You Don't have to Give Up, Just Give...

the key to writing, but dirty righteous writing, is being able to release all inhibition into just one being, be it music, art, books, or love. a complete surrender to the unknown without fear.

fear is what stops us.

but now, in this time that we're living, swimming with sharks in the open waters as our bodies bleed out into the vast ocean that is our lives. we stop only ourselves; and we can blame only ourselves for what we've done. at the end of the day, as we lay down and stare blankly at the ceiling, recounting the days events, wishing for this and that, hoping for what may happen, and praying to a false prophet that our horoscope tomorrow brings a better day; control is automatically taken from our own hands and placed into the lottery, anticipating the universe to work itself out for us, and not the other way around.

scared to fall in love, for fear that the other person may harm us, putting up these fences and walls, barricading ourselves with stones and mortar, becoming cold and fruitless, futile in our efforts to form relationships beyond passable friendships, at best, sharing becomes a sign of weakness and honesty becomes a negative aspect, everyone is ambiguous and free floating, rushing along with the current no matter if it takes you off the cliff and smashing a hundred stories down into a pool of rocks, where you will lay bruised and bloody, suffering the same death like the hundreds before you, all because you were scared to break away from the crowd for fear of rejection, mockery, and isolation.

this is all because in moments where we should be letting ourselves go, we keep asking, "who is looking at me? and how should i be acting? what's the right thing to do? should i feel bad? did i do something wrong? i'm sorry, but what am i sorry for???"

we are so out of tune with ourselves, and i partly blame society for offering us endless amounts of distractions, but i fully blame ourselves for not noticing how disconnected we've become as humans and not making a move to embrace each other, instead of our stupid fucking iphones.


stop asking
and start acting
before every person, moment, inkling, passes through you and into someone else, it races at you quick and leaves even quicker, if you're not firing on all cylinders and have your seats and tray table in the upright position you'll miss it, and not even notice that it blew through, but you'll have a strange hollow empty feeling inside, a longing for something of substance, and looking behind you, the hills will blow and roll with the laughter of the ones you weren't ready for.

To the Top of the Queue

structurally
there are no abnormalities
i love watching
how people come to choices
conclusions
it's like the game mat in "office space"
peoples rationale
differ
from men to woman
good men to bad woman
bad woman to good men
jump on the mat
and all is done
simple as that.
dust off your clothes
smooth out your hair
fluff your jacket
and crack your fingers
back to normal aye?
oh why yes.. yess...
everything alright and dandy on this side
flowers blooming, people moving
cars roaring bicycles chiming
deliveries all made on time
everyone wins
god-bless capitalism!
do you think it's possible
that our jobs
are nothing but wheels
and we're the rats
spinning them?
oh how he
who pours his own drink
can easily divert
from the poison to anecdote
and back to positions unheard of
by anyone
except those pounding away
in his right brain?
listen
yes listen
we are coming to the end
here
for this one
sometimes,
someone must do
something
in
order
to make
things right
hey,
you,
damn
damn,
damn...
damn your eyes...

One Day Too Many

i haven't had a drink
in several days
i'm running dry
my bones need lubrication
the brain needs insight
all words pour out onto page
seem like giant turds and worms
worming their way
crawling along
with no value
no heart
just eating small holes in pages
and leaving trails of feces behind them
the paint peels away from the walls
bubbles and strips
the floors creak and shift
faucets pulled away from fixtures
and door knobs
drawer knobs
all get pulled off
this place is falling apart
the voices call
for justice
and
perseverance
for wicked woman
enormous amounts of drink
for chaos
which will keep them breathing
voices
i hear you
but the less i keep from you
now
the more rewarding it will be
when we both dance
through death
entangled arms
embracing
against cold frail mellow dramatic moments
frozen in time
with our cheeks pressed up against
faces
made of clay
emotionless
stale
and fragile
under
the mistletoe
is a lonely place
for the last
clown
at
dinner for Valentines
Cupid
should be shot
bound
gagged
and fucked
with a soldering iron
then thrown into a gift basket
and delivered
to your job
voices
i'm coming you fucks
so get ready!

you cannot let them see you
suffer
you cannot let them see you
mourn
you cannot let them see you
sad, happy or content
you've got to do all that shit
at home
with the bottle
or on the paper
if you show emotion
a frown
a smile
or some relief
they will rip
your still beating heart
out of your chest
and bite down
stomp down
on it
and shit on your chest
make a conscious effort
to smile
to play the right hand
so that you can slither away
in your own filth
and lock the doors
to cry
like the little baby
the little sad sack of shit
that you are
write about it
strive for it
reach for it
the unobtainable
and when you look at it
it makes all this
pointless
because
in the end
she's taken your talent
your life
your passion
and sucked it
right from the vein
that runs to you

to Be 24 & Write Bad Poetry

to be young
thoughts racing
pounding
pulsating
in the brain
to be 24 and write poetry
about bad woman
with no hearts
to be 24 and write poetry
about lack of connections
loneliness
heartache
and all that other
deprived shit
that we are living
to be 24
and want
the world
in our palms
only to crush it
and blow the bits and debris
towards god
and say,
"look what i did"
to feel weak
feeble
and without hope
the future is dead
past is nothing but
bridges made of straws
that collapsed
and killed every citizen
these days
will kill you slowly
to weed out the weak
the stranded
the death
to be 24
and hold onto everything
in fear that it might
dissipate
at any second
so you place worth
on everything
every movement
every breath
every word
means something
if not anything
and you take it
manipulate it
place it inside your chest
and hope
nothing but hope
that one day
these dead eyed
will grow strong
these heartless
will grow hearts
and we are nothing
but tin men
with squeaky joints
looking for the oil
to lubricate us
define us
empower us
and love us

Sober

hey
woman
i'm sober now
and happy
smiling
full of glee
ugh
alright
that's enough
this shit is boring
how can you stay this way
and never progress?
remaining stagnant?
it's so fucking
what's the word i'm looking for?
oh yeah...
depressing....
ah
there it is

Score One for the Good Guys

today
i fought
tonight
i defeated you
and
tomorrow
will be another fight
worth writing about.