life
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Fantasy kissing the cheek of reality was the birth of my mania. The innate beauty of life is addicting to me, and I underestimate the pain that comes with it. I forget the company Pain keeps— how Loneliness is a friend of a friend, and just as deadly. Those two make the world feel foreign.
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I’m used to this feeling. Moving on doesn’t hurt so much anymore. My feet stopped dragging last month. My lungs no longer feel on the verge of collapse. I think you conditioned a certain kind of break— somewhere between my kisses and hers. The realization hit quietly: wanting something—someone—too badly can take the fun out
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My biggest fear is loneliness. Family, faith, lovers— have all left at a time. I even tried to leave myself. I’m worse than any ghost, haunting old places in my mind, forming a home in the crypt that occupies my heart. Nostalgia is a disease that hinders me. But my memories are where my angels
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I want to know what you are thinking. Your thoughts are friends to my own. You’re a parable for my heart and a quiet dream in my mind. Your charm allows room for discussion and it’s admirable even with your faults. You hold your emotions behind your eyes, so do not demonize me for falling.
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I am attracted to your mind. How you recognize the value in persistence and the air of benignity that surrounds you. Your perception exudes beauty. When you laugh, it carries to my ears and your eyes turn brilliant. You are music to me. I believe in the rhythm of your virility. You gave birth to
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A Made Man sacrifices company for comfort. Frightened by peers’ lack of ambition, Comforted by a friend’s success; There is something endearing about a fear of inadequacy. The desire to be more, to want more, to do more, Paraded as an addiction. We rather lay our head at the feet of faith, than to dig
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Every year, I write a blog post to recap my life. I’ve been so busy and feel creatively stunted. My writer’s block occurs when my emotions are in control. I felt like I was a better writer when my emotions were running havoc on my life. Now, I’m not so impulsive and my emotions do
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My mind is miles before me and I feel so out of body. Repetitive in my actions obsessing over a routine that does not seem to fit. Chasing myself weighed down by my breath, the words that live on my lips refuse to be a part of written truth. Anxiety whispers to me, to believe
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The sound of the ivories being played lifts attention to my beating heart. The melody so sweet and without charm pierces my senses. I sing out into an open space, finding myself in a clearing where my wilted flowers lie. A once beautiful meadow built for color and life. I blame the sun, the moon,
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I’ve been avoiding writing more than a poem. I can express more with a metaphor in print than I could ever say in my own words. So, here I am saying more than a few lines to get by; and damn my life has changed. Last fall I went through a lot. I was dealing with the in-between.
Wishful Thinking 