You've Got More Than You Know

A pitiful picture around a metaphor
is me talking to myself again

and around the corner is
the encouragement of knowing
I'm not always wrong.

So in the face of physical
or emotional pain
no matter how it adds up
in my lifetime.

Will never equal the sum
of what we've created for ourselves.

Leaving Lives That Could Have Been Behind

If it was just a dream
why does my mind aimlessly wander
to that place where things were different?

That thought that we hadn't continued,
and my anxiety heard that sound.

It made my mind cringe
at the idea of living
without the life I've clearly earned.

Thinking of the possibilities
of what my past could have brought today
only cause my relationship to leak.

Although it's absurd,
and rather pathetic
of me to even consider
a dumb dreams offer.

Peaceful Quiet Dreaming in December.

The sun lays a pink blue cast
right over the sea.
The sea plays a song for us
soothing as can be.

Your heart laid a path for us
riddling it may be,
your heart laid a path for us
follow it and see.

Your voice is a melody
sung with little time,
the sea plays a song for us
listen and enjoy.

You Could Have Been a Song that Sings, Instead You're Just a Drone that Dreams.

Jealousy is hypocrisy
with a touch of flint,
it sets a fire so easily.

Modesty
now non-existent
it never changed a mind,

and somehow the stratosphere
still ripped your brain to shreds.

With pieces so far out there
that your thoughts
are not your own.

As if someone programmed you
to be a mere drone
instead of the song
that sings to us all.

Stop and Think Before You Say It

It's hard to believe how things change
as fast as they do,
and how there aren't enough bricks
in the world to build a life with.

Or how rhetoric plays
like a cynical circle,
looping always reminding me of when
history repeated itself again.

Time seems to be rhetorical,
with hands constantly
going round and round.

So we call it precious,
then have the nerve to tell others
they're wasting our own.

Even though it's their time too.

It has us wondering when ours runs out,
it keeps us constantly questioning,
does it ever end?

Hospital Blues Pt. 3 - Final.

Three years six months have passed,
still, somehow I'm sane.
Thank God I'll probably
never have to see that place again.
Thank God for therapy
resting in my brain.

Remembering to take
those pills every day,
sleeping for at least
6 hours a day.

Control is the gateway
to mental freedom now.

Hospital Blues Pt. 2

She told me where I was
looked me in the eye and asked,
"ALyssa,
do you know where you are?"

I could only look back
dazed and confused
as she reminds me blatantly,
"You're in a hospital."

For a short period
I pretended it was unreal.
Then later when
reality kicked in I realized.

They drew blood constantly,
still never settled on a cure
but the treatment
is still stable and secure.

Hospital Blues Pt. 1

They scanned the bar code
on my plastic bracelet
as if I was some sort of item
on a conveyer belt.

Then passed me through a line
of patients and shoved pills
down our throats.

Some cause shaking,
some side affects-unaware.

The doctor never spoke of them
the nurses never tell.

Left this hospital uncured
and landed in another
where the doctor actually
looked me in the eye,
instead of staring
at a sheet of paper.

How I Define Letting Go.

Anxiety is fueling
fear paralyzing us.
It stuffs the soul
with fluff and feathers.

Anger is benevolent
and useless without power.

Lives are like shards of glass
once the mirror's broken
the picture's never the same.

They'll Lead You Nowhere but Jail.

She stood alone, watching closely,
quietly crying while he spent his last dime,
and planted the suitcase beneath the tree.

The sidewalk is pale and gray,
her body's cold as she's blown away.

He comes home, calls out his wife's name,
and angers, because no one came
there's this fact that he can't stand,
she died at the slight of his hand.

I Follow You on the Ground.

I felt boisterous and loud
just trying to cope with this self.

When truly I'm quiet and cautious
not beautiful or proud.
Nauseously knowing to you,
I've never existed.

My modesty makes me
like a shadow on the ground,
you'll never know I was ever around.

Panic Doesn't Speak, it Only Paints a Nightmare.

My room at the end of the hall-
painted blue and green
and with starry night dreams.

I sat at the desk in the corner,
and tried to dream of a future,
the still framed picture
which is no longer framed.

I was hidden away, stowed away
in my room at the end of the hall,
and the bed by the door never did
comfort me.

I want to destroy those walls
and rip them down
in a bare handed breakdown,
because a new coat of paint
isn't enough to remove the memory.

My room at the end of the hall,
is it still even a safe place at all?

You'll Never Feel the Way I Do, it's Not Possible.

Loneliness is a ride very few care to take,
it's a humble thing knowing that's who you are.

It's like a broken record,
repeating that thought over and over
until you're worn out,
and with all the feelings you must set aside
regardless their affection on your mood.

Tossing and turning all night,
shaking with every bit of energy in my body.
At times I wonder if it'll ever be possible to let go
of an old heart heavy as a cannon ball.

As if it wasn't already tiring, wrenching me,
I'll always be defected, it's something I've accepted.

Eagerness Turns to Isolation

You know your word
is an eager thing.

It can steal your pride,
touch your soul,
or even swallow you whole.

So speech is a powerful action
acting on it's own.

Sp me be aware of the way
you portray your words to me
or yours might swallow you.

Finally Finding Peace

If warmth can't be too warm
why is yours always burning me?

The grace you show so clearly
only gratifies yourself,
and all the pride
you've set aside
is the hallow thing I see.

Sunlight streaming through the window
is solace blinding me.

There is No Silence in the City.

I remembered the ghost
of the house again,
and how I was just a child then.

Although as an adult all I hear is
crickets and traffic
and screaming cicadas.

Cicadas so loud
they make your head pound.

The city is a severe place
when all the sirens sound.

With winters full of sickly snow
how any heart could have time to grow
is something I'll never know.

Memories of the unknown, spells where I can't stop shaking.

Recovery is cold-
recovery is regaining control
of a mental state torn from me
so long ago.

Getting anyone
to understand your issue
is hopeless
because no one ever will.

It's impossible,
no one can comprehend
bouts when reality is slipping
right through your fingertips,
and your hands
just aren't strong enough
to grasp and pull it back.

Control is a struggle
and something I'm lacking.
Control is a measurement
in which I need to comply.

Dewbie, You're a Dog.

I stood, bare feet
on the concrete.

Rain pouring down
gently, as I frown

at the dog searching
for the wet creature
that ran under the fence

and out of the yard.

Suppose the dog's life
must really be hard.

There's No Crowd.

I wish I had the words
to explain how mine fall,
tending to slip into some
imaginary black hole.

All importance aside,
these words would still
never steal an ear
and the audience
was never interested.

They decided to leave me
listless on stage,
speaking to empty chairs.

Sometimes I Wish it was Different

At times the need to be heard
outweighs those who need to hear.

Like this snake that's killing me,
sly while waiting
slowly sucking the life
out of my relationships.

This snake is regression,
and the lack of listening
feeds him till he's full.

I Owe You an Apology, and You Owe Me an Answer.

We're both culprits
of bad behavior,
but I lacked the capability
to toughly love.

So I dropped you and
you must've cracked,

because the last I heard
you're still a culprit,
but now of bad decision.

Your life is not a tale
nor a game to play
it's genuine work.

So stop betting on it.

He Doesn't Know What Death Is.

I say I want to die,
then you point a gun to my head,
telling me I don't want to die
because I flinched,
then assure me
it's not loaded
while failing to realize
we all WANT to die,
but in our own way.

My trust in you
was just a bit too high
judging by the mind
that looks back on
that heartless day.

You think
you taught me something that day-
a lesson in your own
rock hard head.

Really what you taught me was-
a true story can never be too true,
and it's finally time to 
leave this friendship behind.

He Should Have Just Stayed in The Hospital

Too many run from problems,

            it's time to turn around

            and break through them;

making them vanish in the air

because when you avoid any tempering issue

             it only grows.

            It becomes larger

            with every step you take

            in the opposite direction,

            until it's large enough

            to chase you down.

Only in My Dreams Can a Cemetery Be a Getaway

I remember dreaming

of a getaway in town,

a place to relax

just beyond those trees

where the church cemetery sits.

A quiet quaint place

where the sun shines on the lake

and the docks are always calm.

This must be

what death is to me,

because in reality

 it is no getaway

but a place to spend an eternity.

Growing Old is Worth Fighting For

Aging is collective,

we grow all those inches,

                        stop,

then realize that we'll be no taller.

We collect the years

from birth to death.

Some have less than others

 and many never have a chance

 to collect even one.

Living life is a privilege

that can be taken away

 at any moment.

That last breath you take in life

is just as important as your first,

and it's something worth fighting for.

Pity Doesn't Cure Sickness.

Sometimes things aren't always
what they appear to be,
and they manifest themselves
as our family or friends.

It's a disease that can take over
squirming into your life,
and to all the children
in the world who must care
for a sick parent;

stay strong and carry on.

God Forbid I Remember the Important Things.

All the things we remember
     and want to forget
tend to overwhelm the opposite.

Like forgetting about my hair
in braids at grandma's house-
     I could only remember
     the ridicule thrown my way,
         but for some reason couldn't remember
          who braided my hair in the first place.

It's so strange what our minds
choose to remember
     and are willing to forget.

City Lights Mean Nothing

Patience is a game hard to play
so keep moving till you're content
and settle for nothing less.

Remember
home is anywhere
but in the spotlight
when your eyes deaden
to the sight of this city.

Skin stripped to the bone
that traffic feeling
never leaving me alone.

Eventually I'll find that place
between interior and habitat.

Someone needed to speak up.

The lack of words spoken
for those who need them most
tend to surprise the ones who don't.

So, when actions start to speak
louder and louder and louder,
to a very sharp point-

how can we be surprised
if the trigger gets pulled
because no one spoke up?

You can say
"It's nobodies fault."

But you CANNOT tell me
you never noticed a change
and then refused to use your voice.

Because even I'm guilty of that.

Next time, I won't put up with it.

Took a handful of pills this morning
it's my daily routine.

You know I do it
to keep my mind
nice and clean.

It speaks a lot for my self-esteem
when speaking for myself
starts to come to life

and I'm no longer curled in corners
with my body bending to fit.

I left that room
complete
and just walked away.

Fred Saw 2 Robins in Yard March-5.

You know
when your world falls apart
and you're stuck in the dark
you can head back to the start.
When you've lived to see a man hit 92
somehow when you're struggles hit you,

You know
you can just power through.

You know
life's like a bird in a cage.
It's something you go through alone
not something able to be understood.
You're trapped and chirping
waiting for someone to set you free.

Dream I Had the Other Night

She sat on the beach
blonde haired
and broken hearted.

With an opal heart
her mother gave her
on a golden chain.

So the sun went down
and she fell asleep
in the sand
with a bearded man.

He became her family
which was something
she couldn't comprehend
because she never had one.

So she ran away again
found a new man
gave him her opal heart
but he just gave it back.

He just couldn't accept it.

Two Kids and a Funeral

That cedar chest memory
of a back-dropped curtain
that covers a window
in a dimly lit room
slightly tinted red
from the tassels on the shades.

So as he tries to crawl inside
someone always pulls him away
from that reoccurring dream.

While the memory I carry
is much less morbid, it's still
nonetheless
embedded in my history.

A yellow kitchen set
on a rainy summer day
that caught my eye in such a way
that someone had to do the same.

This Poem's a Mess, and Has No Point

I'll highlight my life in black ink
and let it go word for word.

Trying to simplify the point
which I've written over and over again
losing nothing in translation,
and he just opens my drawers
like I'm some sort of Salvador Dali painting.

So he peeks inside and sees a crumbled mess
knowing that we're nonetheless alike.

Hope for a Family Became a Scary Hospital Drive Memory

I wanna have a family
all my own
without worry of my drone

disorder-

-that sickly sad chord
in the song called my life
sounded over this piece.

So I walked through my memories
without a soul by my side.

Although even if there was one
there's no way they could
understand the ride
and the music on the radio
would be too hard for them to find.

so I'll sing a tune to kiss my pride goodbye
sit back, enjoy the ride
and let someone else drive.

A Rainy Day Spent in an Empty Pool

A cloudy sky on a dreary day
the rain falls on my hair
with the words in my heart.

It's hard to write in the rain
when the ink runs down the page.

Those old plastic rimmed glasses
that I stepped on again.

That was the last time
the pool was open,
and the end of my childhood.

A black blanket draped over me
-soaked in rain
was my umbrella.

My Hero

What a shame-
I won't see you again
till your next tour

But when you come around
I'll be waiting for you with open arms
and a book in hand

As a gift for the songs
you've given me.

A Message for my Mother- a Complicated Brother

Throw your money forth to him
he'll just throw it away
feel as bad as you want for him
it won't change a thing.

You feel, lost, hurt, broken, betrayed
and ask god why-
but let me tell you something
there's more to life than the god you see.

You frame yourself
because he's the son you raised
but you raised me too-
and I'm not running anywhere.

I'm standing right here-
and so is my sister.

Becoming a Better Writer

I want to grow old
with my poetry
have it as a partner
and become wise
as it follows

as if it was human like me

so I could somehow
develop a relationship
with every word I write

to have a bond with the words
that speak for themselves

You left for Nebraska, I had a panic attack

I painted several blue stars
while you were gone

And for some reason
I still love the shade of blue
I plastered on the walls
but when I finished
my mind was too far gone
to realize I created a masterpiece

I cleaned up my world
and scrubbed it until the finish
came off the hardwood floors
then I'd horde again
to fill the empty space

and me scared, shaking
suffering for the first time
from the anxiety flu
partially because I was afraid to lose you

Ghost Loves it When a Woman Plays Hard to Get

He bought her a dozen carnations
but still she didn't budge.

I'd have liked to call her a mule
but he adored her
so I kept my commentary quiet.

Then looked for the reasons
for why she'd be so cliche
and shove him out of her way
as if he was just an
ink smudge on paper.

She made him feel blemished
and I couldn't reconfigure him

at the time
I should have let him know
she was the disfigured one.

Successfully Undiscovered Poets Society

Dreams are so depressing
when in reality
it's nothing but a
black and white starry night

and adding color
is like ripping petals
from the most colorful flowers

because you know
the paint comes from the nature
of those around you

and the possibilities
will never see the light of day.

Excessivley Expensive Education

If cultivation was so essential

why is it forced down our throats
till we're grown

and then given a price
before you've had the chance
to be employed

forcing many to lie dormant
with hidden abilities
which may never be seen?

I Came Down with the Anxiety Flu

There I was
     -colorless-
no expression at all
pale as a ghost

in a never ending mess

and my concern meant
NOTHING
not a thing at all

and it's that tickle
in my throat
that thing which keeps me

from speaking up
so instead I just cough
and walk away.

We Learn by Taking Notes

Notes of memories
that use to be
are only reminders
of a past that
was not so ideal

but connecting with them
can sometimes tie
the knots for our future

and in doing so
every detail is important
because who you are
defines who you will be.

Three Months in the Hospital

Last night I had a dream
that my sanity crumbled beneath me.
No medications would stay down
and the problem went unknown.


Doctors couldn't tell how
long this bizzare frenzy would last
even if the right pill existed.

 A dream like this
is beyond a nightmare
when here in reality
this phenomenon came true.

And nothing is more eerie
than losing that control.

The Impact of the Song

His voice is stuck in my head
remembering every word
and every note he hit
with passion and pride.

The way his voice
rings in my ears
is intense like
breaking time.

If only he knew
how those words
rattle in my head
as if that's all I know.

And with so few words
he empties my thoughts
and fills them with his,
easy-
 like pouring water in a glass.

Filling in the Empty Spaces

Filling in the Empty Spaces.

Space is an open book
collecting dust on the table
being a useless sad story
with no one around
to read the lines.

So when space is shared
it just seems to be ignored,
faces walk by as if
it never existed
while in plain view.

Then space becomes useful
only when every blank is filled in
and it's vibrant enough
to speak for itself.

Practice

I'll start with something simple
and build it up real tall-
then once the work's complete
I'll just destroy it all.

And when I build it up again
surely I'll just let it fall.

Although in trying to reach
even the tiniest goal
I promise destruction
only helps the final mold.

Commit me- if you Must

So difficultly I
tangle with memories
that choose to draw me in
as if I had a choice.

Drawing words to describe
how important it is
to leave the past behind
is difficult at best
and with understanding
explain that I'm a mess
in such a way you might
stumble across the catch.

Wedding Planning

I have the sound of pulling heaven down
stuck in my head
as my diligent planning takes its place
every detail
takes time to grow into reality.

At times it seems
that this can not be my reality
and still sometimes
life can be vague, and growing can be hard.

At heart I know
that our growth will be never ending
and the sound of pulling heaven down is
more than just a song.