Mother

When I was a boy my mother told me I could sail to the moon. 

When my head hit the feathers my mothers ramblings made sense.

She was a lovely woman. Bold and courageous, beautiful and elegant.

When the music hit, her feet would dance and prance. Her joy overflowed with abundance.

Giggles and snickers were her communications.

The kitchen is where her hands would work, creating magical masterpieces.

Her motto was simple "You are my son and I will love until I cannot love".

Her rules were plain "You are my boy, listen to my words and grow to a man".

My mother was relaxed and full of tricks...

She died when I was six.

Power Down

Vibrations of sound echo through my drums,

They change their skeletons and dance up my opening,

Pixels navigate in my lids and float between tissue,

Visions are born absorbing behind my retina,

This projector will not power down, 

This reel will not find it's finish,

Install a catch net and tie your slither,

Maybe then you will lay on a pillow made of clouds.

Excuse Me Your Honor

Why do I even bother if you have already assumed. 

I stand scarred and blind, grasping a stick. 

You haven't the slightest clue to my ego, 

yet you know my entire history. 

You think I am evil, but why? 

Because I don't have blond hair and blue eyes? 

Because I do not say "ya'll" and "howdy". 

Well fuck that. 

You would have the right to think that if I have harmed you, 

but I have not even opened my jaw. 

Fuck you your honor, go give me a verdict for that.

Anvil

I look at you with friendly eyes and slaughter you with pleasant words, But you are not aware of what is spoken about you when you are not present. Ugly disgusting words fill our mouths. The sight of you will bring hatred to our attention. You are a gateway for substance, a speed bump to happiness. No one actually likes you. You are not tolerable. You care to much about yourself, about your clothes, your job, and "your" music. You are always worse off than every one of us. Complaining is the only thing you succeed at. Like I said you are only a tool for us. We are not your friend. Let me repeat that... WE ARE NOT YOUR FRIEND.

As I wait

Vibrations echo through my ears as I write down my thoughts. Pulling me into my own universe. Mouths move sending me messages that I cannot hear, cars pass as silent butterflies. Nicotine fills my blood. Smoke imbeds it's aroma into my clothing. I hold my thoughts in this plastic utensil filled with ink. One by one I light my addiction. No breath goes in clean, each must have it's share of chemicals and smoke. I sit at my second home awaiting for nothing to come.

December/ Five/ TwoZeroZeroSeven

You and I are exactly the same person.

Is that why we hate each other? 

Because we hate ourselves.

I still have the picture you drew for me. I can't pull myself to take it off my wall. I still read your letters for reminders. I still look at pictures of you and see times we spent together. I still think about you everyday.

I have thought about what I would say to you when I see you again. 

Then I saw you and was speechless.