry,
I've been saying it a lot,
this isn't a poem,
Is it?

What's my name?
Do you even know?
I don't think I've said it,
not once.

So listen,
  not to the words,
But really listen,
  to what I've said.

And then you'll know my name.
Only if you really care- Do you?

Stumbling, forgetting,

Tripping,
Falling.
We do these things all the time,
Creating,
Forgetting.
Turning on,
Realizin.
Turning off,
Pretending we didn't.
Rips,
Fix.
Tape,
Use.
Why dont you ever keep your word?
Because you always mean something different.

Till the edge of night, sorrows will fade

Through blackened nights,
grey, broken skies,
we set our sights higher upwards-
Looking unto the edge of night.

Looking at lost memories,
maybe perplexed at how things used to be.
Because now you're here,
and things will never be the same.
Only different.

I miss the oatmeal we used to eat,
laughing,
crying,
making fun of things that didn't matter.
Making fun of you.
  Instead,
  I close my eyes now.
  And see the haven where I am free;
  friends,
  family,
  everything I have missed ever so dearly.

  The people I pretend to hate,
  The things I pretend not to care about.
  It all hurts so much,
  can't you tell?

  A storm is coming,
  And I will wait here until the dawn.
  Because-
  Maybe. Just maybe.
  When the storm breaks,
  When the ships pass,
  Will this harbour be as clear as it was before?

  I wish so.
  I wish for new voyages,
  with you,
  with the people I miss.
  With the people who it's too late for me to apologize to.
  I am sorry.
  And the best part is,
  They will never know.

If this is the end of all things,
then you and I... we won't meet again.
But you'll be here,
in my arms.
Sleeping.
What can you see, on the horizon?
Hopefully something more promising than the future with me.

The ships have come to carry you home.

And-
though we'll return to twilight and shadow...
There is always hope.
This leave is taking place,
This is the parting of our miserable friendship.
I am sorry,
flower.

I am sorry,
cat.

I am sorry,
everything.

Fall now,
right side up.
This isn't your last post.
This isn't the gate closing.
But this feels like the end.
You feel in a dark place.
Don't give up.
have faith.
Even when there is none to look to.

I am sad.
I'm sorry.

Introducing the end to the editor, rejected and retold. A story.

This is,
a song of sorts,
a sad end,
to a new beginning.
A new rhythm,
a new beat,
a breath taken to sing the next note.

Stop.
Play it over in my mind.
And when I'm done,
you'll hear me over and over,
unable to clear your mind,
lose yourself.
Find me.
This isn't a mystery,
it's just you setting yourself free.
Why is that so hard?
Don't you hear these tunes ringing in your head,
even if I'm not here to say them to you?

Stop.
Get out of my mind.
You're changing the game.
Playing my like a fool by my own rules,
I'd rather crawl back to love than to
be a stranger in my own books, to my own mind.

This is,
an old tune.
There are no such things as new beginnings.
Creativity is dead.
So are you.