Thought Storage

I'm in a familiar place
without familiar faces.

I'm a stand-alone being.

A shelf for your thoughts
and ideas to rest on.
What you forget,
I remember.

Everything under the sun.
I'm an attic filled to the brim.
Overflow and forget what's in me,
until one day someone cleans me out.

Emptiness becomes fulfillment, a quiet,
peaceful blank slate of silence and loneliness.

Grab the chalk, make it messy,
and clean it all over again.

How quaint, to be so simple-minded.
To have the option to keep,
but to give in spite of the junk
the world loves to fill you up with.

I Never Want to Go Back

My worth is greater than my past,
my faults, my regrets, and my shortcomings.

I will take a somber look at my memories,
see the beauty in mistakes
and bad decisions made.

The magic of moving on,
is finding peace in the fact
that some lessons are self-taught.
Lessons that couldn't exist
without mistakes to lead the way.

If confidence is in short supply-
it's easier to see your growth

Outrage IS an Issue

You lose your rationale,
stop making sense.

Who cares what's common?

Your head bloats like a balloon,
floats toward outer space,
and pops.

Wow, you were SO full
of SO much hot air.

At least that's the only thing
you've proven to me,
and isn't it kind of amazing?

How your point of view
is the only one in existence
when you're angry.

Isn't it interesting?
Incredibly convenient?
How your perspective skews reality?

The way it can contort
someone's true intentions?

Turn them into a villainous creature,
even if they have the greatest heart,
with the greatest of intentions.

That's Character

If you find yourself depressed,
give until you've got nothing left.

You'll find you've got no
depression left to trouble you.

Give until you've got nothing left
and you'll have nothing left to lose.

The tight hold you keep on yourself. 
The suffocating battle,
you'll lose yourself in every time.

You find yourself swept up,
let life fall into piles in your house.
Get carried away,
of course that's easy to do.

Hoarding emotions and baggage
as if they were money in the bank.

Unlike cash, 
wisdom stores itself inside
for a sad rainy day instead.

I Died And

Everyone I use to know
greeted me with a smile.

As if I was walking through a hall of the elderly,
and the good who died too young.

To my right, my grandmother and her twin
grab my hand and welcome me
as if they were church greeters.

I hear the echoes of an old friend
who tapped me on my shoulder.

At seventeen,
she passed away in a car accident,
and it doesn’t seem to matter anymore.
It’s as if nothing ever happened,
time kept moving on.

She made me wonder if time
as we knew it on earth,
was a feather and a rock in a vacuum.
They both fall at the same rate,
it’s a matter of which gets dropped first.

I took a step back,
bumped into my grandfather,
and an uncle I was unable to meet in life.
They seemed to know me better
than I knew myself.

My uncle addressed all the time spent reading
this book he owned, called Happiness.

He loved how I paid special attention
to the highlights and notes in the margins,
trying to get to know who he use to be.

A great aunt and uncle of mine stole me away
from my conversation.

 My great uncle said,
"Thanks for the eulogy,
 I know you didn't mean to write it,
but I'm happy it kick started your career."

 I laughed as my great aunt
expressed how it comforted her,
even if it was full of typos.

My attention turned to man standing alone,
I walk toward him, shake his hand.

Sad eyes look toward me.

Saying how sorry he was for
leaping in the bucket prior to my birth.
Talking time, and how he wished he lived longer.

I let him know he has all the time he needs.

He reminded me of a line I wrote years ago,
only in my dreams,
can a cemetery be a getaway.

The Story Isn't the Same For Everyone

I’m the one in the back of the book, a sudden recollection of a stranger.
Creeping into your subconscious, a memory, faint, fading away.

How could I forget you? The gun to my head, I heard myself say,
"What kind of luck is this? Guess I get to live to see another day."

As indifferent as I’ve been over the years, I think
I’ve forgiven you for that mess you made of my mind.

Yes, high school’s a horror story, but I’d rather see myself
forgotten than remembered as your antagonist.

We were friends, or so we thought ourselves to be.

Because we both know you lied that time you said
you’d make sure your friends were safe. You were careless
with us, didn't think of the damage your actions would cause.

All you wanted, was for everyone to see your rage,
and I’m guilty of listening without an ear of seriousness.

Luck is a convenience that helped me keep my life that evening.
Your so called solution, was ending the world,
the saddest part is, all you did was end yourself.

This is a Poem About

Days like this
end in sleepless nights.

I sit in peaceful silence-
thinking,
"Hey, why do I exist again?"

Virtually good for nothing in this moment.
Stare at the ceiling, tap my foot-
feel trapped in my skin again.

Look to my side,
talk to myself,
take a deep breath again,
again and again. . .

God, how many of these will I have to take?
"Quite a few."
His sarcastic wise-crack's in the back
of my mind's imagination.

I laugh, but do wonder,
how many nights have you left in my eyes?
What will I need to see in my lifetime?
What's going to make me distant again?

Remove me from this place I want to be,
put me in for the greater good.
I'm a single step away
at any given moment.

The average person hearing this,
would think me, suicidal.
It's incorrect.
Yea, I'm done,
but I can't be the person
who decides to quit on everyone.

All I do is coast around this place,
in a constant state of confusion.
Asking myself why or how I got here.

Telling myself this can't be my fortune
and often giving so much of it away.
It doesn't belong to me,
I'm only renting this body-space,
I don't need, I want. . .

This can't be my life,
this can't be my home
as the moment hits me,
right in the face.

Yesterday hits me,
reminds me of my place.
In a time that no longer
has a trace, no stake in who I am,
anymore.

I have a question for you, Yesterday,
I'm just not sure what that question is yet.

Set the Pace

Convenience is a commodity of
genuine friendship.

Without your typical definition.

A commodity of convenience,
is the time,
patience,
and effort
put into being
convenient.

If you want someone
to pillow your fall,
you've got to be willing
to be the pillow first.

Bit of Advice

No heroes this time,
no winners in this war.

No one's listening.

Step away,
you know you should,
but shoot your mouth instead.

No one hears you.

It's as if you're saying
all the wrong words
to all the wrong people,
at the worst possible time.

Saw my sights behind me,
but speaking your mind
with the filter off isn't the best idea.

Happiness in the Corner

I've come to the conclusion that
I don't have a captivating soul.

I can't seem to be capable
of grabbing your attention.

I'm authentic,
and it's a problem. . .

The fact that I fall off the bandwagon,
and its consistent pressure,
to be the type of person
-I'm not.

I'd rather have my eyes clawed blind,
than show the world a blind version of myself.

Spent endless time spent,
saying to myself,
"I'm too offbeat for this."

So I sit in what you think
is my sad corner of life,

but what can't you see?