Anthem

I forever think this will be my anthem. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZhQOvvV45w

Enjoy!  :)

Hated

The scar tissue screams when it's ripped from the body.
Then it is tossed aside like moldy garbage, forgotten moments later.
You go on about your life,
and there I am, gasping for breath
My red ribs still exposed,
an empty void where a heart used to live.
Salty tears well up as my mind realizes what just happened.
It doesn't hurt yet, but little do I know, I am still dying.
Death spreads it spindly hands over me, and squeezes every cell until it bursts.
I can still see you for a little while, off in a corner in this vast world
you refuse to call for help.
To think, if you had just told someone
I still might have been alive today.

Color Blind

What colors do you see that I do not?
Is there some hue of blue I never have seen?
Does it explode in the eye,
or sink in the soul?
Does everyone else see this color,
and I'm the only one?
Or is it a color that I never knew
existed in the first place?
Can you describe it to me?
"Well it moves, and it's vibrant,
and it jumps and it's silent
and it loves and it's the color of lightness."
But what does that all mean?
What if I don't see the same colors you see at all?
What is color?

Before You Died

"with all of this bad fucking luck something good needs to come my way"
These are the last words I know you said.
These were the words that you let stain your lips.
These are the words that you let us keep.
There are the words that we will remember you by.

Alley Cat

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Da6bBKLPEGg

One of my favorite things to do
is wander through the alleyways of this old town.
I take my camera with me
and try to capture all the things that people think they hide.
I can see their backyards,
and I feel like I'm spying on some private sector of their lives.
Sometimes I see things people never thought I would,
a shattered pot, in pieces by the road.
And old photo, one half burned away.
A rusty license plate from Missouri.
A flaking mural painted by grandma years ago on the garage door.
I especially like to do this when it is cloudy out,
then I can allow that melancholy feeling I get
wash over me
as I spy on the most forgotten aspects of our lives.

Wasting time

The worst feeling in the world is
when you wake up and a cold bolt runs straight through you.
It's after you look at the clock,
and the glaring digital eyes scorn you.
You can try to apologize,
but that will never reverse the crime you've committed.
Go ahead, try to say to yourself that you can find more,
that somewhere in your day you can reknit the fabric of time.
But it's like being attached to a sinking anchor,
as you are dragged further underneath.

Raisin Bran Crunch

In my own type of silent rebellion today,
I pulled out the box you labeled "your cereal".

I don't even like raisins, but I don't care.

And as I poured out those crunchy flakes into my own bowl,
I felt the exhilarating sense of freedom,
If we didn't have milk, I would eat it with my bare hands.
This bowl of cereal is one boundary I can overstep,
something I can do to make you uncomfortable.
And now there's nothing you can do about it.
Some deep part of me hopes that you get angry over this,
or have any type of reaction at all.
And as I chew the flakes slowly in my mouth,
alone in our living room,
I can't help but feel more uncomfortable than I have felt before.

Confiteor

I confess to almighty God

and to you, my brothers and sisters,

that I have greatly sinned,

in my thoughts and in my words,

in what I have done and in what I have failed to do,

through my fault, through my fault,

through my most grievous fault;

therefore I ask you, my brothers and sisters,

to pray for me to the Lord our God.

I am a wanderer.

I cannot find rest, and yet, I cannot wake.

I can be happy, but then I am hurt.

I do nothing, but dream I do everything,

And cannot face the reality when it stares me in the face.

I love it when you succeed and when you fail.

I want nothing to change,

And I won’t change myself.

I am angry more than merciful,

I am despiteful more than content.

These things I confess to you;

I want so badly to get my head out of the clouds.

Coffin

It longs to be in the ground,
like the heart longs to beat.
It stretches its roots, searching,
but the wall will not break.
This is its only option,
this is its dwelling place.
But not really home.

Late Tonight

I placed the letter underneath your door, I had to creep down the stairs as silently as possible to do so. My heart is in my chest, racing. It glides under the frame and I say a silent prayer. “Please, do not let this be the end of it all.” The darkness of the night engulfs my figure. Now, more than ever I feel the loneliness of your touch in my life. Do you know, my friend, that I stand outside your door right now? Do you know that I’ve given my all to be the best person I can be in your life? Do you know that that I feared I failed? It is cold on so many levels tonight. You sleep on the other side of the door, I can hear you breathing. At least I can have that comfort in this world. You can take this all from me, but at least you cannot take my breath. Just one lost individual in the dark tonight. I could only pray for the light to return in the dawning of the new day.

The Difference between what we see and what is Real

Smoke filled the air today.
There's that annoying Burger King
down the street that we usually blame.

But there seemed to be a different scent
clinging to the haze.
It wasn't greasy or flavored like a Whopper.
There was some kind of spice we couldn't recognize.
We drove, walked, biked and lived past it.
Assuming that the smoke was nothing,
It was not until the flashing lights,
loud alarms, running men, thrashing flames,
that we realized it was actually the house
down the street.

We gathered around in a silenced fear,
that smoke we smelled was the smell of
burning wedding photos,
a child's stuffed animal,
an antique china cabinet,
a priceless suit,
a favorite chair.

Aha

There is a moment, when
like a flood light,
all the rooms in your mind are smothered
in clarity.
The bleaching light overcasts
every old piece of furniture and outdated
printer in its glow.
Every nook and cranny
holds its breath as the gaze of this light
seeks them out.
You have heard of this moment,
probably not more than twice in your whole life.
You've been told its a rare thing,
you've always thought of it that way.
Who would want that?
When you really start thinking about it.
Who would want all those years of
neglect laid out before their very eyes.
The dust piled high, thick in its many years
of life.
Some things have been there longer than others,
some have more dust than others.
The light can make it look dirty,
or it can show the fingerprints you've placed all over it.
The only testament to how many times
you have reached for this.
The fingerprints are the only things,
besides yourself of course,
that really know how much you've
thought about this thing.
Don't worry though,
the light is a blessed moment.
Because now, no longer,
are you constrained.
What the light has seen,
the light has taken.

I just auditioned this piece for an art show! Wish me luck, I'm really hoping it will make it!

The Persistence of Memory

This is a response piece to Salvador Dali's piece "The Persistence of Memory"

What does your face look like?
I open my mouth to say something,
but there I stand,
stunned.
I cannot remember.
A crack is heard all around me,
it is loud and all consuming,
it resonates deep within every beating heart.
And immediately it all begins to melt,
the clock behind your head slides off the wall
and with a splat it lands like a puddle on the floor.
It said 1:33 before, now I don't know.
I don't know anything anyway.