20. Your Picture

•September 13, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Your picture in between
the multitude of inane ramblings
that the internet calls my friends
that I pretend to care about,
but there’s really only you
     (though I try not to),
and a handful of others.
Your picture,
your eyes smiling at me
     (smiling not for me),
the way your lips gently curve,
and how I wish I could be
one of your perfect teeth
that your lips might rest upon me.

Advertisements

64. Celestial Devotion

•April 2, 2013 • Leave a Comment

They say we’re forged in stars, they say
that we’re made of the atoms
that are created over eons and eons of
stars being born and stars dying.
And they say that we’re all unique,
no two people are the same, no two
people have the same lives.
They say we’re forged in stars and
that may be true for what we are made of,
but we are crafted here, on this
planet, this pale blue dot riding on
a sunbeam.
All of the lives, all of the “no twos”,
here.
And some treat life as a privilege,
an entitlement.
And worse, some treat love the same way
and some say that there is exactly one
meant for exactly one other.
If we are forged in stars, let that
knowledge reveal at least one thing:
stars are born, and stars die
and their lives span eons and eons,
and they are alone,
these makers of our universe.
Everything and everyone you will ever know,
you will ever love, you will ever
see in passing, was forged in a star
that has never known, loved, or seen
one of its own kind.

25. Broken Iteration

•March 5, 2013 • Leave a Comment

A man died recently, it was a freak accident. Nothing really stood out about the man or the day or the circumstances, just random chance that brought about the loss of a regular man’s life. These things happen, and while they are surprising and can be hard to deal with, it’s nothing really new.
A diary was found on his person, it had entries that dated back nearly five years. Each entry was a suicide note. While some were worse than others, most expressed that he harbored no ill will with anyone and that nobody caused him to kill himself. He was just tired of always being so melancholy. Even the up days eventually went back down and maybe that’s what hurt most of all.
None of the entries were very graphic, just filled with a vague sense of longing and perhaps ennui. He never commented on how he killed himself, perhaps because he never actually did. His friends and family always thought he was pretty normal, but then they never saw his diary filled with five years of suicide notes.
A diary where each entry was him trying to make sure that nobody would bear the responsibility for his own mental defects. Except the final entry, written the day he died. A day marked by nothing particularly special, a chilly day with a couple clouds in the sky. A day that random chance decided his time was up. A day marked by surprise, but nothing new.
The final entry, written on the day the man died, read:
“I am glad the sun is shining today.”

63. Supernova

•March 1, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Wandering through a dense forest,
I came across a small, windswept clearing.
Lightning-scarred trees marked the perimeter,
and in the center a monument of carven stone.
It was just before twilight that I first approached,
the stone worn but still distinctive.
Ornate symbols surrounded the thing,
alien to my admittedly ignorant eye.
I felt as though it was some marker
to a hidden temple, perhaps a keystone
or a waypoint giving further direction.
I remember my anguish,
that I did not know whatever ancient
and likely long-lost passphrase
would reveal the secrets of this statue.
I ran my hand along one of the strange markings,
my gesture at the midpoint of longing, fear, and curiosity.
And as the sun set behind the canopy of trees above me,
the grove did not grow dimmer.
A gentle wind began to blow, increasing in intensity.
Deep peals of thunder threatened to deafen me
as bright flashes of lightning
drove my wonder into terror.
Quickly it subsided, and as my eyes adjusted
from the bright lightning, I noticed
that I stood with no ground beneath me,
in some dark abyss I floated,
the statue standing at what seemed
the center of the universe.
I saw around me an uncountable number of stars
contained within an uncountable number of galaxies.
For eons I traversed this abyss.
Stars formed over millions of years,
and stars died. But it was in the way that stars died
that I was most interested.
Some died as they had been born: over a great length of time,
silently growing dimmer until they became
a dense ball of pure matter.
Others went supernova, a great explosion
distorting the surroundings, a brightness that outshone galaxies,
that should have blinded me uncountable times over.
I noticed that this is often how we ourselves die.
Some quietly, others in a great explosion of passion,
changing the world that surrounds us.
I am not sure if this is what I was meant to learn
(if I was meant to learn anything at all),
but after I had returned to this reality
and made my way from the forest
with the windswept clearing and monument of carven stone,
back into the day-to-day routine of life,
I decided that I wanted to become a supernova.

24. The Problem

•February 28, 2013 • Leave a Comment

This is the problem:
That when someone has a legitimate problem we tell them
“There is nothing wrong with you,
everyone else is wrong.
If they can’t see the beauty within you then
you don’t need them,
they don’t deserve you.”
But when a normal person with no troubles breaks down,
it is they who needs to change,
they do not offer anything to others.
This double standard cannot go on;
either it is I who needs to change
or everybody else.
Because I do not know if I am the one with the problem
or if I am the only one who is right.

19. Joy

•February 26, 2013 • Leave a Comment

What is the point of joy
book-ended by fear
and restless nights,
waking in the morning
to a still-dark chill
sweeping across the world?
Do the trees stand on their own
or are they lifted by the sun?
Do I stand on my own
or am I lifted by you?
What is the point of this joy
when I can find no cause for it?
Surrounded by this darkness,
all I can see is light.

23. This Ocean, These Waves

•January 17, 2013 • Leave a Comment

This ocean, these waves,
that drown me with each push;
I try to tread, but sink.
And as I descend, I look up
at the lights that bounce around me;
the silvery glittering of water
upon the rocks.
I sink lower and lower
into a dichotomy of emotion
where the water is calming,
but the rocks are jagged
and foreboding;
the colors calm and soothing,
but the circumstance dire.
And in these moments,
I try to avoid the rocks.