found-it

It’s neither grey, nor the color index

It’s not bland, it’s not profound

It’s not squared, and it’s not round

Not of value, yet of luxury

Not of need, yet it must be

Not polished, yet not rusting

Not lying, yet not trusting

If it were any of these, it’d be loving

It be a hand to hold while brushing.

I’m blushed with values from light to dim,

From wooden tools smooth as skin.

And with all that I’m rushing

To make another anew.

Because while it is nothing at all

Of something sweet

Something that gnaws

Behind your teeth.

A growl so deep

Within your throat

It launches from warped seas

From safeties boat.

When barks become bites

And peace become fights

We wonder if we were ever truly free.

But the answer

But the solution

You’re not who you think you are.

You’re not who you perceive you are.

Your actions have consequences

Your inactions too.

As well as the words you speak

That turn others blue.

Although my favorite color

You promised to never behold

That terribly feeling from it’s symbolic ceiling

And bring it into my bed so cold.

But you aren’t who you said you are.

And now I lay misshapen as well.

Through the lies you advertise

I have never breathed so shallow

As if my hate for you has sunken into my skin

And flowed into my lungs

Creating a recked humid habitat for mold

To fill up my pretty lungs

It’s not fair

Your hair slipping down my throat

Strangling me

I don’t sing anymore

So only dust is left to pour

And fill up my pretty lungs

And although loving you felt like dying

Hating you is a cruel state of living

A punishment

For doing what’s right.

To be left with the broken parts

Of what I broke free of

And to try and use those pieces

To make myself live wholly again

To make myself love wholly again

To make myself whole again

Not whole enough to breath

For to breathe into broken glass

To heal and work its structure into unity

Is to torch it in flames hot as my love once was

That now burns a hole into my heart with agony

Branded by your heavy handed

Apathy

To keep the glass broken is to keep it cold

To keep it soothing to the skin

Instead of charring spoilt fingertips

So I don’t breathe warmth into these pieces

Each puff of air stings like a house of smoke

So I breathe so shallow

To not sink too far into the deep end

It’s all the same

Cars rush the roads

Children grow older

Songs play and finish in rhythmic waves

Sand erodes off of the ocean shore

As if the world doesn’t give a fuck

That you’re not in it anymore

But I do

But there is no way you can deny it

An ode to a friend

Who’s bones can’t mend

Souls of those who’ve met their end.

But maybe these

Three keys

Will bring them to one knee

Life, joy, and liberty.

But they yell, not listen!

Hands outstretched towards the sky

As opportunities glisten

In books they burn alive

WHY

Hear others yells, not the ones you belt

They are burning alive.

The melting skin of the children

They swore they’d protect in this hive

Mind.

But, but, but.

Excuses like a slow clap

And while I applaud your incessant persecution

For there is blood in this confusion

I promise you

Dear great people, I promise you

A raccoon reaches into a dumpster and pulls out a bag of trash, an old burger, and half a granola bar.

There may be a way to slow the ride down, but little are we able to rip the straps from our bodies that hold us tight. The ones that do get off are shoved back into their place as a line of people build stretching out from the machine. This line, not to hop on the spectacle, but to watch.

Person B: “Sure thing.”

Person A: “I had one of those recently.”

Person B: “And what have you gathered from all that? You make it sound so profound when I come out of the bathroom like that after a nice episode of ignoring my lactose intolerance.”

Person A: “I don’t know, man.”

And not in the cutesy way, not in the lovey dovey way, not in the hot and sexual way, not in any damn way. I’ve scraped up all the energy from my mind, kicked and wrung out the energy from my body. Yet you are still here in the form of a stray electrical wire whipping around in my head, making its way down to my chest and across my shoulders. The worst part is that I need to get up early and it’s already 2 AM. This has been a long night, and for what? It’s not like I’m wrapped up in a kickass game of sudoku. It’s my brain—senselessly rattling. You put the drums in there for my thoughts to beat on as you toy and fiddle with the pinball machine an ancestor left there when I was born. My question is

You are the current in my brain.

I feel you sway and flick the strands of seaweed.

See, we’d once again board this thoughtful train.

I believe it was He who said the sea does not like

to be restrained.

My love for you, oceanic.

When that gentle tide shifts? Oh she panics, I do.

Once you’ve experienced and accompanied

the raging non-rhythm of open waters

do you realize the importance of a respectful layer

of fear of the sea.

Enough, so much, to keep you from

No matter the loss of time

You help me keep track

Through the reflections in the lines

Every day dated once

Every resolution marked twice

Till the revolution of my soul

Erupts into strikes