In This Darkness

The darkness is consuming.
It's flooded over what I thought I knew
And I no longer have the shelter I once had.
I'm open and I'm scared.

Vulnerability, I thought was always a strong point for me.
That's not true.
I'm going mad;
I'm just so sad.

I can't see anything anymore,
But I can feel everything.
It's destroying me.
It's emptying me.

I want to stand up stronger.
But, I do not know if I can.
I want to see something.
But, I'm not sure I would be able to see correctly.

Something is calling.
I can hear it.
It sounds familiar.
I'm afraid to follow.

It continues to call.
I can hear it saying my name.
I must take a step forward.
Everything is so dark.

That is what scares me.
I can no longer tell what will happen next
And I wish I could.
I have to move, though,

Or the darkness will only consume me more.
I'm not sure what to do.
I have to make a choice.
The one that frightens me more seems to be the only logical choice, though.

So I will walk forward.
I will risk walking,
In this darkness,
Hoping that it will lead to the light.

Hopefully the light will shine in a beautiful hue.
And hopefully, that light will lead me back to you.

I'm Sorry

I'm sorry,
But I'm not worth it.
I am a predisposed failure.
I can't help you become secure.

I'm sorry,
But I'm afraid that I'm not good enough,
And I don't think you understand that.
I'm not what you're looking for.

I'm sorry,
But I can't truly give you what you're looking for.
I'm just a substitute.
I want you to keep en route.

I'm sorry,
But you deserve better.
I'm just a lie; I'm not confident
I'm scared and not worth it.

Politics in a Box

I've stood in protest for as long as I can remember.
Not once have I sat to catch my breath.
I'm starting to ask myself,
How much of this will mean something.

When people look back,
Will they remember
These choices I've fought for,
Or is it just another missing history?

Does this protest punctuate my purpose?
Can my protest be seen on through time?
I want what I've done to matter.
I want to leave knowing there was real change.

Not just the classic position-taking.
Not just logrolling my way through life.
I won't let my choices be arbitrarily diminished.
I know what I'm fighting for matters.

It's not just politics in a box.

Succubus

The simplicity I once possessed is gone. 

Whatever I thought I had disappeared. 

I've tried it all; even sitting at dawn. 

Still, not a cloud has cleared. 

Why must I be under this constant fog? 

It seems something is stopping me. 

This is more than a pen clot. 

I've tried every key.

So, maybe it has something to do with you.

As I sit writing this, you damage me like a nail into my conscious. 

It breaks all of my concentration. 

I feel your cold knife dissecting me. 

It's now, I realize you're still my problem. 

You're still what's stabbing me, paralyzed. 

I thought I would never again succumb. 

I thought I had you sterilized. 

But, even a my best, it's all a lie. 

You're a damn leach 

And you plan to suck me dry, 

Aren't you? 

I can't stand what you've become. 

I never want you back in my life;

And yet, when I know we're done,

I still wonder about your strife. 

What caused the monster you are today?

Why must you consume man?

Till he has nothing left to say. 

They are afraid of you. 

They're just little lamb. 

No match for you, succubus. 

They don't even raise a hand. 

Stop looking at them like an incubus. 

Stop fighting a faux pas rivalry, 

And don't you dare blame me. 

A suspenseful calling is what I seek.
Not some pent up life for the weak.
One so different no one can look at me the same.
I'm not looking for fame.

Some might even call if infamy.
Perspective is what's important.
I see that I was not called for a regular life.
But when start walking the right way,

It's like being stabbed with a knife.
This truth is the most painful thing I've met.
It has me cringing with every step.
So every time I end up stepping back.

What I've come to realize,
Is that the only way to continue hearing the call,
Is if I walk through that knife
And let it do its job.

The problem is, even when I know the secret,
It's still ending my life;
And the pain is so frequent,
I can't help but run from the knife.

Some wish it was easier.
Sometimes I agree.
But then I remember,
Those who did pass.

A strength that is unparalleled,
And a heart held for all to see.
Then and there I know,
One day, I will truly follow.

Damn Wastes of Space

I never said that things would be easy.
But, I did say they would be true.
I could show you reality;
But, you'd have to stop falling through.

You show up missing several pieces.
And I told you not worry, that you could lay your head.
You didn't even lay for a second before you criticized the creases.
Then you stuck your words in like lead.

The poison began to crush every inch of my body,
My soul quickly followed.
I looked up to see you parading gaudy.
I lost myself and quickly hollowed.

Never have I been given a second chance I didn't take.
But, every time I'm still shut down from an unearthly quake.
It's when I realized,
None of us can be civilized.

It is not fate stopping me from following through.
It's you.
You pointing with your finger.
Shooting everyone with your hideous stinger.

It was then my that thoughts came together.
Then, I saw your worthless tether,
And all of those like yours.
Just weak to the cores.

Your menial words and lies have no effect,
The second I choose to stop trying to protect,
I just let it all be deflected,
I can no longer be affected.

So sit as close as you want.
Stare at me and give your best taunt.
Because you don't have the power to aggravate,
Now that I know it's you being destroyed, not my fate.

I Write to Be Free

Asking me why I write
Is like asking why I breathe.
I write because I feel an innate necessity to;
Poetry is my soul, and the pen is my body.

I write because I do not know who I am.
I need my soul to tell me.
Poetry is the outlet to all that my soul knows is true
And it is how I come to understand these truths.

I write because a man once told me "the truth is what sets you free."
Lies are what keeps life at bay.
The lies spoken from my mouth have imprisoned me,
And the truths of my soul are slowly breaking the bars.

I write to help those in bondage to escape.
Whether it is the prison of the mind or another's misconception,
No one should be a prisoner of any demise.
Freedom is as inherent as the blood coursing through my veins.

I write because my freedom is mine to to keep.
My freedom to write against those who think themselves above.
Life has a way of keeping all on an equal playing field
And they should understand that.

I write because I feel every bone in my body telling me to do so.
I write to find myself.
I write because I am and always will be free.
I write because those who find themselves above me have another thing coming.

These Hands

Hands such as mine have many faces;
They come from brokenness, missing and important thing, love.
The hands know many things; but, not many would call them smart.
My hands have learned to be capable, as long as they are not asked to heal.
My hands know but one heart,
And it is the same one that makes it beat, and taught it to steal.

Hands such as mine have found it quite difficult to love.
Such an idea, is perplexing, just as they don't understand healing.
With all this confusion, they become better at stealing.
For one to see the pain the follows, one much understand a soul's heart.
For my hands pain come from thinking time has already made them smart.
They've done nothing but continue to hide under their faces.

Hands such as mine have been hidden much too long to heal.
They've become so blind, they can't even follow their own heart.
These hands have lost the capability to remember faces.
Hands such as these cannot be considered smart.
By this time, these have have become the best at stealing.
So well, in fact, they learned to stop others from loving.

It's a challenge to stop these hands to stop guarding my heart.
That's what they learned it is to be smart.
They want to understand love.
They would like to understand something beside stealing.
These hands miss the warmth of unnoticed faces.
My hands want the blessed touch of healing.

My hands no longer see themselves as smart;
These hands will no longer steal.
The question is now, what does it take to heal?
What must they do to remember faces?
What must my heads do to understand love?
How do my hands learn to open my heart.

These are the trials of my hands, can someone steal
My hands and expose my real face?
Show my hands the true strength of my heart.
Please show the ex-theifs love.
Because love is what lets you heal.
True hands that love, that understand pain, can only then be smart.

Irony.

Oh, the Irony the come with life.
The chance that put both of us in this room,
For weeks on end,
Ha!

The same chance that led us to each other
On that fateful day,
And that same chance,
That pulled us away.

I don't believe in chance,
Not fate,
But, I do believe in the Great Humor of Life.
That someone likes a little to much Irony.

Could this be someone telling me I must speak with you?
I don't know,
But fortunately,
They're giving me a week to figure it out.

An Ode to You.

You know,
Out of anyone in my life,
No one has done as much for me as you.
It's been a terrific pleasure knowing you, doo.

There is no one whom's wisdom has helped me make a choice,
Like your voice.
My kind,
We don't deserve your time.

But, for some reason you give me it.
No matter how much I ask you,
You give without ceasing.
And, you never expect me to keep leasing.

You never know when or if I'm going to dive off the edge
And I know that scares you sometimes.
Yet, somehow, you don't see me as a liability,
Or the friend who is always needy.

You see me in a different light.
You look at me with different eyes.
I know you'll help me through the end,
That thanks to you, isn't just around the bend.

The man you are looking at
Is not for your eyes.
You have lost that privilege
Long ago.

You look at him with the same disgust that he knows that truly are.
You nothing now,
but a scar.
That man has made a vow.

A vow to leave the people like you behind.
He has become quite tired of being blind.
The anger he feels has one purpose,
It's meticulous.

He no longer misses you;
He's payed his due,
He will no longer live with people of your discourse.
Time is up, no remorse.

Am I blind?

Is there some connection between my blindness and my view of life?
Some might say: yes what that's what is wrong with your view.
Some might say it is the reason I look a life the way I do.
What if my blindness is the cure to your ailments?

From the second I was put on this earth, I inherently saw it different.
Some might construe this as negligence.
Some might even call this arrogance.
But, the reason I know this is wrong,

Is because the one thing I've never confused with anything, is a human.
Whatever shade they may be,
I never miss an action.
I see the both the bad and the good,

And if the bad didn't weigh down the good so much,
I would understand when they said my view was distorted.
I would understand their confusion,
When I tell them this world is a broken circle.

My blindness was my cure.
Just the idea that they think they can see,
Correctly, is what keeps them from the reality.
Their whole existence is a fallacy.

Ticking

I'll tell you about the way the world will end.
It's much simpler and close than you might think.
It's just around the bend.
It might even come before you blink.

Simple change over time graph.
The Y axis shows those who care
And the X shows the years since the last laugh.
The graph looks down at all, similar to your stare.

This change can be calculated,
Extrapolated,
To it's final days.
This wasn't built like a maze.

It was built to be seen simply.
No hidden mirrors or tricks,
Only the truth to how we end so abruptly.
The clock ticks.

I Wish That I Could

I hate you.
I can't stand the way you make me feel.
You make it impossible for me to heal.
Why did you do this to me?

This is my life.
I am laying it down in front of your feet.
I'm trying to tell you I miss your heat.
I can no longer walk with this in my heart.

It's a burden I can't handle.
I knew it wouldn't always be easy,
But this is crazy.
I don't want this.

I love you.
I'm angry because I miss you.
With out you I wallow in the blue
And it hurts.

That is the truth.
After everything that has happened,
My world has blackened.
Please light it again.

Do Not Resist.

Resistance is futile.
It will wash over you.
Like an open ocean,
Its limits are ever expanding;

Its strength is equal.
It will sting you.
It will knock you down.
You cannot avoid it.

It forgets nothing you have done,
Even when you have.
It will make you feel those pains,
It only knows your pain;

I cannot feel itself.
Just a combination of Guanines, Adenines, Thymines, and Cytosines.
But how can we feel then?
We are of the same beginnings?

Why have we been given such a curse.
A burden such as this,
To do nothing but destroy and make our bliss,
Where is the humanity in it?

Resistance remains futile,
Let it wash over you;
Let it remind,
Let it expand your mind

Broken for Better

I'm a broken record that refuses to play.
Refuses to slide around the grain of society.
I skip the beat and create a new song.
I'm a nuisance to some,
A sign of reality to others.

I'm a photo that didn't stay in the darkroom long enough.
Creating new lights and darks.
An example of your impatience,
But also released to early to bask in your lies.

I'm the book you skimmed through.
You think you know what I'm about,
But you don't even know the half of it.
Barley even able to scrape up the basic meaning of who I am,
You never took long enough to pay attention to tell the difference between
My sarcasm and my truth.

Fortunately for me,
There are people who can hear the beauty of a broken record.
People who take pride in a mistaken piece of art.
And those who take the time to read every page of the dusty book on the shelf.

Although you can't see this reality,
Because you are stuck in a fallacy,
Some people have found the fine line between reality and their dreams.
And know when to combine them together to make our world:
A better one.

Change

I asked if you would be there for me when I'm hurt.
I asked if you would hold me close when no one else would.
I asked if it was too much.
You told me you would never leave my side.
Damn you,
Damn you for lying to me.
You left me when I needed you most.
I depended on you for stability.
All you gave me was trouble.
You made my life into a challenge.
A challenge no one needs to face.
Not there for the bettering of my soul.
But for the furthering of my descending.
Descent from which I didn't think I could return.
But, life has a way of preparation.
I haven't quite risen yet.
But I'm no longer falling.
You should know,
That I didn't lie to you when I told you I couldn't live without you.
That is still true.
So instead, I'm changing my life.
Creating a life separate from the pain of loving you.
That world will never be forgotten,
And neither will my love.
But I can't stay in the cold anymore.
I can't wait while you walk.
It's time for me to go forward.
Let life offer me something that wants me the way I am.

The Canvas

He sits,
With a blank canvas staring at him.
He doesn't look at the canvas.
He's looking past the white void
Something else catches the interest of this woeful walker.
What he sees behind the void of white complicates his mind.
He becomes frantic.
He takes a brush, dips it in color, and paints over the entire canvas,
The void has transgressed to black.
He continues to look past the void.
Behind the void continues to puzzle him.
He's loosing his concentration.
He picks up more paint.
He can't step away.
He could spend an eternity hear.
In this spot.
He plans to.
He won't stop painting.
He looks up to see what behind the void has to offer now.
Every time he looks he becomes more critical.
What he sees changes him.
He picks up more paint and continues.
Each stroke as important as the last like the lines of a poem.
None more important than the other.
Just like you can't look at a couple lines of poem to see it's true meaning,
Neither can you to that of a painting.
He puts down his brush.
He looks a the world behind him.
It saddens him.
His painting shows his emotion just the same.
He looks at the painting of himself,
At the foreground of the world behind the canvas.

Worthy

He's surrounded by a cataclysm of relationships.
Everything is being ruined around him.
All the joys he once knew, seem to hold no value anymore,
No reason, no recollection, resentment has regained control over the young man's conscious.
He doesn't understand how.
All he knows is the pain it causes.
He envies those around him.
Desperate for what they have, while they forget it's value.
People tell him that things will get better.
What if he doesn't want to get better.
Rather, he wants them to change.
Things get better only to become worse again.
Change is the only way to see differences,
To see truth in this world full of deceit.
The validity he's looking for can only be found from the change that is inside himself.
A self-realization of independence.
His elation is no longer dependent on those around him,
But instead,
His own self-worth.

A New Way

It's not the lies that ruin me.

It was the unspoken truths,

The missed opportunities,

The lack of me, inside of me.

The distant life I once lived,

Sits on a island that seems unreachable now.

I try to yell at those who inhabit it.

But they cannot hear me.

My cries have been drowned out by all the bullshit in between.

The misspoken lines and the indefinite ending

All point to one truth.

This entity,

Is not me,

This is not my life.

This is not who I am.

And there is no way to get me back.

I've strayed too far.

So I must think;

Think of a new way.

He Forgot

Binding is where it begins.

A simple gesture of good faith and a locking of eyes that has a lifetime of words to say.

It started on a beach,

The place where all of his time was spent, wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

It took him to beach street.

Some place far away from that beach he once knew.

When you took a left you saw a hill,

that turned to a never ending maze that he would navigate everyday.

A novel filled with memories,

But he hasn't  read that book in such a long time

When he looks at it, it doesn't seem much like his story anymore.

Then tragedy struck that beach street.

The glass was thrown, the couches flipped,

And two small children sat in the corner,

In their room farthest from the shouts as they could manage.

The screams would hold them there for the rest of their lives.

When asked to grow up,

One would say, that's a little redundant, don't you think?

While the other said, why should I waste my time?

This is where their paths divided.

No longer the friends that they once were.

When someone asked what they thought of the other,

They would both say, why would you want to know about him?

Now only once in a while will you here about the other.

This is where the short chubby boy with short brown hair and a head full of problems looses what he wanted in life.

He wanted security,

But was only ever brought disparity.

Everyone noticed the change but him.

His mother tried to hide him from the rest of this hurt,

But what she didn't know is that it was far from possible to achieve.

That boy short chubby boy would get taller, maybe even a little skinnier,

But confidence would never truly grow.

Scared of a world he never stepped into.

He spends his time secluded from those closest to him.

Too afraid to them what is really like.

One day,

He met a girl,

Someone interested to know who he is.

That now taller and skinnier boy wants to show her who he is,

But that life spent hiding from  has made it hard on him.

He doesn't know how to explain or show it,

Because he no longer can see it in himself either.

He scared sitting in the corner of the room far away from anyone and anything looking for him.

He wants to open up;

He just doesn't know how.

I don't have a name for this one yet-

I find these truths to be self evident.
This is a broken resident.
It doesn't take much to see,
This corrupt discrepancy.

When a majority find a group to be corrupt,
How does the minority decide their actions themselves?
How do they decide whether they are guilty or not?
This minority is crimsoned with the blood of the majority.

They wash their hands as if it was just paint.
The blood is never truly gone.
It becomes a sign of what they have accomplished to some.
To others, it is a sign of disdain.

These transgressions can no longer be overlooked.
The veils must be lifted from these fabrications.
Soon there will not be a strong enough majority to make stand.
The minority already have the upper hand.

Civilians

Dear Civilians,
Look around you,
Be careful of these surroundings.
The have a habit of misleading most.
While blinding some,
It leaves others to boast.

Dear Civilians,
Listen to the music around you,
The voices competing with themselves,
The wicked being much quieter than you thought.
Be careful of which you take in.
Some voices are true an some are bought.

Dear Civilians,
Breathe in this cold arid air.
Notice how each breath changes you.
This air is pollutes your mind,
Makes you listen to the wrong voices.
You willingly become blind.

Dear Civilians,
You must understand what is happening around you.
It is a pollution that cannot easily be fixed.
It has digressed to some of the most advanced stages,
Like a disease,
It's malignant and will not die out just continue to hold you in cages.

The Messenger

We destroyed this life with tears.

This world has lost its meaning with years.

We have been locked up in these cages.

An idea of what we should do through the ages.

A misconceived creation of perfect

Obtained through gross neglect.

A vision,

Fogged by man's hand.

A bad decision,

Chose by those who thought themselves grand.

We couldn't have been more flawed.

Disproportional ideas of grandeur.

Now we all just stand awed.

We are poor.

You ask me how to change this world.

I am sorry,

But I am only half a puzzle.

I cannot show you how to fix this.

I can only show you what it is.

Our demise.

The blackening of our life as we know it.

I am no savior,

Just the messenger.

My eyelids drift towards each other in grateful embrace.
Then I tear them apart showing no grace.
Aridly, they hold themselves open.
Not a word uttered, my thoughts unspoken.
I sit in salutary silence.
The dark, silent, alliance.
Blissful ignorance.
Their disgusting belligerence,
It is an issue.
A life, askew.
Disappoint them,
Become them.
Ignore them,
Become them.
Listen to them,
Become them.
No line to be drawn.
No sun behind this dawn.
A darkness never purified.
A mind becoming petrified.