Light

It's ok to not be able to love everyone,
because we as people are not big enough,
nor humble enough.
No place is home now,
and I carve my place
out of a stone mountain.
It may not be suitable for you,
but for me it's all I got.
And I ask for something sweet,
to keep my energy up.
But you only cover me in salt.
and water is a dreamland.
Where will I go to find rest?
Where will I got to find a friend?
Familiar faces are millions of miles
behind me and I forgot to retrace my steps
so long ago.
And the world's shaky, sticky breath
makes my skin crawl.
Some people decide to never touch it,
but I have found myself deep inside of it;
covered in its stinking goo and puss.
You have no idea what it means to me
when I find a place to rest.
You have no idea what it feels like to be home.
And this idea of rightness surrounds me like
a coffin and I can sleep finally at peace.
I was afraid of this once,
and my heart beat red with the freshness of youth.
But now I feel like I carry a stone.

New Season

When I write a poem about you, you know it's concrete.
And I haven't written a poem in so long,
not until you came around at least.
There a true loathing in me
because now its become a waiting game.
Time has always slipped away from me
and I don't understand why.
And I knew I should have seen this coming,
you would be like all the rest.
But a broken and hurt heart means pebbles to you,
and pebbles belong in the dirt.
And everything is new and scary now
and the cold bites my fingers to stubs.
All I want you to do is keep me warm at night
especially when I stare in the face of a stranger all day.
Something familiar and fresh...
is that too much to ask for?
But instead I go crazy waiting for some air from you.
And I rack my brain with ways to make
my life better.
But right now I just feel tormented
because I decided to let you in.

Light Comes

For my Brother...you are inspiring and so very strong.

Light comes in lonely places,
when the dawn wakes the slumbering soul.
And your fingers fracture the thawing heart
as they clutch each other for warmth.
The look on your face when the first rays of sun
break the darkness, it always makes me inhale my lungs.
It's so quiet.
But a smile comes when the dawn breaks
because for a moment you feared that it never would.
And you would have to lay there,
on your back for the rest of your life.
Wrapped in the blankets like a coffin.
But that glow streaking across the ceiling
lets the blood return to your cheeks.
And the sleeping dead leaves your body
and you are shaken with life to your core.
You made it another night,
that means you made it another day,
and that means you've made it further than ever before.
And the strength inside you does not amount
to any weight you could lift.
It is the strength to rise when all else would have fallen.
So light does really come in the morning,
and darkness shatters when I see that smile on your face.

Here's a song for you:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a8b_hngUHB8&ob=av2e

Continue to be strong my brother. Love you.

Let the Jazz carry me

There are many times when
I wish the jazz would just carry me away.
Let the music notes snuggle against my arms
and gently
       t
    f
  i
l
me off the ground.
I want to feel lighter than a kite,
than a bird flying alone at midnight.
I want to let the beat do the thinking for me,
the bass line be my blood line,
and melody will hold me.
Love is something I hold dear
and life goes on
when you start playing our song again.
And though the jazz notes groove me
and shake me to the core,
it never seems to be enough to make me fly.

Of course

He would call you,
of course he would.
I would call you even,
who wouldn't?
But an icy coldness
fills me and fights with
the fiery jealousy breathing in an out of me.
Of course he would call you.
And the sitcom perfect situation occurs:
He likes you,
you like another guy,
and that guy could care less.
And I'm the cooky friend there just to make the laughs.
Falling to the ground when I've had too much to drink,
tags still unknowingly attached to my clothes,
the "Laugh" sign lights up when I am around.
But I don't get an arm wrapped around me on a cold walk home.

Sad Poetry

I think you can see straight through me
when I start writing sad poetry.
It manifests and consumes
and my heart becomes an open book.
You can flip through the pages,
see all the tragedy
scoff at the melodrama
and groan and the melancholy metaphors.
And then you can toss that book aside
on your bed side table
and sleep with sweet dreams.
But that sad poetry
and that inspiration for those words
boils within me
and leaves tiny gashes in my skin.
Because for me that poetry is not simply
a list of pretty words.
It's a fabricated figure
of my hopeless heart
of my shattered confidence
of my lonely existence.
And I feel ridiculous
because I'm not usually one to complain
when all around me are gifts of
laughter, friendship, joy, beauty.
I see it and regret the instant that I spent precious time
writing a sad poem and let the dark overtake me.
Stupid sad poetry,
I write you too much.

Reality Sets in.

Does your heart panic knowing that I am going very far from you?
Does it beat faster and faster as the miles grow between us?
Does it feel a little lonelier as it sinks in that it may be a long time before you see me again?

But I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do next...
The idea if you seems like a hill too steep for me to climb,
an unimaginable fantasy.
because you have the whole world spread out beneath your feet
and I could be just another puddle you stomp over as you walk across the street.
But I can't sleep at night because your eyes are the last eyes I see pierce the fogginess.
And I can see myself doing this over and over again for you.
Driving to Estonia, just to kiss your face, have lunch with your family on a lazy Sunday afternoon and laugh about your odd fondness for country music.
And maybe am I just so desperate that any person with kindness in their heart
and a nice ass
looks like a walking target,
with wedding bands and church bells stapled to them like a hazy fever.
I know you don't want that kind of commitment when you signed our friendship contract,
so that's why I don't know what to do now.
Because suddenly I've started writing sappy
love poetry with you in mind and
I have these silly fantasies of you and I together,
and I wish them into reality with all my heart and soul while I drift into dreams populated with your face.
You are everywhere in my mind.
And once again I'm doing nothing important while I wait for a dream to come true.

But reality sinks in the morning I wake,
and I realize the odds of you feeling the same way are about one in a million
and I just  feel like a fool the rest of the day.