Jealous? My Love
I’ve been jealous before, but I really can’t blame.
My first time the guy was more like her anyway
Then there was the second, a move to college
She thought she was mistreated.
And I grew in her favor even though I wasn’t hers.
Things seem different.
I guess they always will be
When two people part
And go different directions.
You seem foreign
Like returning from an oversees trip.
It is scary how far a few miles are
when they cease to be traveled.
But I haven’t gotten over the feeling
I feel when I feel your presence
And don’t want to share it with another
It’s your life though and not my decision.
I’d be a Hermit
I’d be a hermit in a hut of technological advancements
Hiding from the world that is yelling,
Forcing its trash into my retinas and down my ear canals.
Without you, I wouldn’t care about anyone else but myself
You cause my world to collide with a world foreign to me,
Yet so seductively intimate to my nature.
If I didn’t have you, I’d be hollow.
I love you.
High School Lament: Heading off to College
The hues saturate as the years increase
Simple truths become complex paradigms
Waiting for me, to destroy my peace.
I never spoke up and never said things right
Because there was never time shared
With people that I care in which I might.
I only disagree, self inflame, and despair
And focus on my own thing
Nothing except me, my selfish care:
Never the right words because
It’s never the right time and
I’m never there and I never was
There to care.
To My Old Friends: Pauline, Michelle, and Ben
Caesar, you can keep me from the lonely:
these long nights with your Easter egg-ish quote.
I did come to steal your hearts,
as well as make the moon Swiss cheese–
not with a gun, but strategy.
Every morning–a hangover, drunk from the monitor’s glare,
you palmed more than a beating heart
pocketing my heartbeats like a Vegas scam,
they were more than I knew I had laid,
losing money’s equity whether win or loss.
Pass Left–Pass Right–Pass Across–Pass None–
Pass Left–Pass Right–Pass Across–Pass None.
Well, I just threw in my hand and my mouse, too, Julius.
Yes, et me, reseting to zero re-shuffling
my deck of Suicides and emptiness.
I now mend the name of the game.
Seeds, Fields and Crop Circles
Lord, let me leave hints of my struggles and revelations
more obvious than crop circles.
Let my tongue salivate when you are on its tip
So that I may irrigate the drought-ridden minds
But not make them hydroponic farmers.
For the workers are few and the hearts are plenty,
Hearts of those who glean fields looking for grains of hope,
Searching for nourishment that cannot be eaten,
starving for a reason to live:
a reason to wake up a winter’s morning when the vegetation has frosted over,
And say I love You and you.
It Floats
Like a mountain reign:
It gives comfort but no rest.
It will keep you sane
As you seek your best.
Not a man is christened it.
She inspires like a wife
Or child with ideals. Doesn’t fit
In adult watershed of life.
Partnered with love and faith:
Read in 1 (Cor) 13.
Intangible as a wraith:
Freely roaming wind unseen.
Inspired by an infinite line
You pray. Can discern?
Till we all combine
And avoid the burn.
The Crash
The crash in the hall.
Anonymous but human.
Books slide and thud.
Papers flutter.
Locker slams.
School doors shudder.
I sit in class taken by my studies.
Alone. He hurts.
Teen, do we care?
Do we care who we hurt on our search for significance?
When our teenage bodies find comfort in roaring guitars and endless drum loops,
Do we stop and think of our moms wanting to fall asleep
In the next room so she can earn another day’s meal
Getting up an hour before we do?
How many moments of self-affirmation in our prison of comfort
Are worth another’s second of pain?
How many "warm fuzzies" will make us whole?
We are searching for something not of this world.
Toil, toil, my writer!
Toil, toil, my writer!
Buy your paper in bulk and your ink in black!
Instrument of the Inspired Quill,
flood the shelves with great works,
write truth on life’s pages
for you’ve been bound to inform us of your discoveries,
describe distant places and faces we can’t see,
retell stories of another for a another generation
necessitating your narrative.
We are hungry. Fill our mouths with words.
At the Basketball Game
I draw my thoughts together as they explode in images of embarrassment,
Fearing frowns, I close up and lock down my emotions.
The mortar dries. No one can hurt me.
I am still here.
I am surrounded. Everyone is looking this way.
No. No one saw me introspect, did they?
I can handle this. I will survive.
What if. . . . . no.
God, Jesus, help me!
Lord, give me the strength to do what I was called to do.
I am still here.
Here for a reason
I arise.