Stuck in Walls

Restricted to this solitude,
stuck in three walls
surrounded by four,
with a single small door.
Silence fills this room while
the only noises heard are
the clicking of outdated technology.
But I hear freedom ring
just outside the white-stained barricade
as sounds of music travel to my ear
through the lone entry-exitway.
Their melodies tempt me to break free from this hell,
for its fury is an outrage
while I silently scream for help.
My chest aches and my muscles tense
from anger that is lost trying to find an outlet
within my silence,
for voice is now the only appeasing way to cry
to vent this internal experience.
So I sit here, solitude,
only a sliver of the way through my day
as I ask for something simple to do.
Someone give me a task.
For boredom is capital punishment
when you're surrounded by people but all alone
due to a lack of ability to communicate
with a person who sits closer than an arm's reach away
who you don't even know
but now long to meet
because they could be your only hope
at getting through the day
as their extensive experience with this situation
tells you to push.
I now live not for today or tomorrow,
since it will be the same,
but search the bare room
for the knowledge and strength
to get me through this organized stupidity
even though I took care of getting here without
assistance from others.
Its day one of four in this dreadful place,
but in theory, these days should be
relatively short when the scheme of life
is incorporated into the equation.
So its time to wake up from this grim state of mind,
and help myself,
the only person who I can carry on conversation with.

Landscaping

Today I walked past where you called home,
the front porch,
where we sat for hours,
whispering like we were talking about the shrubs
who knew us better than we did,
who could have told us how to
fix these lives we have put out in the ashtray,
but instead felt it necessary
to keep silent,
only speaking to the wind
when she shook them from stillness.
But they could have fixed it.
They could have told you
not to leave the porch,
not to leave the house,
not to leave the kids...
Not to leave me.
I'm here, now,
wanting to go through the door
to tell you I'm alive.
But the door on which I need to knock
is not the one you walked out of.
Because no matter how many times
I walk through these walls,
searching for you,
the shrubs remain silent
as I ask whatever will listen
if you have come back yet.
I talk to the bricks and the windows,
the awning,
the sidewalk,
the trash can, filled with your
leftover waste, but still has the inability to
regurgitate your comfort.
Then I see the feline guardian
sitting under a whispering tree
that finally spits a reply.
You're still gone.

Sleeping Sponged Ceilings

My eyes open, but looking around is pointless.
I'm blind, but only by the
bright sun that beats on my face,
unspoiled by clouds or curtains.
I roll around in protest of the day,
searching as if to find
reasons in the bed sheets
to emerge from my cradle.
perhaps I'll wake for coffee and company
of friends on the patio before school.
Or maybe for the outfit of the day
that i will no longer put the laborous effort into finding.
I'll wake for the breeze that pushes me
through tedious, repetitive walks to a building
where I am required to be lethargic.
Maybe I'll do it for the radio talk show
during my now record-short shower
that has been interrupted by an epiphany of the
relative location of the long hand,
creeping closer to the clock's twelve.
all these occurrences that quote-unquote inspire me
to do the most basic of daily tasks
do not actually make me want to stir,
but rather let the light adjust
and breathe,
staring at the yellow sponged ceiling
as I wonder how many ceilings I can find.
I stand there,
but only to move from there
to find a ceiling.

Autumn Love

Looking into a water-filled soil basin,
a remnant of the evening's downpour;
my eyes surpass my own reflection
and that of a nearly bare tree requests my attention.
My memories of last Autumn,
though it seems forever has wedged
between then and now,
rush back into my mind,
splintering through an unconscious divide:
the emotional blockade I've made
in response to being to afraid
to think of you since then.
For I can't let my weakness shine through.
But put your shades on,
for there's nothing else to do
to keep the tears of my demise
from illuminating my eyes.
You always seemed so strong
what else is there to do
when disease riddles your bones,
sipping life through a swizzle stick
as the only option I had left
was to pray
to the nonexistant dieties.
But I would have done anything
to keep you here,
to let you stay.
You had been making me strong too
over our short seven months
that seemed to not suffice as a replacement
for the endless life we wanted together.
But now I can feel myself
growing weaker by the second,
and the only thing I can think of is how
since you went away,
the days grow long.
They've become too much to handle
from dusk till dawn.
But I must keep going
for in these moments when I think of you,
a sunburnt orange leaf
falls from a tree
and lands on my shoulder
to wrap it's arms around me
to remind me that all I must do is breathe.
Because you're there with me.

Driving Through Life

Who a person is
depends on what they know,
the encounters they pass,
allowing them to grow
from what they learn
on the roadtrip one takes across life's highway.
sudden stops of realization,
the icy road of unexpected tragedies
for which one was unprepared,
and the nine-car pileups of catastrophes,
whether caused by occurences
beyond one's control,
or deriving as a direct result of existance.
However it happens, all outsiders see
are the changes; the constant metamorphisis;
the autumn leaves falling off the oak tree.
people never realize
what's truely going on
underneath a strong exterior
who's sole purpose is to bear a weaker inner being.
Not that you're not strong.
I'm sure you are.
But everyone breaks
when someone hits the right pressure point;
and just when you don't expect it,
fingers jab into that place, that spot
to get your temper red hot
and make you lose control,
hands grasp the steering wheel
to gain it back,
but the icy pressure drives your mind off the road
into a street light that breaks you down.
Your body sits back
into the unconcious state.
Unaware, unable to move.
You're simply there, going nowhere.
Want a jump?
I can be there to help.
I'll send a flare into the sky
and pray for the reply to offer
a helping hand to pull you out of the car
or get you off the ground
when life has blown you down.
But you must look to yourself too
for the best of help
to find that sliver of strength
to get you to the next intersection on
Live and Thrive.

Signs of Life

Fabric containing my life
shows just how dismal life can be.
A notebook that contains
the essence of my creativity,
multiple reciepts
constantly reminding me
of the lack of funds I seem to live on,
which isn't that hard
considering maintaining my state of homeostasis
only requires coffee, food, and nicotine;
of which, all three
riddle my bad through
empty cigarette packs,
a sandwich wrapper,
and a starbucks sleeve.
These things just show me
how sad a simplistic life can seem.
But what does it matter
how one gets along and through the day
while others exist who
throw their lives away.
So maybe my bag doesn't cry for pity,
but serves as a hidden advertisement
of how life should be.

Mhmm

She's having casual sex
with everyone she sees.
Someone's vibrating.
Is it me?
Oh....dumb questions.

Celebrity Sexuality

Mixed emotions on something like love
run through my mind
chasing Matthew McConaughey and Ty Pennington
through an obstacle course of women,
my competitors making me
an ugly duckling
in a pond of swans
as my DNA doesn't result
in a phenotypic product that is normal
when paired with how I feel.
I wish I could just peel this skin off
and find what I really am inside
not for me,
but for everyone else
who doesn't understand;
those who protest
and ask the questions
that demoralize my being
because my attraction is leaning
toward the same sex.
But who really knows
who they are anymore
with constant pictures of
Lindsay Lohan on girls then guys
and people in the media
always putting on a disguise?
So don't ask me who I really am,
because I probably couldn't say;
my brain's a hot fucking mess,
almost as confused as Ryan Seacrest.

Decisions of the Immediate Afterlife

Dangling on the edge
that decides my fate,
three fingers grasp the cliff
that was my life.
But now I'm here,
just seconds away from
what could be
a blessing or a catastrophe.
Hands reach every which way
from above and below.
I have a choice of
pulling me up or breaking my fall.
Both, please,
for I can't decide which way to go.
tugs at mt feet and
hands on my arm,
internal battles go on and on.
I've become my own enemy,
my own defeater,
for no matter what happens from here,
whether I accept open arms of the chosen
or fall prey to the so called insufficient,
I've pissed someone off.
So what do I do,
one digit left?
Give life the finger
and say hello to death.

Guitars and Cigarettes

The flame of a blue Bic
lights the cancer stick;
deep inhales pass the time
exhales into the stale air
make clouds of smoke
the wind steals away.
A snapshot of the only environment relative
to that of a dream life
of busy streets and bohemian melodies
that carry through the air
that passes through my hair
while the old and young
commence by the window
graffitied with ads
of near-fall specials
and laborous patriotic figures
to listen to acoustics
and raw words
that make melodies to evoke senses
and feeling, both real and abstract
only to distract from real life.
As the ember creeps closer
to the Marlboro-marked finish line,
the end of this carcinogenic product
is the end of the dream
as we are awakened by the alarm clock
of a closing verse.
Good morning.

Teenage Angst on Vanity

I am me and only me
to live my life
the way I see right.
Not to live by the standards
that you make,
but to find my own way.

For I see who I want to be,
and who you are,
weak and ifluenced by
the non-essential materials of life,
will not make my eye wander
in an attempt to see
what I could be,
but rather makes me realize
what I do not want to become.

So when you stand infront of me
to flaunt your new scene,
please realize:
I will not shudder
or cower back in awe,
for what I see,
another new you
attempting to make a new me,
will not change who I want to be.