Sol

I have nothing to say at this juncture other than
the sun has an amazing ability to fill my soul sometimes.

Leap Day

Leap day,
Sleep day,
Wish I was, with a girl, day.

Stretch out, pass out,
Stretch again, count to ten,

I'm up, I'm walking,
Blinds up, I'm talking,

Doing chores, vacuuming floors,
Getting dressed, getting stressed,

Need to break the monotony,
Need to set my life free.

2012 Woman

My voice is quivering as I try to be a man.
I stumble through the door to who I am.
The clothes I wear are bare, lacking color or flare.
I'm honest and open like a book in your hands.
Please, I pray, you listen to my plans.
We can go find a place far away,
with rivers,
with mountains,
where our children can play.
Our life will be lived a humble way.
We will give thanks for our food and pray everyday.

Dear Future Wife

Thank you...
...for being my friend.
...for listening when I'm quiet.
...for caring when no one else does.
...for being honest.
...for loving me through my selfishness.
...for making me laugh.
...for helping me when I fall and pushing me when I stall.

You are my greatest company and always have a place next to me.

The Valley In the Desert

The thin frail man looked up. Beaten by the heat, he squinted with exhaustion and radiated with a flush face. His throat was dry and skin was blistered. He paused for a moment, almost finding rest from the sun on his back. He has watched his shadow in front of him for, what felt like, an eternity. He prayed his  shadow would return the favor and make him unseen to the sun.

"The sun," he whined in his head, too parched to speak. It scorched the sand and rock like Hell's welcome matt.

The land's thirsty orange surface resounded with chiseled character off the valley walls. He saw a distant low valley that cut through the horizon and imagined the water that once was so plentiful as to divide such indelible masses of rock. He found familiarity in the subtle brilliance of natural preservation.

"Visual cognition," he thought. The seemingly trivial college note from 5 years ago suddenly didn't seem so insignificant. He spun around, quickly mentally logging each peak and plane, valley and line, looking for an attack point, a weakness in the deserts grip. He contemplated his next step with such concentration and intent, his knees nearly buckled under the weight of thought.

"It'll have to be down," he said, fixing his attention to a distant valley where water was sure to be flowing. The thought of fresh cold clean melted mountain water made his eyes pull for tears, but none came. He was a dried up man. Time was slipping away as fast as the shadows crawled.

With each elevation drop, he noticed more vegetation. Not soft or bright, but hard, rough vegetation which could fight off the harsh evils of the desert.

"It will be night soon", he tried to tell himself.

His hollow thought had long been emptied of empathy for a relenting sun. Unconvinced of his lie, he continued. He committed to that first unnerving step. He began winding through the desert's forest of tall, unsparing cactus. He, so badly, wished this was a bad dream and he could simply cheat this cruel maze, jump over the prodding wildlife, and dip his face into the crisp blue waters of consciousness.

State of Mind

Tennessee, I've been quiet for so long. My words have been short and my thoughts have been fervent.
I know you'll listen, I just don't have the words to share. I hope you see the joy you bring. I hope you seek that same. Don't settle for less and don't worry about the mess.

Illinois, keep steady. You're on the right track. Keep close friends and rarely will you lack. Remember that cities can swallow people whole. Stress inevitably takes its' toll. Priorities are the golden rule and it's always ok to request a stool. Standing's fine but eventually you'll redline.

Texas, be kind. You're unforgettable but not always for the characters you want. Be honest, to yourself and others. Each day is a blessing, each relationship, a gift. Glass shatters frequently on long trips. Bubble rap helps. It's ok to find your bubble rap. Use it, don't abuse it. All walls fall. Don't build yours too tall. The best craftsmen have calluses and happiness isn't measured by ounces.

Omelette of Memories

You're closer than a friend
yet I held you at arms end.
I longed for our perfection
and hung myself on this perception.
Your face is stuck in my head
and all the words that you said.
About the moments we had,
both the happy and the sad.
I remember our growling tummies
and how the noises were funny.
We always worked up an appetite
from those long sleepless nights.
I wish I had recorded
the first time you farted.
Your face was so innocent
and I never did mention it.
You cared for me like nothing I've ever known,
as if I finally found my chimney home.
My heart for you to hold,
my loneliness bid and sold.
Exchanged for Sunday lit mornings
and the occasional snoring.

We were two eskimos spooning,
laying warmly in your bed.
Tomorrow always looming,
leaving lots of things unsaid.

I wish I would have told you
about the demons in my head.
Instead I let them brew
and watch confusion get fed.

Not sure if I should remember or forget,
I'm trying to learn without regret.
I put these memories on the shelf
and look at them when I doubt myself.
Days now are hard and hectic,
forgetting when times were scenic.
We used to talk for hours
and stay together even in showers.

You caught me broadside
that night at the party.
I sang and I cried
with my composure left faulty.

You hit me, hard right
the night of our fight.
You called me furious
but I was unconscious.

I woke up reviled,
tattered and maimed.
We reconciled
but it just wasn't the same.

I held on to that pain
to remember its name.
To hold it by the throat
and have it to quote.
So it never came around
and it caused me to drowned.
I held on with all things weighted
my failure I had already fated.
I say this now looking back,
it wasn't perfection that we lack.
I was afraid it would end just like my past.
Life would happen and it wouldn't last.

Burn It Down

Kerosene, gasoline, the fire starts here. Light the match that burns hotter than the anger from the year. These are the days when stones are placed for walking and walls are made for blocking. Say the words that we take to the grave when it's too late for our souls to save. The bridge creaks and groans as it bellows its last goodbye. The winds from the heat whisper a sweet sigh. It's over and done and terrifying to see. I only wish in the end it was me. These flames, vicious, your acts, malicious. Not fire with fire just sick of this mire. No need to come back, the crossing is gone. With my head up high, I look toward the dawn.

Anger

Thrash, smash, break, violate. I hate, I hate, I don't hesitate to throw out, throw away, total dismay. My skin boils the more I sit, I want to hit, kick, grab and stab. I'm pissed off. I'm angry. This is me, not passive, not quiet, not nice, not pleasant. I'm wrong, I'm out of place, I'm not giving a fuck. I'm tired of caring and people starring at the man with good morals. Punched the wall until my knuckles bled, scream until my hearing's dead. Take the bat to the tree and start a destruction spree. Kill the humane, choke the righteous, drown the witty, but most of all show no pity. Weak never worked, I'm always hurt and now I'm angry.

Maturing or Disconnecting

Today I found myself worrying about tomorrow, concerned about what I would be doing or needed to get done approximately 12 hours from that very moment I was standing there, living and breathing. It's fascinating to me how I can becoming so disconnected to the world when, at the same time, I feel I am become more in tune with the structure of its society.

All I seem to hear these days is how much school costs, jumping from job to job, trying to graduate "on time", preparing for that internship, sticking to the plan!

The fact is... life isn't something you can plan. God didn't throw us on this earth and say, "Ok, now go get your degree. When I get back, you better have that house on the lake, 2.5 kids, and a dog that doesn't eat your slippers."

I refuse to become a slave to societies quotas! I'm beyond tired of people trying to tell me what I need to do and when I need to do it by. Without even realizing it, I've started to become "functional" in the madness we call a society. It terrifies me to think of all the imagination, inspiration, and individualism we give up as we grow up, not to mention the time we waste planning.

My Nightmare

Three times shot in the side without a sound. We go out the front door quickly, careful not to spill a drop of blood. The day is suspended and played slowly, viewed with a filter of remorse blue.

I want to cry. I want my tears to make you better. I want this lump in my throat to choke me completely. But I must go on and fix what I made wrong.

You hang onto me as I drag you to a motorcycle, keys in and ready. My hands are trembling to the point I cannot turn the key. I hear you breathing softer. With the weight of your lungs and lame body, I must go. I must make it right.

A quick breath of consciousness allows me to start the bike. Although this is my first time, I know how to ride, I must. First to second to third in jolts and sprints as you, pail and pained, hold fragilely. The wet trees blur down the dark black back road. I feel my heart pulsing on the throttle. The bike tires roll along the road as the world turns, taking me closer to my destination, to my desperation.

Like second nature, my hand grips the brake. We have made it to the hospital with the yellow lights. All my anxiety is bled out through a murderous scream for help. The nurses come running to take you, my young brother, away. Like fire from my eyes, and rain from the skies, tears pour out leaving me nothing to disguise. I fall on the ground, soaking in the water from a puddle, dripping from the blood of your ribs, crying out to wake up from this pain, guilt, and bloody nightmare.

The Best Man

You fall into the web of wedlock. Captured from the younger years, you drift off into the sea of bills, pacifiers, daily routines, and the occasional freedom from machines.

A day has ended with the sun setting, not sure if it went over your head or mine. If only we had more time and a crystal ball, would the day end the way we want it to? Are we able to reverse the sun and watch it sail away over the eastern sea?

Drunk and angry, the blue october past by painfully like the Titanic to the iceberg. Two months later you tell me you're gone. The ship is at the cold bottom with the scaled fish. You are in your state of content.

My Puzzle

I wonder how my puzzle will be pieced together. Glimpse's of a bigger picture scattered across the floor and when it's time to assemble the art, how many parts will be missing? How many pieces will not fit, how many will be fabricated or jammed in to fit? Will the task be taken slowly and maturely or rushed to blur any flaws?

There are pieces for miles headed West on that black top home. There are pieces down by the creek with the ole' bamboo fishing pole. They're in dorms, bottles, beds, down Lavaca, outside donut shops, behind liquor stores, and beneath the ever present stars. Some friends hold more pieces than they realize, others have thrown out what I've entrusted to them.

Unless all the pieces are found, can you see the picture clearly? Clear enough? Can the puzzle be solved even if pieces are missing? Will you ever fully see or understand? I hope.

Park Bench

Love seems to come and go more frequent and in shorter duration. People on the sidewalk pass by holding hands while I eat my string cheese and apple alone quietly on the park bench. It's a beautiful day but seems to be bogged by sadness.

As I walk to class I catch a glance of a girl walking toward me. Suddenly I feel the need to pull her aside and spill my thoughts. Playing the scene in my head, I imagine she recognizes my thoughts as if they were her own and she is so glad I jumped on the sporadic gumption.

She walks by and I, eyes to the ground, smell her perfume. Inhaling regret, staying quiet but know the pain of speaking up, reaching out, and opening. Some day... someday might never come.

Unclear which inflicts the most change, regret or the pain of loss. Or possibly the loss of pain and regret when life starts to change for the better.

Make Believe

I make believe sometimes. I used to make believe  a lot, but not so much anymore. People look at me strange when I'm shopping in the grocery story talking to myself, 

"Affirmative, we have a bogie on aisle 10, requesting backup to take down the salsa."

More recently I try to make believe when no one is around, or even awake for that matter. I'll take late night showers with all the lights off. I pretend I am in some alley, blind and must find my way around in the darkness. I am poor and have no clothes. It begins to rain. Acid rain, it feels hot. I have nothing. I lay there for an hour waiting, waiting for the rain to flood and wash away the street dirt. I have nothing and feel content. The world is falling apart and I feel safe.

I feel safe in my imaginary place.

Warm Fiction Fixation

The outside is hushed by falling snow. Flake by flake we are tucked in for this winter night. White blankets glow blue from the deep and distant moon. 

The fire is warm, the smell of oak entices us. It crackles and pops to entreat our attention. But the only notice I give it is of the flickers of amber in the reflection of your eyes. I can not look away.

Your skin is soft, tenter to the touch. I bury my face next to your ear to say nothing. Silent kisses in the dark dim light. Your hair tickles my nose but releases a sweet aroma. The same fragrance that seems to wander behind you every time we cross paths.

The sight of you, studying each of your features in such intimacy, fills me with contentment. My heart is a ruby red like the luminescent embers from the fire. My heart radiates warmth throughout my body, from head to toe. I cover your icicle toes with mine like a heated blanket. You cuddle yourself gently into my chest like two halves finally making a whole. We stare at the wild flames as they dance all night long casting shadows on the walls. And I hold you, there in my arms, drifting fast asleep.

Victim

I have been hurt. I have been wounded. The sword was not my own. The sword was not in my hands. I was not armed. I was not a threat. Yet I bleed.

I bled.

I am vindicated of all victim mentalities. Time passes in signs of a scar. I can not hide the mark and I do not boast on it. Stay away and do not speak at me. I now wield the heartbreaking motions as I have seen.

Misery

I'm all out of tears, nobody to cry for
but a boy with a bottle and his foot on the throttle,
The sun will be rising in the east. The dust, settling in the west.
Soon I'll be done, misery, my father, me, his son.

High

I focus my attention on my mind. I'm falling high. Thoughts cascade down the walls of possibility and stop at my feet. I stand for the nobility and realize I need to chop wood to feed the fire.

Outside is sobering to the unconscious. The ocean blue sky sparkles like fine crystal glasses. Embers join in with the dance to the waves, floating like fireflies high into the sky.

Hunger lies surface deep. Feed the monster, lose humanity. The growls are loud and I am proud. The monster is silenced with baked animals and colorful worms. Milk is the only link from us to them, from them to absurdity.

Mirrors project my past onto me while windows open possibilities to new adventures. But for now I'll go to sleep. I will close my eyes and fall fast into the sky under the mattress. I will sleep high.

September

Filled with magnificent disaster. Your presence is heavy and hard to ignore. Ten days in and you're born, one more and you're torn.

You say God toys with you, I, moving lifelessly like a marionette. I say play the game. Be the girl you want to be. See the things you want to see.

I see destruction, at least for now, I see heartache.