If you didn't know...

Fallen to the depths
of my mind
I replay a tape
of days past,
loves last,
running fast,

wait.

Drip, drip,
rain outside
sings me into
the sleeping black world
where emotion plays
perfect
ly.

This time,
I later realized
that no one
can be right
when selfish.

And knowing
is not the same as accepting.
And knowing this
is lazy
if it still needs
action.

and

compassion, love, belief,
Jesus, friends,

don't ignore the lines.

Heavy breathing,
tired sleeping,
secret love,
fired hate
behind the gates
of my dreams
and selfish mind.

Generation X

Rotten, rotten, rotten,
tastes lie flat on my tongue
of mistakes we make to hide ourselves
when we find ourselves too young.

We'll die for our own image,
and worship our own deadly friends
who cage us like the sick rats we are,
scraping for a light at the end.

Oh! How we toil!
And Oh! How we try!
But our own lukewarm past
is a sick alibi.

And of only the world were better!
If only we understood!
But weed makes our thinking hazy -
and you know we would quit - if we could.

Oh, woe, are we teens, of Generation X,
our lives are gone strait down the drain.
Though they would be better,
were it not for the weather,
and us causing ourselves so much pain.

Trouble

Were a kiss,
not a kiss,
or a lingering glance
not so tempting,
I do expect
that if we were
not so forbidden,
then I,
unstoppable that I am,
would not be
in love with you.

Purified

Dutifully I trace myself.
admiring the soft white lines
that set such firm, indefinite boundaries.
Boundaries
that remain surrepitious -
except to those who reside within them.

I pull the white, compacted stick of powder,
weaving in and out,
molding a shape that reflects who I was,
until,
in a tiny moment,
I stop moving,
and white ceases it's tiresome grind against pavement.
The boundaries are heavy,
and just as purity is the rival,
unknown forever
to those who pervert it,
So death remains a curious thing
until twins are joined together
by a thin line of chalk.

Yet.

Perhaps, while floating down this river,
one day I'll be found
with the rest of those who delayed their prize,
desires for the crown.

Limp my withered soul,

inside my withered skin

breaks with the weight of me I carry,

sags in the arms of Him.

And my angry body, fatigued and lame,
can push itself no longer.
With sticky breath I choke a cry
to one who still is stronger.

And though the light is passed to grey
to my heart, so badly broken;
I suck these laboured breaths - I know
The Last Word has not been spoken.

Amen.

The Perfect Man

The love of my life
is tall, dark, American- oh,
and just a little extra sweet.
He's strong but not bitter,
and always perks me up when I'm tired.
He only takes a few minutes to get ready when we go out,
and always smells fresh and inviting.
He is warm and soothing,
and feels so at home on my lips.
I love him, and hold him wherever I go.
My love pours himself out to me,
or sits quietly when I need it.
He is the perfect man.
He is coffee.

Lie Lazy

Let's lie lazy.
Let's not be good,
Let's not be rebels.
Shoulder to shoulder,
only think of the soft brush between fabrics,
and the breeze
whistling
through my eyelashes -
smiling like the fairy-tale grasses.

It feels like coffee.

Ah, those winter Sundays
when we both had ample time,
when we walked out of church,
slipping and laughing in the snow and black ice.
How naive we were
to the woes of spring,
to the responsibility of the sun.
It would slowly appear,
that as the ice melts and the seasons thaw,
it wasn't really better on the other side.

Sans Serif:

When I take the time
to consider this
my life - a symphony
of music swift
I wonder if
a drastic shift
might be wise
as a hopeful wish.
Maybe then
my dropping eyes
could rest through
even calmest nights,
a book would be
a book
not jumbled words
to overlook,
my silent space
would have a floor
instead of clutter
and clothes I wore.
So going forth,
this I wish:
to lead my life
sans serif.

Come, Thirsty.

Come, Thirsty,
and drink of the well.
Save yourself from selfish ways -
a timeless death in Hell.
Come drink the water
that always flows
a sea as murky
as glass,
and find a way
to break the pattern
of the rocky ground of life.
Come, Thirsty,
bath yourself,
be cleansed of all the grime.
Surrender pride to the waves that crash
on peaceful beaches.

Thirsty, you don't know
that sand doesn't quench the thirst
of the saints who died
just to live
in a way that no one can see.

Edge of a cliff

I am quite happy
to lay here,
passport fluttering in the wind,
stuck to my finger by a tiny piece of gravity,
who has no choice
but to hang me there -
while my hair tangles,
my shirt flies in erotic dances with the air currents,
and dust swirls around me,
waiting to settle down on my still face.

(In)trepid(n)ations.

In trepidations
we take our first steps.
We crumble at the sight
of new opportunities,
and heave sparkling eyes
with the joy of accomplishment.

Intrepid ations
fuel us.
Victory showcased in our outtermost reaches
that we never thought
would be in the palms of our hands.
After jumping hurdles
that seem as tall as mountains,
we can safely say
that we are fearless.

As a unit we are searching,
as individuals,
we are hoping.
As dauntless, we are striving,
and as cautious, we are learning.
We are youth,
a nation.
These are our
intrepidations.