Looking at Us – my first real poem

I look at Us – Us as in a unit of measurement, unused to anything less than surface level attachments.

We who share a meaningless experience every year and call it bonding, as though bonds were only material.

As though DNA, and being raised, are debts to be re-payed, and anything less is nonsensical to communicate.

I need depth – as in more space with which to relate. I can’t create attachment within surface level space.

Understand this – I know why this lack of space exists. I’ve analyzed and think I’ve diagnosed our neurosis.

We’ve existed for years un-acknowledging each other’s existence. We’re well practiced in pretending we have no inner substance.

Unless of course we’re mad – that’s when we feel comfortable right? And free enough to express our discontent with life.

Sensitive as we are, we could easily arrange a fight. Perhaps we need the chance to strike each other with our spite,

But I’m not even angry, I just think that if we’re joined, we should make some space between us or there isn’t any point.


The Pinnacle

You’re the greatest high I reach for,

One that I could never grasp.

You’re the ideal I hold highest,

I fall short of, I collapse.

Something I should never have,

I should never be trusted with.

Like I shouldn’t look too hard,

But I’m too restless to resist.

Only one way holds respite,

Pain is sure with or without.

Damn me if I reach too high,

Or love me and reach out.

You scare me so completely,

The things I know you do.

Tie my stomach into knots,

And petty lust ensues.

It hurts my heart to think of,

My nerves will jolt and twitch.

I’m not your precious moment,

And it makes my stiches itch.

I drew you as the pinnacle,

I let you get too deep.

Wanting what I cannot have,

I’ll lose myself in sleep.




What She Should Know

She was only just a child

When I was just a child.

We’re only children now

Even though we’re fully grown.

I needed some restraint

And some love when I was younger.

I have what she could give,

What she lacked I have become.

Fighting, fussing, killing time,

Self-obsessed, neurotic, home.

Child, mother, still a child,

Help me learn to be alone.

My hereditary depression

Cannot help but look at you.

Floating on in your distress,

Not a clue what you should do.

Look at me for worthiness,

Someone who you loved and made.

Shouldn’t I look up to you?

Is this part for me to play?

Maybe so, I’m coping better

Than you ever learned to cope.

With all that I could hold against you,

I don’t want to see you choke.

There for me, not there for me, matters little anymore.

Maybe you’ll feel better if you found something to live for.

The One That’s Hanging

Blind, with an overpowered sense of smell,

The one that feeds on the diseased.

Sliding in and out the gates of mental health,

Recycling flesh from the depressed and deceased.

The worm, a gargantuan behemoth,

An omnipresent filter of the lost.

Endlessly seeking the scent of suffering,

Transference of feeling at energies cost.

So the child in the trees, that one that is hanging,

The one that’s dripping wet with remorse,

That sways listlessly in the torrential rain,

With the seductive scent of suicide dispersed,

Attracts the sightless hungering mouth,

Who surfaces from the Earth to be fed,

Whose bloated body consumes her corpse,

Satisfied, swallowing the saddest of the dead.

The casualties caused by tormented minds,

The sick, the unstable, the neurotic and depressed.

The casualties consumed by the careless and blind,

Basted unwittingly in the flavors of distress.

The one that’s hanging and dead in the trees,

The tantalizing sadness that floats on the breeze.

The one who gorges on those passions released,

The final transference, Flesh and Feeling, it Eats.


A Brief Summation Of Feelings

I feel tired, worn out, and exhausted.

Ageing faster than my mind is maturing.

Unceasing stimuli of sporadic thought,

Insomnia, sleepless daydreams occurring.

I feel drugged, comatose and stupid.

Staring endlessly, seeing nothing outside.

Contemplations rearranging my perceptions,

Creating illusions and epiphanies I must abide.

I feel thoughtful, diligent and wise.

Evaluating and measuring all intuition.

Life examined, dissected and simplified,

Knowing the rhyme and reason of decision.

I feel angry, agitated, and upset.

To be known, disregarded or misunderstood.

Inconvenient, unrealized, undesired,

Willing, but unable to slow if I could.

I feel like friends and family ignore me,

Avoid me for the sake of comfort and peace.

I feel like they cannot acknowledge,

I know them better , and my intuition won’t sleep.

I feel Isolated,

I feel like talking to you and hanging out because I’m Isolated,

I feel like talking to you and hanging out for three hours then going home so I can be Isolated.

I feel like I want to be with you,

I feel like I miss you and that we should never be together.

I feel like it’s a missed chance,

I feel like I’m glad we missed it, we’re better off,

But I still miss you.

I feel like there’s nothing to say,

Like you’ll see what I mean when I’m ready.

Like I’ve been waiting a long time, growing and changing,

And you’ll soon see what I’ve created.

I feel like heartache,

Like if I wasn’t so cold I’d be bleeding,

If I hadn’t been numbed at such a young age,

Like I would be helpless and bleating.

I feel untouchable,

Like it’s almost too late for me to ever feel vulnerable,…


I feel love for you,

And I’m not cruel enough to dismiss it.

If I suffer for you,

I can’t complain for forgiveness.

If you suffer for me, I promise not to forget it.


Pretty eyes, pretty thighs, pretty face she never wanted.

Forced to live inside an object of desire.

Introverted, anxious, and the center of attention.

Watched from every side, waiting to be acquired.

Wanted, but never loved, by misfortune or chance.

Every prospect wanting more than she could give.

Taking if they could, every piece of satisfaction.

to pacify the needs with which they’re forced to live.

This way, and that way, in every kind of direction.

Taken, passed on, and consumed by the restless.

Never replenished, left weary and unfulfilled.

Caught up in the cycle, until she met Jealous.

Jealous knew more than any of the others.

Jealous payed attention and expected the same.

Jealous never slept so as never to lose her.

Jealous kept her close since the first time he came.

Jealous worked hard to keep what he wanted.

Jealous made damn sure she was contained.

Jealous didn’t like seeing her with others.

Jealous was stubborn and easily enraged.

Wanted, never loved, pretty object of desire.

Trapped in attention for which she never asked.

Running, recaptured, by Jealous devoured.

Things that are pretty don’t easily last.


Everyone wants, everyone needs, most of us take whatever we can get.

Give what you can, love if you can, don’t end up eaten by Jealous regrets.

Twenty-Four, – 01/27

Twenty-four years,

Violence, sadness, life and love.

Enough memory to replay another twenty-four.

Time wasted, time lasted, time spent sublime.

Twenty-four years, and what was it for?

Ten years ago I died my hair black,

I remade myself to become my ambition.

Twelve years ago I made it back home,

from foster care where the youths go as prisons.

Fifteen years since I lived in the west,

In the American desert where religion seduced us.

Eighteen years since we moved to that place,

Since the first time I ever laid eyes on the mountains.

Twenty years now since my mother and I,

Lived together alone inside an apartment.

Twenty-four years to the day in which she,

Brought me to life so this list could be started.

The average lifespan of a man from before,

Before they had learned to last any longer.

As young as I feel, I quite frankly feel old.

There’s times I feel drained, though I’ve never been stronger.

I think I’ll be fine and my life will improve.

As long as I’m asking myself what it’s for.

I’m old and I’m young and I’m anxious to see,

What happens should I live the next twenty-four.

Less than Infinite

Finite life, finite Earth, finite sun and stars

Living, breathing, dying in infinitely expanding space?

Timelines intertwining, connecting and breaking

Infinite alternatives to limited self-identities?

Chasms of space in unfathomable proportions.

Temperatures scorching and freezing to extremity.

Infinitesimal points scream and devour light.

Overheating stars expanding, exploding, dead.

Constantly consuming, stretching wider all the time

Separating everything from all things, indefinitely.

When things drift so far apart we’ll never see them,

Will we remember there was anything at all?

What lurks in those unfathomable chasms of the void?

Shall we search them for objects, monsters, or God?

Does one thought fill immensity,  or just our fragile minds?

Is life forever finite? Are we forever small?


What does it matter to you or I anyway?

While the space and time is here and now

Everyone dies and nothing lasts forever.

I love you, so please, don’t let me come down.