what kind of person internalizes everything
that happens in a given day?
feelings that surface and trigger
those saline tears,
that never seem to dry off of your face?
if it were possible to scream so loudly
about everything that is troubling you,
wouldn't that be so nice?

to feel like you have to always say whatever it is
that others want to hear,
never, would you ever want to trouble someone else
with your sad, pathetic, trivial issues!
don't you dare cry out in public,
you are only allowed to cry behind a closed door--
dry those tears and instant you hear another voice;
don't let others think for a moment
something so small could break you.

express yourself in this piece of shit poetic verse,
no one will care,
i don't care.

i don't want to admit this to myself,

drugs are in my bloodstream
all the goddamn time.
what is the next two weeks
worth to me?
i never look at
four months from now,
or two years from now.
i care about now, the next hour,
the next day,
and quite possibly the next week.

it's simple, really.
all i have to do is throw the pills away.
out of sight, out of mind--
but i am not going to lie,
temporary escapes are
oh...so satisfying.
i am denying
i have a drug problem.
i can't.
i won't.

i need a drink.

see?

i can't see,
i am blind,
my hand grasps nothing but the empty atmosphere,
it's covered in black.
i want to reach out and hold your hand,
but you stand there with your arms
crossed over your chest,
like you are too important, or too proud
to let me clasp your hand.
"please, won't you help me?" i cry.
sighing, you utter, "i can't,"
and you shift your body to show me your back
as you turn around and walk back to black.

i am in the sea,
unable to swim,
the water asphyxiates my lungs--
i choke,
and i drown, drown, drown.

a stroll outside with the sun,
graze the blades of grass on your fingertips--
a cold breeze washing your face
and the floral aroma being carried by the wind--
the solace of being alone
is haunting.

the days are long
with so much to do,
so much to see,
so much to accomplish.
there are many hours in the day!

walk in the dark,
see each breath coalesce into smoke
and hear your little footsteps
as you step heel to toe, heel to toe.
clutch your coat to your chest,
keep walking--
a warm embrace is waiting
to hold you, kiss you, love you.

my writing sucks lately.
nothing ever sounds right,
it never comes out to my liking.
i sit here listening to music,
i have a lot of feelings i'd like to express--
only for it to sound like i am inebriated.

fuck you, writer's block.

morgan--

i crave
your kisses,
touches,
embraces,
the feeling of your skin
upon my skin.
i miss
the look in your eyes
that say how much
you enjoy being with me,
your silly mannerisms,
your voice,
you, you, you.
there is nothing i want more
than to hold you,
to go to bed with you
and wake up with you
sleeping so soundly next to me.

today is strange.

i have a peculiar urge to cry.
my stomach feels sick.
the air is cold, full of sadness.

tears formed in my eyes this morning,
i didn't want to leave morgan.

thirty-three people lie dead in virginia.
supposedly it's the worst shooting in the history of the US.
it seems like a statistic worthy of international ranking.
thirty-three lives gone is absurd.
i wish death were never an option out of sadness, anger, humiliation,
revenge, reciprocation, mental instability, and irrational thinking.
death should come when it does,
it is not for someone else to dictate.

tears, tears, tears.
my head aches, my heart is heavy.
tragedy, travesty, atrocity.

one with nothing.

i am weak and shivering,
the hairs on my arms are standing rigid on my arms,
i am so cold.
i don't remember it being this cold in spring.

the tv drones in my house,
i sit and stare at a screen,
my body is full of air, and i have no sign of life.
the medicine overpowers all that i do,
i am at a chemical's mercy.
i know what it's like to be dead.

theism--the opiate of the masses.

easter marks the resurrection of jesus christ,
i am could care less.
religion has been forced and wedged into my life
up until the time i chose
to speak up and dissent.
i cannot believe in a holy trinity,
nor the theory of immaculate conception,
or that a man had the ability to turn
water into wine!

apprehension came to me in eigth grade,
i declared myself an atheist.
as i grew older, i attempted to be more
open-minded, and i now consider myself
to be agnostic, and choose to not asssociate
with any form of religion.

christianity is the religion that
i especially hate-
evangelism is something that
does not have to be represented
ringing doorbell after doorbell,
with intimidating demonstrations on street corners,
nor with television campaigns
asserting that all people who do not
invite jesus christ into their lives will be
damned to hell!

religion is for insecure people
who want the piece of mind that
something might save them in
their hour of need.

an ode to my father.

it has taken me seventeen years
to realize that my relationship with
my dearest father is the one that i cherish
the most.

i do not contest that i do not get along
with the maternal figure in my family;
she and i barely see eye to eye.
it is my father who understands
what i am, who i am, and how i feel.

my father is verging onto the age
of fifty-seven at the end of this year,
and i feel that he has lived a successful
and fulfilling fifty-six years so far;
i would love to wish him another fifty!
he is the most selfless person i know,
always sacrificing his wants and desires
for the fulfillment and happiness of others.
he is always involved in something that will
better the community around him,
and i admire him so.
his job demands much of him, and he pours
his intelligence and compassion into it.

his face has grown weary with age and
stress of living with three, albeit
moody, hormonal, demanding, emotional
women.
but i love it when he laughs,
and is happy with a smile.