Home » Posts tagged 'write'

Tag Archives: write

Remembering again, that semester in the park.

Posted on by | Leave a comment

I wasn’t seeing anything clearly

that semester in the park.

All that I could see was 

everyone else talking, and 

their perception of me.

So I fell silent in paranoia,

paralyzed by the idea that no-one could help

this growing unrest only I could feel.

And what an awful feeling, crippled in fear

that the mind, like a bridge, with enough force

could so easily collapse.

Because I wasn’t who I was a year before.

Or a year before that—I didn’t want to be.

I didn’t have a clue of who I was or where I wanted to go, you see—

It felt as if my sense of meaning had dissolved.

As if my efforts were for not.

And as I sat staring, watching all my friends disappear 

it felt as if all my life had been a lie,

like someone else was pulling the strings.

And the longer I kept quiet,

the less there was to say.

The longer I stood still,

the more I wanted to run.

See people don’t just drown,

they tread water till they no longer can.

Some try for shore, others the horizon.

Except I wasn’t seeing anything clearly

that semester in the park, 

trying to rationalize my fathers death and why

I hated myself so deeply for something no one could explain.

You know, if I close my eyes long enough I can still see that teenage me doing everything he could to keep it together.

Confused.

Isolated.

Stone faced and embarrassed.

And what’s a stone do best?

It sinks.

Remembering again, that semester in the park

Posted on by | Leave a comment

I wasn’t seeing anything clearly

that semester in the park.

All that I could see was

everyone else talking, and

their perception of me.

So I fell silent in paranoia,

paralyzed by the idea that no-one could help

this growing unrest only I could feel.

And what an awful feeling, crippled in fear

that the mind, like a bridge, with enough force

could so easily collapse.

Because I wasn’t who I was a year before.

Or a year before that—I didn’t want to be.

I didn’t have a clue of who I was or where I wanted to go, you see—

It felt as if my sense of meaning had dissolved.

As if my efforts were for not.

And as I sat staring, watching all my friends disappear

it felt as if all my life had been a lie,

like someone else was pulling the strings.

And the longer I kept quiet,

the less there was to say.

The longer I stood still,

the more I wanted to run.

See people don’t just drown,

they tread water till they no longer can.

Some try for shore, others the horizon.

Except I wasn’t seeing anything clearly

that semester in the park,

trying to rationalize my fathers death and why

I hated myself so deeply for something no one could explain.

You know, if I close my eyes long enough I can still see that teenage me doing everything he could to keep it together.

Confused.

Isolated.

Stone faced and embarrassed.

And what’s a stone to do best?

It sinks.

Rose Bush

Posted on by | Leave a comment

You had a sickness in your head,

one that money couldn’t fix

one that only you could cure—

one that’s not so easy to describe.

And the pain you kept from everyone

wasn’t put there overnight,

it wasn’t planted like a seed,

but it grew—and grew

like your rose bush every Summer

(you know the one you loved so well?)

whose beauty lay in a bramble of thorns.

How your spirit sang each time you saw it.

How you stood transfixed in a moments solace.

Still nothing could compete

with the sickness in your head.

And like the flick of a switch, light faded from your eyes.

There no one’s love could reach.

There no one’s love could bear.

There no one had the cure to save you from yourself.

I’m So Much Better Than This

Posted on by | Leave a comment

Nothing feels good

and the silence isn’t helping.

I could move but what’s the point?

Anger’s got the best of me.

To think that when I woke up

all I wanted was for home.

Now the air just stinks of shame.

I feel less than zero.

And all that gets remembered

is how I’ve failed you again.

And I Think To Myself

Posted on by | 1 Comment

It’s all a bit depressing,

like singing in the rain.

The over-sentimental

mere dreamers all the same.

It’s all a bit depressing,

like Pollack splattered paint.

Squandering potential,

my spirit slowly wanes.

Ambivalent because,

Posted on by | Leave a comment

the world is full of stock responses.

Drunken rants and sober prophets.

The type of things people say to do 

that even in their cool sincerity

would never do themselves.

Are capable people incapable of good advice?

Or are jokes just easier to offer?

Is saying you don’t know so hard to admit?

Or are we so prone to speak that it doesn’t matter?

With nonchalance and anxious laughter

everyone knows everything you don’t.

With due respect and eyes that wander

everyone’s got the answer for things they can’t control.

In a world of stock responses—

I hear the words that don’t come out

and do my best to listen.

I take them with a grain of salt

and read between the lines.

I see their good intentions get

distorted by this feeling,

that no one has the answers, and some things never change—

I’ve just left the conversation

long before its end.

Hard-Boiled Eggs and the End of This Chapter

Posted on by | 2 Comments

This coffee shop is cold.

Reading Murakami

my vision’s blurred by

inconvenient tears.

Why are all your thoughts so uncertain?

It’s knowing that any explanation is probably false.

Coming to these kind of places

in search of conversation? To escape myself?

This place where everyone seems so distant?

Propagated by the idea that coffee shops are for intellectuals and pseudo intellectuals alike

so for that matter, what’s even the point?

To think there was a time when I’d walk up to any of these strangers just to invade their private world.

Now reading Murakami,

I barely lift my head.

Restless Peace

Posted on by | Leave a comment

At restless peace I am

with the wind and sidewalk rustlings.

I hear no evil

but listen, careful

to the teacher in my head—

Ahem, it says, you see my boy

with an air of confidence,

before the mind had time to grow

to stretch it’s arms and wiggle toes

from abc’s to no means no

it was already in survival mode.

So from that time it tried to be

chameleon, I mean everything

to everyone without a doubt

as quiet as a field mouse,

the pressure grew and grew.

So that it’s not a man I see

or reckless boy in front of me

it’s simple with perspective, he’s

finally catching on.

What’s done is done is done.

The rhyme is just for fun.

If you can’t learn the lesson now,

there’s one last question that I’ll ask—

At restless peace, I listen

then watch the flowers grow,

focus on the question

and answer best I can.

The Progress No One Sees

Posted on by | Leave a comment

There wasn’t much pain anymore, just this numb curiosity that glazed his eyes with bitter knowing, as he understood that no matter how many questions received there answer, there would always be one, that only he could accept.

There wasn’t much pain anymore, not really. That’s not to say there wasn’t any sadness. In fact, sadness was still there, much like a dear friend, waiting and willing to drop everything in order to be with him, listen to him, and strengthen him, in times of need.

There wasn’t much pain anymore, just this constant urge to flee, and no matter how good the situation was, it came on like tinnitus, this constant ringing in his ear that seemed to say—think of all the things you could be doing…but you’re not…because you’re here.

There wasn’t much pain anymore, just time. Time enough to do anything and everything he needed to get done, if only he could grasp a sense of urgency, before being halted by this ability to fade within himself—hours on end—and not do anything at all.

There wasn’t much pain anymore, not really, just this introspection. It came on like a migraine, but left him feeling light. And over time this bitter knowing, well, it didn’t go away, but lessened with each breath. It was a private understanding—one he’d keep forever—in the tender of his heart.