Category Archives: poem

You Go Around and Around

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Talking to the point of exhaustion.
Not understanding why you’re not listening.
It makes no sense these voices that are erecting a wall around me.
Why won’t you just let me be free?

This dance is one that takes it slow.
But when it does move fast, I am swept underneath the current.
A two step kind of night.
Where the sky meets the sea in chaotic harmony.

Voices in my head try to pull me away.
They try to confuse me into believing all of them.
Yet, I crave to hear only one voice.
A voice of hope, one that can cut through the darkness.

You’re still not listening to me.
You go around and around.
Playing Marco Polo with my emotions.
Entering into a rhythmic bustle that is busier than being alone.

These voices in my head tell me many things.
They contradict one another.
And they understand that they can win.
They know if I stop, they will take control.

But the truth is I will never stop hoping.
The voice I crave will come.
This test is going to end some day.
If it doesn’t then my whole belief is false.

But the voice has saved me before.
It has shown me love.
For the sword cuts deep, and pursues more than my brain.
It goes and penetrates my heart.

I am made clean every day.
I have a new shot every time I open my eyes.
A rebirth and a second chance.
Continually I fall to my knees and decide to breathe.

So listen to me.
Listen to my words.
Take this to heart.
You will not control me.

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What is in a Smile?

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There is something going on.
There is a muscle in my cheek that hurts.
I keep on smiling for no apparent reason,
But the problem is that I know exactly why.

My beaming comes and doesn’t end.
A simple hello, a song on the radio.
My head tuning into an emotion that isn’t recognized by my cheeks.
Thank God for the expression spreading across my face; with the hope that it brings.

I’m not used to this feeling.
A sparkle of sunlight hitting the edges of my lips.
Cracking open a smile that spreads to my chest.
Washing away the frost that usually makes its home on my heart.

Because I never learned how to sustain this feeling.
The one that says its okay to be happy.
Always hoping the day would come where I could look for the other side.
Where God shines down and I realize where the truth lies.

I have a  giddy look upon my face.
I look like a child entering into a candy store for the first time.
The colors spreading beyond the inner child.
Exposing the faults that have been lingering for a while now.

A simple phone call.
A text that is unexpected.
I can’t stop smiling.
A simple thought about a certain thing brings on this disease.

A disease that I never wish to be rid of.
One that is brought on by thankfulness.
One that is given through grace, hope, and a simple hello.
“Hey.” Is all that needs to be said.
And I answer that with a muscle that is not used to being used.

There is something going on.
There is a muscle in my cheek that hurts.
I keep on smiling for no apparent reason,
But the problem is that I know exactly why.

And I gotta say, I’m damn sure I never want it to end.

Placemats and Doormats

 

Placemats and Doormats

“The city he wakes up in is never the same. It gets hard to count the days with only stars to lead the way, and in his heart of gold he knows this has to change. ”
~Asking Alexandria

Drawing Sneakers Colorful Sports Shoes

Placemats and doormats placed before the exits and entrances of experiences.
Feeding to allow more, or feeding to live.
Before we exit do we even enter, or wipe our feet?
Should we take off our shoes, or is it rude to leave them on?

To be present in the situation.
To know that more and more people don’t even consider what the host desires.
Entering into conversations before realizing they are talking to themselves.
And then the crowd goes silent as you realize you are in the wrong house.

Are you sure paying attention is your strong suite?
Is it a hobby that you claim and let it sit by the wayside?
Do you practice what you preach?
Or do you enter into homes and dirty up the placemats eating someone else’s food?

We move forward without taking the time to understand where we are going.
The door mat is squeaky clean because we always forget to wipe our shoes.
An action that comes after hearing half baked truths and eating half baked apple pie.
Getting sick from under cooked  information that said 3 hours on medium and you cooked 1 hour on high.

These experience should be used to teach and to learn.
Yet we only regurgitate information that we heard from our cousins second son’s best friend.
When we decided that doing our own research was just too hard.
A long history of bad choices and taking the easy way out.

But here we are, shoes dirty and still not realizing this house is wrong.
We are never slowing down to listen and belong.
We are forgetting to take action when the information is strong.
And we somehow don’t understand why everything is going, oh so very wrong.

A Living Smirk

Second hand smiles.
A glance forward.
A guise that emphasizes how happy we can be.
Or maybe a reminder that not all happiness is joy.

Smile for the pretty , pretty picture.
The cameras flash, the exposure being adjusted manually.
She speaks, “Make me look good please.
But don’t make me fake.”

Second hand acceleration into the known.
A second chance to not be alone.
A living smirk,
Highlighted by accents of blue.

She says, “Don’t let me quit.
Don’t let me burn out.
Help me to smile before a mirror.
Let me answer the questions I hide behind this smile.”

Second hand smiles.
A glance forward.
A guise that emphasizes how happy we can be.
Or maybe a reminder that not all happiness is joy.

Artwork By: Keighty Rae
Photo 1 (1)

 

 

 

The More We Learn the Less We Care

We rise and we fall.
We go under; we come back up.
A slow passing of time.
A break neck speed of events.

It never ends.
We keep on going while the clock is clicking.
We keep on moving while it ticks and tocks all day.
It never stops and asks us if we need to rest.

A little smile to the left; a little cry to the right.
Anxiety is behind me, and true love hopefully in front.
But he doesn’t necessarily think it includes him.
But if it does he hopes that it includes a wrist guard.

This time I am going to be kind to time.
For the more we learn the less we care.
The more we care the more we can learn.
As time marches on to more beginnings and endings.

It returns to the earth and ends up crying out.
When time ends and reclaims its former glory.
A semblance of control diminishes,
When we realize it is out of our hands.

At least it helps when you are the only one with headphones on.
Blocking out the noise that fills the air.
Marching forward and not looking back.
Learning as much as I can; trying to care a bit more.

But he tries a little too hard sometimes.
With a reach to the sky; a certain sparkle that’s left his eye.
A sore heart ready for another.
He breathes a bit harder these days.

But I am here with my jacket in my hands.
Ready to jump a little further today.
Maybe this time I will make it into the pool.
But if I don’t at least it was a thrill until the end.

And there he is too afraid to even jump.
Too afraid to learn that going up is the same as going down.
I hope the example is enough to hobble him along.
A little push into the new canon he could bring to his life.

We rise and we fall.
We go under; we come back up.
A slow passing of time.
A break neck speed of events.

We rise and we fall.
We dig a little deeper; we reach a little higher.
A snails speed passing us by.
A bullet train that ends up piercing our hearts.
A goodbye bleeding into hello.
As this clock ticks real slow.

The Art of Anxiety

“Our hearts, our souls, are shallow empty holes. We sing this anthem for us all…Oh, God we’re so alone. Just close your eyes and sing along…Let’s go. We are the lost souls.”

~Asking Alexandria


It comes upon you with no indication.
A feeling that grips onto your insides like a disease.
It hopes to knock you out.
It hopes to cripple you into your bed.

It is so hard to wake up.
To go about your day.
Moving seems to be a struggle with each passing day.
This bed is now my home…why can’t I let it go.

I extend my hand in front of my face.
I see my fingers are attached to it.
Turning and looking at these digits from all angles.
Wondering if I am capable of using them for something other than this bed.

A palpable depression that fills my room with smoke.
I choke and I cough.
I don’t get up because it is a relief to suffocate.
Until the world falls apart and you realize the day is gone.

I blink once or twice for a couple hours at a time.
I shift my weight to support my unwinding psyche.
My hand in front of my face.
My fingers and hands moving in a grotesque fashion.

A Gothic mindset of ghosts and haunted houses.
Running by sitting.
Thinking by sleeping.
This is the art of anxiety when the weather changes.

Do we feel alive when we try?
Prying and tearing at my insides before giving in.
Too tired to ask God for help.
This is what the art of anxiety feels like when it hits.

A canvas of mediocrity.
A pallet consisting of neutral colors.
The art of anxiety is one of complex minimalism.
Brush strokes that take the whole day to make.

It comes upon you with no indication.
A feeling that grips onto your insides like a disease.
It hopes to knock you out.
It hopes to cripple you into your bed.

But I was wondering…
Would you like a balloon?
It’s red and cute.
Maybe it will take you home?

Turbulence and Plane Rides

Hello. How are you?
I am wondering if it is okay to enter into this interaction?
To be honest and blunt.
To bring out a little bit of the bitter instead of covering it up with the nice?

You walk into a room and glance my way.
Never smiling always in disarray.
No, matter my words only half listening to what I have to say.
I thought we could be over this petty little game?

Snapping words when simple questions are asked.
Glares that come whenever I seem to laugh.
I am not sure you want to play this game,
But here you are deciding to do so for both of us.

Turbulence and plane rides.
Train tracks sputtering along.
Tight turns at high speeds.
Breakneck acceleration on country roads.

Slowing down to scowl.
Merging when to many cars are coming.
Try to be happy even if it isn’t your day.
Jut drive and do your best to stay in a place to pray.

Of course I am not perfect.
I let it get under my skin more than I should.
A bit passive aggressive to a fault.
But don’t worry…I’m working on it.

Hello. How are you?
Is it too much to ask that you understand some facial self control.
Reading you like a book.
But you know…I could be wrong.