Half

If I am nothing

then I will be nothing

If I am a living breathing boy

then I'll willingly embrace it.

But please, oh heaven above

Let me not be half something

I don't know how I could go on

Only half a something formed.

To be whole is the usual goal

One which many usually achieve

To be nothing is less sought after

but people find the path away.

But what a horrific state it is

To be nothing more then

a half realized, half existing

Lump of walking clay

Where every action pulls and tugs

Towards the inevitable abyss

Because no action is definite enough

To define a human being

A history of laying down

Of being half in the dirt

Leads a being to wonder

What is like to be alive

Enough falling to the footsteps of uniformity

Choose to create yourself like never before

Take a stand and back down from nothing

Only on two feet can you walk forward

Be half no longer

Even if it means being temporarily

Nothing it all

Because from nothing can come

A whole new you.

For You.

This is whatever you want it to be

Your five minute waste of time

Your recuperative recluse

Your hopeful heaven

I would never dream of imposing

such a powerful name

such a grand purpose

such a sweet blessing

I just choose to embrace it

as my emotional battleground

as my restless roaming place

as my garden of growing hope

It exists for me as much as you

so we can fight without fists

so we can love without touch

so we can think without textbooks

I want to give this to the world

no matter how small or simple

no matter how uncouth or uncultured

no matter how grim or glad

I hope you can take something from here

be it a slice of perspective

be it a flash of inspiration

be it a nice respite from daily life

I welcome you to my poetry

My self loving rendered upon a page

For you.

I LOVE DAISY SWAIN!!

Daisy Swain

Daisy Swain

How I love you

Daisy Swain

When I think

of you and stuff

I feel really

warm and stuff

My love is like

Uh, like a.....

Ummm

Like good

Daisy Swain

Daisy Swain

You have a rocking name

Daisy Swain

So many good things

Like kittens

and music

and things.

I wish that I

Could tell you stuff

But I'm so cool

I don't tell people stuff

Daisy Swain

Daisy Swain

Lets go do stuff

Daisy Swain

But actually not

Because I'm a guy

So I'm a tool

Ya....

I love you lots

Daisy Swain

Sorry that this poem

turned out so sarcastic.

Unconcerned

Mediocrity is a hell

I'll never have to face

And I'm so grateful

that my life is

a spot of color.

Even if I

cease to ever try

I'll always see the world

through my tinted eyes.

But there are some

Who live life flat

The world is a place

A job that needs doing

No room for deviations

No place for thought.

I can't help

but cry my eyes out

Imagine what a life

with no reason to be

except no reason against.

But my tears

have a motive

that I could never guess,

Deep down

in my heart

I almost wish

I could be one of them

Because imagine all the pain

heartbreak, wondering, hope

hate, fear, beauty, and experience

You would never have to feel.

I will

I will

Generality is the enemy of all art

And therefore

I will not wander on this road of life

With almost and maybe my companions

I will choose a fate

And fight to the death

Until my fate has changed

And then with knees humbled

I will gladly turn away.

But till that day

burns and breaks

my fragile dreams

I will take every step

I will face every foe

I will refuse to die

I will thrive

and never doubt

until doubt is all I have.

Then I will live for doubt

until it too is gone.

Communiqué

Just leave me be

I want my loneliness

But words speak softly

in an empty room.

I need to check my phone

Turn my internet off and on

Close facebook

just to open it again.

Surely there must be

a glitch in the system

A trick or a slip

A wire crossed

Unfortunately

I can't be fooled that easily

Methods of communication only work

when people want to communicate

And so a thousand thoughts die

and a hundred hungers fade

A dam that would break

and forever change the landscape...

Never breaks

The water just recedes

The regime goes on

The cataclysm is averted.

And so the man of tomorrow

is delayed another day

and eternity stretches on

without another to mark its passage.

Blessed Rain.

Silence reigns

in overcast

Streets are mute

a gentle wind

Darkest day

in its own way

Slightest chill

the waiting still

Tapping drop

upon the walk

Sweetest breath

a calming rest

Growing trees

in the loving breeze

Saddest time

a silly rhyme

Softened light

a coming night

Kindest hours

of gentle showers.

Blessed Rain

my sweet refrain.

A Happy Fool.

Model your role

and watch the envy

roll around you

The idealist exists

if only in dreams

tragic but true.

For any idea

will meet its end

by the dawn of day.

Its the realist

thats really alive

if only biologically.

Dreamers imagine

golden gates and love

all fanciful illusions.

Pragmatists see

what lies before them

nothing but endlessness

And so they both fall

victim to a perfect world

that just isn't conceivable.

The happy fool is the winner

who hopes for golden gates

and finds them in iron bars.

Real enough to live content

Wild enough to live hungry

Indeed, a happy fool.

A Small Mammal Named Graham.

Morning, Noon and Night

Trial and Error

Years of Evolution

Produced a single little creature

A small mammal named Graham.

In the grove he knew as home

he slumbered nigh on endlessly

content to live in a land of dreams

all too prophetic to his future.

This mammals father

a great hulking king of the woods

wished for equal status for his son

A world of strength upon the snowy ice.

But alas the little child could not

for his body was slight

and his eyes bound skyward

looking to the stars even during the day.

And so the day came

that the grove was no longer his home

and so this poor little mammal

had to fight his way to the watering hole.

Unlike the other beasts

who boasted and displayed

Slight Graham was pushed aside

found to be the runt of the litter.

His sister was ashamed

to see such an awkward creature

She was like her father

a veritable queen of the beasts.

But as much as our protagonist

did weep at loneliness

he did not spend his days

in self-depricating agony.

Around the watering hole he wandered

and grew in mind, if not in body

A being of wit and wonder he became

though not well with the other animals.

And such growth took the time of years

and soon a pond was not enough

Away the pack split

to find a flowing brook.

So free was Graham

now leaving to find a new group

of fellow mammals

with his new evolved self

But alas, it was not to be

for while Grahams mind has grown

His bestial limbs were not accustom

to the social rigours of the pack.

And once again, he was the runt

But not alone

for other runts had come

and so Graham grew to be a social beast.

Awkward years did pass

with misinterpreted mating calls

and harrowing dangerous

and looming predators.

Until at last,

A roaring tributary was needed

to water such enormous beasts

and again, Graham schemed.

Now a creature of proud display

and wisdom to boot

He arrived with skills and arts

waiting to be honed and to be humbled.

And again, without surprise,

he was trod upon.

Lost in a stampede

of bigger better beasts.

But now, with intellect sharpened,

Graham made a pack of his own

of the swift and steady.

Of animals with integrity.

Years past again,

with more monuments moments.

The herd was culled

An ice age occurred.

Graham learned

From the far corners of the earth

To the home grove itself

A lesson from every which place.

When at last

to the ocean he decided to venture

Graham was a fully mature beast

(though still rather slight)

Through woods and trees he will sprint

and cliffs will be found

and pitfalls and hard times

almost to the point of despair.

But every experience will be another

stepping stone of the great evolutionary path

As all the world will soon discover the niche

For a small mammal named Graham.

It's a God-Damn Lie.

I know exactly who I am.

I am a

moderately attractive

artistic and creative

white male

approximately six feet.

That's a god damn lie

A logical fallacy

Just plain fucking wrong,.

I am a

honestly disgusting

failing wannabe

pale and pathetic

sorry excuse for a man

short as sin.

That isn't true.

That's a god damn lie

Not the truth

A piece of misinformation.

I am a

lonely little

hungry for love

shy little boy

asking for someone

anyone at all.

Incorrect

That's a god damn lie

Honestly, that isn't honest.

I am a

totally unconcerned

man-whore

who doesn't care who he hurts

and takes joy

in fucking around

with innocent young hearts.

Fucking false

That's a god damn lie

Not a single grain of truth.

I am a

completely self contained

completely self assured

completely calm and controlled

confident

individual

If only that were true.

But that's a god damn lie.

I am a...

If only I knew.

Perfect is the Paint.

Perfect beings are rarely so.

But its so easy to close your eyes

and listen to the music

of a world untouched by reason.

My rhymes are desperate, yet passive

I urge the subject to pursue a dream

the brilliant portrait of a lover

rather then the wonderful tragic truth.

For after all, truth is beauty

and ignorance is bliss

So, decide that your truth is ignorance

and live in glorious ecstasy.

Why love a person that is flawed

just as your poor self is,

who will only lead to the realization

that you must give up yourself to love.

Though it is the most blessed form

of self-mutilation within the universe

It will only lead to more of us

and less of you.

And pardon my less then logical conclusion,

but I feel it must be said

A being as dynamic and intrinsic as yourself

should never have to compromise.

Hoist up your paintbrush,

and smear your love across your bed.

A hopeless romantic deserves, at very least,

the very best painter portraying them.

Anywhere at all

Everywhere Everywhere

Thats where I have turned

Everywhere Everywhere

with hurried legs I tread.

Panic like the hunting beast

Excitement like the lover

Anxiety like the worried fool

Hope like the dying

Everywhere Everywhere

My active mind has fled

Everywhere Everywhere

with no place left to rest.

Nightly Serenade.

My morning was a mourning

of every night that has to pass

I wake in rebellion every day

of the oppressive sun.

Light is unflattering

direct and harsh

Light reveals sins

and demand you face them.

Darkness ask for little

if anything at all

Its only request

a fleeting lullaby.

In the dead of night,

we come to life.

In the warm glow of little lights,

we gather away from shadows.

The shadows let us be

not who we were born as

But instead we live

in our unending and unrealized

Self

swift exciting and righteous

Never fearing the drudgery

the false illumination of day.

The lantern that you light

will burn all throughout tonight

Make it more then just a flame

let it teach you never to be tame.

Urges

The urge to beat in

my own head

with a very large

and blunt object

is rising.

The urge to beat in

YOUR head

with a small

and very pointy object

is also

rising.

The urge to bash in

every bodies head

with many different

and very lethal objects

is surprisingly

rising.

But as the urge

to beat and maim and kill

happens to rise.

The urge to drink tea

peacefully and pretentiously

happens to fall.

And I realize the urge

to hack and slash and wound

distracts me from the urge

to pretend that I'm better

then everybody else.

So, I'll tame to urge

to conquer everyone physically

(Which takes far too much effort)

And replace it

with the urge to drink tea

quite relaxed and regally

So, that I can be superior

to everybody mentally

(Which takes very little effort

if only physiologically)

My Beloved Androgynous Pile of Plaid.

Sitting on a bench

Headphones on

Mind off

Summer sun

turning into Autumn chill

When I see her,

Or maybe him?

Step out of a car

and on to the campus.

An androgynous pile of plaid

Tight jeans and a baggy shirt

Everything I could ever hope for

looking like my own slice of heaven,

And as she (he?) walks away

I see our future together

A quiet, poetic romance.

Not too passionate

but oh so perfect.

That slight frame walked

right past me.

In through the main doors

and every lovely fantasy

begins to fade.

The summer sun

Still a summer sun.

Autumn chill is coming

But it isn't here yet.

My mind is definitely on,

My headphones certainly off.

As I think of the odds

of every seeing them again.

While I sit

and contemplate

who should walk past,

its my mental life partner.

She gives me an amused look,

or maybe, he looks annoyed?

And it sits down beside me

and tries for some idle talk.

But my theatre major means

absolutely diddily squat

because I find myself tongue tied,

until I look down,

and see my tongue is actually tied

and I'm living in a ball of snakes.

Awaking on the bench,

not fun.

And from the corner of my eye,

I see mr or mrs once-in-a-lifetime

disappearing into a car.

Oh well.

I'll get her next time

when she's someone

completely different.

Under the Sun.

My angel, my dear.

Heaven is so frighteningly near.

Oh my heart, my soul.

I know everything must take its toll.

My fear, my hate.

Please, for the sake of my sanity, please demonstrate.

Oh my love, my lust

Lets grind each other to dust.

My hands, my finger.

Teach me how to linger.

Oh my sinew, my blood.

I want to be lost in the flood.

My angel, my dear.

Take me away from here.

Time-Trapped.

Forget the past

and forget the future.

The serve you only

in hindsight

in forewarning

Now is the only time

that will ever be.

Once and will

live on the page

live on the empty canvas

Unbearable

my world has become.

Caught between two times

Past, forever etched in stone

Future, too awry to catch.

The present is the only gift

that has been taken from me.

The end result I know too well

My history will be repeated

My prophesy will never be fulfilled.

Artist's Tribe

I wish to start a tribe, my brothers.

Of us, the humble and hopeless

Of we, the proud and unabashed

Of all who follow our path

To make a family of the creative,

A rock upon which to build our theatre

A easel to support our art

An empty room to fill with sound.

Where every member is loved,

For the things they bring forth

For the efforts that they make

For the mistakes that they explore.

And boldly we can stride into the world,

No destructive critic to break us

No self superior liar to divide us

No force on earth to match us

Where our love is the great conquest,

found in every coffee shop

found in every word

found in every doorstep

And every path is walked,

To find a bold exciting piece

To find the savoury delight of five senses

To find oneself.

I wish to start a tribe, my sisters.

Of hungry, driven, bold,

hopeful, loving, naive,

scared, scarred, lost,

Artists of the World.

Can you love me anyway?

Blurred pine trees,

and fitful resting.

Every reason I have to live,

lies at the end of this pavement.

These moments from you,

seem longer still,

then the months

we've spent apart.

That smile,

Your slight frame,

The endless distractions,

of half-written poems,

and shows from years past.

The rain on the windshield

is just like our conversation.

A thousand little pieces,

to make one endless piece.

Although I apologize a thousand times,

you still quietly admit,

"Parkings a bitch here"

and let our footfalls make the only noise.

The rain is the perfect reminder,

of why home is where the heart is.

And with tender steps,

we cross the threshold.

The eternity of moments,

that passed with us apart,

slows our loving hands,

as we wonder if the newly strange face,

hides a newly strange heart.

But as I take off your soaking shirt,

I whisper that age old promise,

and seal it upon your skin,

with my beloved kiss.

And in a instant,

those strange faces become once again,

the boy who gave a crooked smile,

the girl who blushed and giggled.

That night,

history was made,

more beautiful then any art,

and more pure then any prayer.

The blinds do just the opposite,

as they reveal the morning light,

our wish was obviously misplaced,

because the curtains glow so delicately.

The day is just as silent,

as the night that came before,

for maybe if we don't make a sound,

it will never have to end.

But the squeal of the train,

breaks even that hope.

Again on the terminal,

like so many moments before.

And as the pines blur,

I'll hold that night dear,

because it will be too many months,

before I drive this road again.

Plummeting Dreams.

I stand at the edge of a cliff.

No metaphor, no meaning,

No hidden rhyme,

No reason.

I stand before a precipice,

looking down upon the world.

And the wind gently tugs

my worn and beloved plaid,

The best invitation,

a man could ever ask for.

After all, falling is merely flight,

and my soul has taken wing

so often,

I feel the desire to follow.

But death is the rooting,

of ones soul,

and mine has so far to soar,

that despite the joy,

of forty seconds of free fall

I'll remain just on the edge.

Well, minutes befriend minutes,

until they collect in great groups of sixty,

and then those gather together as well,

until night drifts upon me.

Alone, in a dark wood,

dark only in illumination,

not in emotion,

I sit content,

if only in half measure.

Happy to be free,

Saddened that I am not.