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.