a sequel of sorts to "motions"

Something Like Faith: Singed Flesh, Saving Grace  
How is joy?
Why is hope?
When is aspiration?
A sentient being am I.
Am I?
There is a magic I can't touch
I can't see
I can't feel
I can't even sense.
It's elusive
Like God.
But there is a form of belief.
Something like faith.
Even as faith becomes flawed,
Takes on flesh, and knows tangibility. 
Just...a word.
Yet a fire still burns.
So far below, no heat can be felt,
No smoke reaches the nose and the glow
Is muted, though distinctly present.
However unreachable.
The metaphors are related.
I promise.

more machine than human being

Romeo Caulfield (Mistaking Roseline for Juliet [With a Save the World Complex Lacking Direction])

you've got me all figured out, don't you?
you know who i am
what i want
what i have become in these months.

i'll tell you a secret--
i haven't the slightest clue.
so if it's with you 
that this information lies
could you share it,
could you open my eyes?
maybe let me in on the facts of my life?
you know that...
that would be nice.

i'm a scared little boy,
some would call me a man.
all i have to say is that 
some would be wrong.
it's astounding how wrong
some can be.

so tell me.
you know me.
just tell me.
what is the meaning of me?

sad stories from girls of boys whom they "know".
oh, they know, they know, they know...
oh, what the fuck do they know? 
they know just as much as i do,
and so much less than you.
don't base your views on their ideas,
misinformed and disillusioned. 
don't base your ideas on their views,
so crowded and so confused.
misinformation spread by my silly tongue, forced passed my treacherous lips.
false leads, blurry hearts, and countless emotional and ideological slips.

i've become more machine than human being,
and the only apologies that i have are for me.

a villanelle

Flight School

You’ll unfold your wings, you tired bird;
Arise and stretch to greet the day,
And when you take the sky, cry out to be heard. 

Through the night you did rest, unstirred.
Now, the morning dew falls as if to say,
Come, unfold your wings, you tired bird.

In quiet slumber with not one word
And in sweet repose you did lay.
Soon you’ll take the sky and cry out to be heard.

Through dreams of flight you’ve been spurred
Make them true in your way
It’s time to unfold your wings, you tired bird.

Aspirations and reality become blurred,
While the dawn chases darkness out, away.
It’s time to take the sky and cry out to be heard.

Put aside your sleep and dreams, for life instead, deferred.
Carpe diem, goes the archaic cliché.
Unfold your wings; be not like the tired bird.
Enter flight! Take the sky! And cry out to be heard.

six AM is the new midnight

don't call me;
don't call me baby.
no, don't call me babe.
don't call me anything at all.

sick and sad and lonely and kind of afraid.
i'm sick and sad and lonely; it's just one of those days.
sick and sad and lonely and i thought I was done.
sick and sad and lonely... 
i thought i was...
i was wrong.

from idealistic romantic to fatalistic realist.
my philosophy is post-transcendental and pre-making sense.

when i thought i had the world at my feet
it turned out i was at the foot of the world.
i was certain;
now uncertainty asserts itself and i'm not so sure anymore.
i was dancing through life and then i remembered--
i don't even know how to dance.

now's your chance.
"i told you so. i told you."
that's just how the story goes.

this one is going to be a song!

Laundry and Love Notes
don't you know you were my favorite?
are not were, now pardon me.
let's go out on the town,
see a show, grab a bite to eat.

i'm sitting here in an empty house
my mind has turned itself inside out
the floor is laid out with clothes and paper,
laundry and love notes left incomplete. 

ages ago and a long time from now
we saw things we are bound to see.
but follow my lead, bare your heartstrings,
on principle i know nothing. 

it's easier that way.
yes, i said it's easier that way.
your head's not rushing,
your heart's not broken,
your blood is flowing,
leave tomorrow, take today.

a cool breeze blows  through the screen door,
cool memories blow over me 
it's kind of soothing, kind of moving,
it reassures me summertime ain't always scorching heat.

yeah follow my lead, bare your heart strings
leave tomorrow, take today. 

spoken word/slam poetry style

The Gray 
The fact of the matter is that the facts don't matter.
As a matter of fact, lacking tact and all class
I'd call the facts a right pain in the collective ass
of anyone who's ever known hope, love, or pain
and to every single person trying to keep themselves sane.
This game that we play, tug-o-war, keep away,
We strive to explain all the loss to our brains
As we walk and we talk and we drop more than names
and all the time tell our children this is not all in vain.

The struggles that we face are not all in vain.

Large or small, short or tall,
Black or white, scatter brained or on the ball
Demons they battle, everyone, one and all.
Be it abuse, money, lust, drugs, self worth, or alcohol.
Darkness and light compromise in the gray,
And for now compromise will help us to stay
Up above the dirty water that we tread every day,
And the verses that we write and rhymes that we lay,
Will help us to keep all our demons at bay.

The words on the page keep our demons at bay.

This life can be hard and these times even harder,
But success can be found if sought after with ardor.
Now I'm going to hijack some old dusty cliches, 
See, the trick is to always live for today,
Let tomorrow worry about itself for a change.
What will be will be were the words spoke to me,
And after all that I've seen I still believe in a dream.
Beyond the clouds and beyond the days lacking sunlight.
We can make up a life where if we go down we still fight,
Get back up, and keep on, keeping our goal in mind,
It's about belief in ourselves and what's in front, not behind.


The past is the past so leave it behind.

she said: are you looking for something?

Girls and Boys
He swallowed a hand full of thumbtacks. She offered him a glass of gasoline to wash it down with. They made love. 

The girls aren't interested (unless he has some sort of complex)
Some kind of Macho/sad little puppy dog/deeply misunderstood/impenetrable...
Differentiating factor .
They want... 
Hands all over (and over and over and over again...)
No no no. Chaste. Gotta be chaste.
Really, there's no right or wrong way (until she says there is, and then you BETTER BELIEVE you are doing it wrong).

And the boys? They're oblivious, too (unless she's already taken [and ESPECIALLY if the other guy is an ass hole]).
Or has an eating disorder, cuts herself, maybe.
Unattractive as it seemingly comes off, they gravitate towards that kind of thing. 
Suckers for wanting to save the girl. (Growing Up Male rule #1: there is always a maiden, and she will always be in need of rescuing).

No, the boys and the girls couldn't give a fuck less.
At least...not until something isn't quite right.
At least...not until there's a challenge.
There always has to be a challenge. 
Because if it's easy...
If it feels right...
Then it's wrong.

These words ring cynical?
Good. At least the idea of cynicism is still alive.
Daunting those who haven't fallen pray to this
Uncompromisingly arrogant way.
Maybe you will be something like me and despise
This masquerade.
This cat and mouse love hate hate love love game.
Built upon sexism on both ends and preconceived notions of what
Any given boy, any given girl would, could, or should be.