My life in Quotes

  In the hills of Missou, there was a roadrunner. Zip, zip there she goes! So meticulous and perfect running through the hills of life. She plans for the next trek. She runs with calculation never failing and never falling. She’s young but determined. She’s young but hardened. She’s young and full of heart. It’s time to show your grit. Everyone will follow your smile. Zip, zip through the hills of Missou. I wrote this for a friend's niece. We had a brainstorming session and I wrote it a couple of weeks later. You can feel the love of an aunt in the ideas given to me. I wanted to embody the spirit of a teen runner that captures your heart with a wink and a smile.

  High on a scaffold, strapped with a harness and a torch. My shoulder slouches as I light the torch. The torch pops and hisses as it lights. I’m tired, I wake up and think this is a bad dream. To leave all I knew behind to be bound and oppressed. To be broken by the system I was entrusted to. The arc burns blue, as I weld the piping across the concourse. No one cares about us, as it grows more evident. No one knows the pain, I’m in as I pass out from the pain at the end of my day. Not even my partner, I hide my feelings till, I’m about to break. It’s a way of life up here in ole Boston. The struggle is to hold my eyes open and stay awake. No one knows that I’m broken inside. No one knows that my hurt runs deeper than my shoulder. In this place there’s no room for me, it’s a gig for the boys. This isn’t my swan song or a happy jig. I’d rather take a swig, Walk away from it all and be at peace again. This road is hard and is made unbearable by the...

  Subject She called out to you. Looked out the window next to the door. Will you ever come back was the thought. So overcome with emotion she opened the door. Lying on the pavement was my body. Covered in dirt, lying on the ground. As I was lying there, I wanted to be picked up. My Father picked me up in his hands. Brushed off the dirt on my face and kissed my forehead. The sole purpose to be picked up was to go back. I wanted to be saved from my life. Selfish mortal was I. Sent back to the ground, I leaped into the air. Time has not ended for me. Mother in tears smiled upon me. Father in the skies cried for me. I left grace and found a new chance. Time isn’t mine, we are all subject. Time is no mans.

  Stronger Than You Hating this pain, Wishing it would all go away, Nothing seems to stay even you will go away... Nothing lasts forever and neither will this... sigh...   Oh and congratulations on failure, This is how I'm stronger than you... Never have backed down from the lies and torture and anguish This will distinguish who is stronger, me or you.

  Talk We have a message. It’s this, that we all have life. Have a life. No, we have life. Something was breathed into us. Something animated us into action. Playing hide and seek in the womb. To teaching the very young. To playing soccer in the streets. To working on a scaffolding outside of a megalith. To climbing the silk ropes of Cirque du Soleil. To living in a hovel handing out bread to the misfortunate. It’s about what you are doing with that life you were entrusted with. That’s what this existence is about. Respect this life. There is only one.

  When It Rains It is raining outside. She says. It is raining outside? How do you know that it is? It is raining outside. For a moment in time we decide. I sometimes stay inside and look out the door. I sometimes rush outside to feel the beads of love. It is raining outside. I want to be kissed and washed with that kind of love. Could we dance in the rain? It is raining outside. I want to run around in it. I want to jump in every puddle like I was a youth again. Well, it is just rain. The best rain is when there is a rainbow. It is raining outside.

  The Most Fun Kind of Anxiety The world hurts. What does that mean? The world can feel. It cries just like you and I. I miss your touch. I have not felt the embrace in ages. Ages you say. Ages are not your touch but the feeling of being touched. All anxiety disappears when I am with you. I love the embrace the world can give. I miss the field near my childhood home. It was golden. It only needed a few trims a year. It gave the most amazing feelings ever. Just lying in it and rolling around. Could philosophers have rolled around in my field? Could I be a philosopher? I have often found myself relating. I have never wanted something again like what I have with you. I want to lie in a field of gold again. I would share my field with you. I want to feel that embrace. I want the embrace that erases my anxiety. I need that kind of love.

  You Only Hear in Whispers Hush! They might hear us. What does it matter? If they know we are here they might take us somewhere. Come closer. Whisper to me. I’m not going to tell you to whisper sweet nothings. Or tell me anything that is just jive. Oh okay. Give me just a few minutes to get ready. Get ready for what? I can do anything with you by my side. I said nothing sweet. I said the truth. Therein lays the conflict. Get away from me. They are here. I was whispering. I am ready for all of the torment. I have prepared all my life for this day. When I wear white and you wear your top hat. Tails and dreams are all behind us. Through your eyes lies the whisper.   Just whisper to me.

  The art of Being Me Blowing out the side walls of the heart. Walking through the rubble. Examining the dust and rubble. This is not a love story. This is a renovation story. One year and many days from last November. There was a tragic accident. My heart was broken. Then I felt it would take six more years to find this feeling again. I like to believe my heart will stop racing someday. I am breaking down walls in my heart just for reconstruction. Getting ready for you. Rapidly speeding thoughts and emotions. I believe this is a manic moment. Manic moments are the best. Creativity spews from my essence. One day my heart will stop beating. But my essence, my creativity will live on in my offspring. The only thing I fear about them being me. I fear them being me. Manic, wild, creative, live wires just like me. So about that reconstruction, it cannot wait. Maybe just a moment, so I can rest my mind. Maybe I will just sip on some time.

Slip into my soul. Save my nights from the horde. It’s four in the morning. Save me from the nightmarish dreams. Blow the winds of change. Stir my soul. Save me, save me, don’t let me go. Hold me, hold me, and don’t let me go home. Test my mind. Free my soul, don’t let them get me. It’s six in the morning. I haven’t been to sleep. I worry about things like wood nymphs and water sprites. They were dancing, singing, stirring in the night. Yet they were not the cause of my night terrors. Lies and deceit are the cause of it all. If I come clean my soul will rest. No more spirits evil or good. No more lies of being strapped to my bed. No more spikes tacked to my heart. I have broken free of my shackles. Now it’s a thing were I confess and find peace. This poem is pretty clear about my mental anguish that I go though. I hate that many people with bipolar or other mental illness crave basic human needs and can't have them because inside our heads th...

 On The Warpath to Love I have never fasted before. I am considering it for the journey is long. I have thought that the journey will be the easiest part. The preparations are the struggle. Being without what I need has become just the everyday. I haven’t really been loved in a few years. Not as much as not loved but in love. Saying and feeling how I feel are two different things. I could have given up when others have given up on me. I feel sad but not discouraged. Even though you have gone away you are close to my heart. When I see you, you will be the one who will be the most surprised. I already feel my heart growing fonder and bigger. Pumping more blood and feeling stronger for you. It’s been a few days and I’m already inspired to write for you. We said, “We have love for each other”. It is true. I will break free of any fears to bring you back. It is true. There are no truer words than “I love you”. I march a twenty-eight day trek to ...

  Like Me, Like I, Like You, Like Us I cannot get enough of you, We made so many sandcastles, growing up. Now I am mad when I think about those sandcastles. You smashed the very first one. Should have given up on us after that. Then I realized that the tide would have just done the same. Faced the fact that you really liked me when I when I made that decision to be your friend or did you make the decision to be my friend. Who cares things are not always perfect like that day but going forward I really like the way we are. This poem is about my best friend leaving me in 2011 but it was written in 2012. It kind of foreshadowed the future that exists now. We are best friends and bros again. It means the world to me that he is in my life. I’m very proud of who we have become and things came around.

  Into the Mirror There was a mirror sitting in the old dusty attic. It could tell stories but save that for tales of Snow White. There was a sheet protecting it from receiving any more memories. It was sturdy and reached towards the ceiling. Full of emotions that can be felt today. The sheet moved; I heard a slight clinking with a sway of a rosery. The perfect beginning to every day started at the pointed corner. Mirrors trap everything even if you’re not using them, It takes in all of life that passes it. It recalls prayers at the foot of the bed, You were raised to clutch that symbol. It stopped meaning something. The bombs dropped. That rosery was left on that corner. You didn’t need that symbol. Somehow, I get that. The world never knows us alive when we’re not famous, The world will never remember us either after we’re gone. As that doesn’t matter, just the souls that join in heaven. Long after you’re gone and my children ask about thei...

When I came to this crossroad, I met this lovely young lady. She had no face and I could only see her soul. I knelt down beside her and said how is your soul is so radiant? She said when you center yourself, you enter the state of allowing yourself to see all that is good and evil. She was the one meant for me and her soul was as bright as the sun. I took the road to the left and never saw her again. The next day I came back and there was no light at the crossroad but a black heart. What is the moral of the story? This is how I feel. No one is for certain who you will meet at each crossroad of our lives. Don't lose a chance to make something out of each crossroad. Then I picked up that heart put it in the pocket on my sleeve and wore it there for all the world to see. I walked across a tiny wooden bridge where I met a man with no soul just a mangled face. We spoke about the people on this road. We talked till sunset. He said I can give you what you nee...

The Rock A man walked down a winding road, Clutched in his hand a smooth rock. He thought about his day and said nothing. He was covered in ashes and so was his rock. His rock was from the room in his daughter’s room. It was her pet rock. He was alone in Pompeii or so he thought. The volcano it spewed and he ran to the sea. He ran to escape his life. The volcano took it all away. His friends and family all a memory. He sat down on the pier and slid into the water. Wading a path to the nearest boat. Still clutching that smooth rock. What man runs from history. No man can escape history, Unless they chose to never be remembered. He left a world behind that was remembered. He will not. We only know from the great historians. We only know from the excavations. You know, Time will tell if we run or we fall. Will we be remembered at all. I wrote this for myself. It was an ode to my love of history and how I have overcome so much in my life. ...

Dangling Fifty thousand feet in the air. Ripped right out of my seat. The way it all happened was a flash. Something changed. You snapped and took control. Steered us into that sheer cliff. I don’t know what it was about today. Everything was normal. Breakfast was normal. The ride was normal. The take-off was normal. Engine check. And anxiety reared a few into the trip. I knew it was over. She flipped, I flipped. An engine blew. She saved us possibly in my anxiety. So we were plummeting. Sheer speeds. Falling and falling. She grabbed the controls. Steered us in to that cliff. I survived that day but you did not. Now my heart dangles like I did that day. This poem is about my worst fears translated into something that doesn't bother me. I don't fear flying. I fear drivers on the road, people I ride with and their vehicles. I had an anxiety attack while I was driving in Matthews a long time ago. It was h...

White Halls As I walked down the corridor I pulled out my crayon. Walked about fifteen feet. Then I turned left. Backed up and turned right. Why did I turn right. The hall here was white, bright white. I started writing in words I had never seen before. I wrote in dead languages. White walls were no longer white. Mathematic algorithms. Things long gone and forgotten. Architecture from eons across the galaxy. Was I walking towards the light before I died. They always say your life flashes before your eyes. This was not my life. This was the life of billions of like-minded ideas planted. Gone in a flash, time stood still. This was not reality just a dream I thought. Is my creation gone. Would there be a birth of new ideas from loss of billions snuffed out.                             ...

What was it? Was my life your life. Where were we in time. Nothing changed but you. I am who I am and you knew that. What was the worst thing I did. I think the worst thing I did was falling. Falling down an endless hole never wanting to climb out. Or was it learning to love again. Or was it being a job for you. What was it for you? Was it more than an excuse. You gave me many. What was it for you? I had love at first sight once. It was a lot of work to maintain, suffice to say and when one person isn't feeling it anymore, it's hard to let go. So I got into poetry and it was a great pain reliever. I could be creative and have fun or just cry a river of words.

Lost Boys So am I lost. When I walk around aimlessly,   To you I appear lost. I’m not you. I would never have that desire. Being chained to a wall like a yellow canary. Chirping when there is a lack of air. You suffocate me. I’ve only been lost once. When that canary died I became lost. I almost didn’t make it out. You slowly choked the life force out of me. Till swam out of your grasp. It was like breathing air for the first time. I wander because I can, Not because I’m lost. See me for who I am. Trust me it could be worse. I know who I am. Do you know who I am. I’m an entity unto all my own. I'm not sure if this is about anyone in specific but I have a feeling it's about my ex bestfriend. If it is this correlates to when I was dumped and she said I'm afraid you'll amount to nothing because you hung around him. I am my own entity and I march to my own beat through life. It also could correlate to how ...

Illusionist He took a quarter from behind your ear. Made a box disappear. Made water from a cage of pigeons. I got everything I wanted and more. I got to see everything. What was most amazing was the melodic menagerie. The harmony of the symphony. Climactic elements swinging through the air.   Elements melding, things disappearing in midair. I think that I will never see anything as amazing as I did that night. And then from that box that disappeared. Appeared a smaller box. Then he asked her to hold out her hand. Placed the box in her hand, covered it. Pulled the handkerchief away and on her finger was a ring. A ring that shined like the stars. Her eyes shimmered like the light off the ring. I got down on one knee and asked her to share my soul. The rest was pure magic. Almost like a fairytale. Never ending and never beginning. I watch Penn and Teller's magic show on the CW. Well if I had a magician friend this is...