If It Were Easy

An excuse to write

with feeling

and, an excuse 

to write in


I need it-

the escape. 

I need to be,

to be praised 


well, for something;

these words don’t just

happen, they’re 

kicked out of me-

bled out-

out, through my hands,

my eyes-

an excuse to write-

I need-

I need feeling; 

a feeling to feel

and a feeling to feel

nothing alike. 

I need an excuse to write;

an excuse to

embrace the freedom

that erupts from my


I need-

I want to bleed,

I want the words

to kick themselves out

of me


I want to be free;

free in this art,

free in this reality,

free in the way my

breath falls

and free,

free in the way my

eyes shut. 

An excuse to create,

an excuse to write,

an excuse to live;

to live in this-


this life. 


Wishing to Do

Something’s here

here for me now

and I want to go

and I think I might



something’s not right

but things never seem

as they seem

do they?

I’m leaving

retreating into the background 

and the world will still


and the crowd will still


and the words will still write themselves 


and my shadow will mean


and my shadow will


and the sky will lighten. 

Something’s here 

here for me 

and I don’t 

don’t want to go

but the possibility of leaving is


and something’s 

not right 

but it’s here 

and the world will still


the crowd will still laugh

the words will still be wrote

I’m not that special. 

M 2

Driving home

and we’re singing

our voices seem to

blend into one

and the silence 

kisses my eyes

so the need to blink

feels like missing

a moment

and we’re alone

but together 

together in the loneliness 

and alone

in the togetherness. 

It feels like something should be missing

maybe it is

but for now

for now the sound of our voices is enough

no matter how out tune they may be. 

The Taste of Having to Say-


the image of

your back

how it turned 

and your hair seemed

to flow

bouncing in the air

along with the air

and I’ll never forget

as I remember now

I’ll never forget

forget how your shoulders 

seemed to hold themselves higher

and your spine seemed to loosen 

with the fade of my features 

burning from your goodbye. 

I turned to mist

you shone with the release 

and time wasn’t sweet

but it was edible. 

17th of Some Day

The curtains pull themselves over my eyes and the darkness wraps itself into my side. Sadness is, is no longer an enemy of mine; sadness is a friend, an annoying, yet loveable friend, that I cannot possibly ignore. 

I like the darkness- the hope- the pieces of light that surround themselves in the black. I like the sensation, the feeling of hopelessness- I revel- I succumb to it. 

The curtains pull themselves over my eyes as the thought of waking becomes too much; as the thought of breathing begins to hurt; as the need to live molds itself into the possibility of death; as the darkness turns to simple sadness and the poetics lose themselves in the dust- it’s feeling, all of this, it’s feeling; feeling nothing but, feeling nonetheless. 

I’d like normality but, living as another would has never been in mind and, and I doubt the idea will return again. 

Holes in the Air 

I miss it,

the not-knowing-

knowing too much,

so pretending-

knowing nothing and 

avoiding eye contact. 

I miss it;

the motivation to

wake each morning 

and do,

just do-

I miss it-

doing nothing,

doing everything. 

I want the sun

to open up,

right up,

so I can see her smile,

see her warmth-

I miss it-

I’m cold. 

The naivety of yesterday 

has left me

and the not-knowing 

is almost just a memory


and I miss it,

I really do-

miss it-

I miss it. 

There’s a hole,

an emptiness,

where my memories 

should be and,

instead, there’s a drop,

a darkness, a hole

of some sort 


I miss-

I miss it. 


Enough of this-

whatever ‘this’ is-

I don’t like it

and the air’s thinning,

time’s thinning


I miss-

I need,

I need it.