Poems exploring whether or not we create our world, through reflections past and current .
Periods of personal upheaval, no matter the degrees of their importance, often make me wonder: Are we creating the world we live in, or to what extent is it predetermined based on the birth lottery we won/lost? How much of what we do is merely adapting, as opposed to building something new? I wanna use these ideas as the loose basis for this collection.
I expect a lot of these pieces to be personal yet vague; real yet surreal. Dark at times, but hopeful. Odd and poignant. Disturbingly therapeutic. While I have no shortage of life experiences to mine content from, confronting them and filtering the thoughts and emotions will at times be difficult- not just for me, but occasionally for the reader as well. The goal for this project is to dig a little deeper into myself, using the momentum from my recent collections to cut new grooves into the framework, I suppose...and if it's readable, that's a bonus.
Edit 11/2020: Are we living in a world created for us. or are we creating it as we go along? Is there an answer? I don't know if I know, or if I'm the one to consult on that.
Comments, compliments, and feedback of all kinds- good or bad- are most certainly welcome. It's not just my journey; we're in this together.
what do we have to lose?
We live limitless
inside our limits;
deceived into complacency
and rich in what we think
We're not not wrong,
but we're also
in playing along
in groups and
try to angle our functions
to their needs.
And you know and I know
we don't need
Pack it in
keep only what you can carry.
None of us is
long for this world;
if we continue longing.
It wasn't built for us
and what exactly
are we trying to build,
if not the same things?
The end is only
the means to more endings.
And the beginning
just leads to more questions
we're yet to see.
I'm right here...
but I'm not going anywhere.
The entry was never intended
on being an exit.
You wanted this
don't cry when it's over
if you couldn't be bothered
when it began.
Maintain yourself as a
we can see through
to not be you. See, I'm
with the very concerned,
and I watch you on a wire
by the discontent you couldn't
wait to get sick of or from.
You can wish to your god
it'll all be over,
but you're missing the point
that it's just begun.
When you see the writing on the wall,
what goes through your mind?
There are words that can set you
free if you know their meaning,
or constrict you upon your feelings.
Do you ever settle down,
and take note of your surroundings
It's an unformed habit,
uniform in its uncertainty.
To find something first you must find out
if you deserve to know what most words
are talking about.
It's ok to say no or maybe no,
but they're telling you "I told you so!"
Do you have an answer?
Do you have an agenda that was
In the war of you versus you,
who are you fighting for?
You've seen the writing on the wall,
but how many times can you burn it down?
Are you in the coroner's corner?
With a face like a funeral you're
reaching for the next day
like you're glad it hasn't come for you.
Trying to survive
in the advents you subscribed
to isn't always the calmest
way to claim you're as American
as systemic racism.
You can't be looking ahead
while holding on to a past that
no longer exists.
Either you're here in the now,
or you've quit.
What does it mean when someone dies?
And what if it's your allies
doing the killing?
Are they still worth supporting?
To each their own but
I can't be a party to those who
treat certain lives so disposably.
I was taught life could be
You love looking forward,
away from the past and today.
It turns you on but it's coming for you
He trims his beard with a lighter;
clips his words like ransom notes.
If everything is anything,
he knows better than he hopes.
shuttle shuttle shuttle
Out comes one needle,
and in goes another.
He's not a savior if he finds the cure.
He's just the happiness ever after.
shuffle shuffle shuffle
He's your tomorrow if you swallow
pill after pills that hollow
your sense and delights.
You're stuck with you and him
stutter stutter stutter
Shank every code you've known;
those nodes no longer cast in stone.
Even the air is up in the air.
Throw your hands up like you don't care.
mutter mutter mutter
He's got a date with a test kit.
He's the one who never gets it.
Raise a toast to his insistence
that he was never contagious.
but he is but he is but he is
If he is you and you are me,
do you see why we're quarantined?
It's easier to see when he's not among us
that he's not just carrying;
he's the virus.
Some fear dying alone;
I could wake up here,
Wouldn't matter if I had no words
to say how I felt.
I have them now and you don't
notice at all.
If I could take you to bed and leave,
I know I could tell you to leave
even if I shouldn't.
You can't hold your breath when you sleep;
If I told you I did it anyway, would you...
would you know I lied?
I don't fear dying alone, as much
as I do with you.
Dying with you was something
I never planned to do.
If I could take you to bed and leave,
If I had the chance to wake you, I
know I shouldn't.
Every waking hour is a reminder
that I'm not of your kind.
There are days that go by
where you're on the outskirts of my mind.
My life is passing by
and you're circling the roundabouts
of my highway, waving hi.
This isn't the life we planned.
It's not a mere circumstance.
It's how we landed.
If I could take you to bed and leave,
You don't wanna die next to me
as I die alone.
livin' hard is hardly livin'
How many tries can a backpack carry?
How many lies does it take to please every
person around with their minds made up
that no matter what, I'm never enough?
Let's try to get through this fluidly,
as if this is the first time you're getting
to know me. It's passively awkward, right?
No wrongs or rights or end in sight;
breathe and release.
Tomorrow's another me.
How many personas can one pair
of Chucks deliver? More than one bears
witness to at any given moment.
You see it, you saw it, and now you're spent
or bent on making that your impression.
Are you satisfied with that intention?
Have you fully dialed up your compression,
or tried a simpler plan of investing
time and patience in another
person in your history to uncover?
I don't run in my backpack and Chucks
so much but I've abandoned giving fucks
in situations unnecessary, in order to
preserve my decency and independency.
I still deliver what I consider
standard wordplay for the clever and interested.
Maybe I'm not who you think I am, but listen:
I'm probably more if you sifted through
these words I'm gifting to you.
It's not like I'm expecting it though.
in a time of cultural complacency
the act of being yourself is revolutionary
know who you are?
You don't need to.
I see you
and how you treat people.
than one of a kind.
You're a kind.
Not a "kind of..."
but the noun of a verb
in a world of hurts
you never show your
And of everything else
that could be attached
to you like labels or
fables or constructions
of somethings only seen
out of everyone else's
not just kind, but
a kind. Effortlessly.
You know you could be more,
but to what detriment?
You are. You
And that's enough, besides
anything else you
wish to be.
I'm not sure
where else to start
or how to thank you,
but I know you know
it's just you and
your default mode.
Of all the kinds,
one hundred thousand times,
you're a kind
unto your own,
more than you know.
| (via Leonard Cohen)
Everyone knows it as my fault,
not yours and mine;
your voice carries louder
over my interpretations and lesser designs.
I can’t name your names because
there’re too many,
and when I drink to forget
you remind me of memories I
know better than to hold on to.
I can’t, but I can,
even when they’re more the enemy
that I wish to comprehend.
You vested my suit and lies;
tied up my goodbyes.
We could say nothing and let’s
just; rather than we tried.