Taped Together

Reacting faster than an Olympic runner,

Spitting out words to form a white flag emblazoned with red blotch;

Is it blood, paint, food coloring?

No one asks, so it doesn’t seem it matters.

Walking away with words muttered that would make any elder cringe in horror,

Attempting to wonder what it’s like to “blend in”.

What it’s like to be more “appealing to others”.

I guess part of my problem has been buying into this whole thing of being special,

What the hell does that even mean?

Why am I living by a greeting card companies overplayed dream?

I’m certainly not the first “rebel” nor will I be the last,

And as for being “in my head” or “private” as those who have determined themselves “respectful” call it,

Do you think anyone ever tries to wonder or ask why I’ve become so quiet?

Sure, the probing questions come like a department store having a liquidation sale.

100 “how are you’s” for the price of 1 on aisle 5, right next to the ipecac.

50 “Are you feeling okay’s” for the price of 1 on aisle 3, which is our sporting good department; this way you can ask someone a petty question, and then the person you asked the question can do exactly what they feel is an appropriate response to your question by having a variety of objects that can inflict pain on the one who spoke.

Creative writing, I miss doing that; I’ve become so accustomed to needing a life story spiel for the next 5 people who couldn’t care less

that my writing has turned into this mess.

The occasional rant here,

An actual attempt at journalism there,

Angry tirades galore,

And the occasional opus of woe.

Feral identity is much easier to acclimate to in a world that seems set on wanting to be everywhere else they aren’t at any given moment.

Wishing things were different, easier, better, faster;

The dreams dreamed solely for the sake of indulgence and some sort of twisted idea of what utopia could be if it were ever possible.

But even the utopia that came in the form of a series of colonies and led to a country had the bottom break right out from under it,

and it was very much the hands that built that lovely utopian dream that broke into unrecognizable pieces of garbage.

Waste isn’t free and neither are these words no matter how scattered they may be.

Thankfully this entry is over, and another is unknown if it will ever exist.



Shut Down

128 days since I’ve scrawled along a line or 2,

Enough numbers though but do I really have the words?

This has been the question I’ve asked myself for years now,

I have these desires but do I have the materials that are required to create?

Am I just hacktivist of the English language,

A mere blasphemer of the religion that is Context.


Enough with the feathery language.

Enough has been a common word in my mind lately.

I don’t really know why,

But even while I have occasional desires

it seems like I’ve reached the point of oversaturation with many things.


Many dates and ways of traveling can be had in life,

But will we actually go?

Is fear or possible confusion worth your time?

I say just grab the duffle and boarding pass,

And forget about the ground below until you get to wherever is the final stop.


I thought I was lost recently,

But I realized that being found isn’t something that is always desirable.

Among personalities both familiar and new,

You occasionally hide who you might be.

Although I’ve become more skilled at hiding from myself

it seems,

Rather than hiding from others.

I blurt out facts of intimate knowledge early into the process of getting know one another,

And before I know it horror has overtaken the possibility of friendship or even camaraderie.

But is this something to be troubled by or looked at as a helpful process of preventing time invested into a pointless relationship?

This question continues to paralyze and excite me, with each social situation I encounter.

The worst part about questions, though,

Is that we sometimes find the answer.




Kneel & Disconnect

Entranced by familiarity once despised,

Not because anything likeable has been found;

But because your visceral feelings are now faded memories.


Empty and cold.

Only the debris remains.

Damaged Departures,

wishing it could’ve been done secretly.

Arriving while absent,

Overwhelmed by a flood of emotions with more hate than ever before

while remaining too exhausted to care.

My mind and the sky are twins today;

Cloudy, dark, and unwilling to change.

It’s been 3 months now,

And there is no time limit in sight;

However, implications of a grave future are melodramatic at best.

Adjustments are needed,

Continued change is somehow stunted but looking possible to start again;

The way we thought it was “back then”,

When things were “exactly how they should be”.

What a damned, filthy lie that was.

I could say I’m out of options,

But what would that do or say of my character?

I could wait for something “to happen”;

But that languorous state of being has brought me to this present moment.

“Where do I start?”, some might say.

Just start from exactly where you are at this moment,

Keep going,

And don’t stop until you arrive …

Somewhere, as long as it is not here.








Languages both native and foreign have long been an interest of mine,

Not just their origins and roots but also their misinterpretations.

Even when two people speak the same language,

Manners and semantics can cause a whole world of trouble.

Honesty guided by youth and emotion,

rather than by practicality and reason,

Can become something you wished was a lie.

Words are spoken and heard,

Carrying more meaning than we may ever know or intend;

As the ear transmits information to the mind of the beholder,

Relational entanglement can be cut to pieces or tightened unlike any other before

in a matter of seconds.

It may seem daft or unstable,

But it seems what we call “togetherness” is often nothing but a delusion.

What is the answer?

How shall we respond or react?

When and why did this start?

Do we actually want it to end?





Sagacity’s End

Examination of oneself or introspection is viewed in varying ways;

Positive and negative connotation are both found.

It’s funny how observation by an individual causes groups to observe said individual,

And yet they believe they’re entitled or correct in expressing extrospective judgment.

How is this so?

In analyzing the self,

We as finite beings are afforded the overall amazing ability to express a level of authority;

Maybe because of our seemingly power-hungry world,

this isn’t fascinating since it applies only to one person,

But why is authority suddenly an object of disgust when it can be used for the improvement of your own well-being?

Why is it that by looking inward

we believe ourselves to suddenly be blind to the outer or external world?

Make note, though, that even the most introspective individual must not be lost in personal entanglement.

For the vineyard that is the mind can quickly become overgrown and withered,

If only nurtured for the sake of its advancement solely.

By observing and interacting with others,

We develop or, at least, attempt to, a flow and pace which we can adapt to.

Our bodies operate based on certain flows or rhythms,

And when that rhythm is off or out of sync;

Even the most adaptable individual,

Is best found to be apart of a group or, at least, a pair.


Learn to seek purpose,

Rather than waiting for it to be given.


Off beat, right on Time

It’s darkly humorous that I play drums,

And yet a rhythm of life seems near impossible for me to grasp.

I can grasp the rhythm within in a piece of music just by listening,

But I can spend years around a person and still find a way feel as though I just met them.

It seems to be affected by many things,

But I notice it most

when I can’t even recognize myself.

I used to be surprised when I made mistakes,

Now I’m surprised if everything goes right.

But I guess that isn’t the worst mindset,


Better to be surprised that there is a limited amount of flaws found,

Whether pertaining to a situation or task,

In the flawed & fallen world we live in.

Into a flawed existence,

We are born;

And often our mortality is ended by familial flaws,

That have killed generations before us.

Flaws are not what we’re to run away from,

But the fanatical obsession with perfection.



Choices: Arrival & Departure

Words, for close to a year now;

Have been nearly impossible to find.

A paragraph of personal writing seemed to require an act of God,

But considering all existence is an act of God in and of itself;

I guess, it’s not as grand of a challenge as first imagined.

My mortality is the one thing giving me peace at the moment,

A world of difference from the anxiety it has provided historically.


Where or what I call home is officially immaterial,

And I’m grateful.

I’ve experienced things I thought always wanted recently,

Under circumstances I would’ve never chosen,

And yet I’m ready to let it all go.

To move on and have it exist merely as a memory.

Timing is still sensitive though,

That will never change.

And I’m grateful for this as well,

For it helps my reason keep on fighting my impulses quite well.

Onto another year of life,

Filled with questions and possibly not many answers

But who says that is anything to be upset about?

Another year, that I will gladly live one day at a time and no more.