Not For Me

I thought for once in my life, ‘forever’ could actually be.

I just can’t see the light.

I knew this was coming for far too long

But I thought it was worth the fight.

All things must end,

And now my chest is tight.

My heart is broken, my hands are aching,

All I can do is write.

I’ve found a song and now it's on repeat,

I don’t have as much strength or might.

As everyone seems to think.

Of anything good I’m losing sight.

This is a losing battle, it was from day one,

But I’m an underdog, that’s the blight,

The curse and the blessing God gave to me.

I dreamed of our children flying kites,

But I guess that will never be.

I just wasn’t the one for you

And you weren’t the one for me.

The Quiet

psst,
i have a secret,
something i want to share.

There are those who will tell you many things -
And there are days when, maybe,
You might just believe them;
But let's set the record straight,
They're wrong.

Love comes in many forms,
And who are we to say
Which one is more or less valid?
The best cure to a curse
Is love of a mother.

There is value, regardless
Of how you were born
Of who you are,
Or who you'll be.

And some will stomp their feet,
LOUD, LOUD, LOUD
as if drowning out the quiet voices
will ever make them feel better.

But you and I, we know better.
It's the soft voice of reason,
The becoming little bit of love.
Compassion is the best way to teach.

And wasn't it Jesus who said
Love one another?
Wasn't it Jesus who
Spent time with the sinners?
We're all a little broken and that's okay.

Some will stomp their feet,
As if loud can overcome soft,
But though soft is quiet,
Though sometimes soft is unseen,
Soft finds its way to the scars and the bruises,
And patches them up.

So yes, this is a secret,
Because loud is so easy to hear,
But listen to the quiet,
The quiet singing love, love, love.

To The Ones I Love

No words can express all the things you mean to me.
All the things you've done,
The ways you push happiness at me.
The little ways of coping,
The love beyond compare.

I thought I knew what love was,
I though I knew what awaited me,
But it takes a little growing up,
To realize all the things I never knew.

You've seen me at my lowest,
And raised me to my best;
Through thick and thin, by my side,
Long or short, undivided,
And the distance, oh the distances,
Between the ones I love and me,
Still, I wouldn't change this
For a thing.

I thought I knew what sadness was,
I thought I had experienced misery,
But it takes a little bit of changing,
To realize you can run free.

As I say you, I mean many,
Because you've always been there for me.
And sure, it hasn't been easy;
The roads we've walked have been rocky;
But something says we climbed a mountain,
Something says we could do anything.

I thought I was a burden,
I thought I was a martyr,
But it takes a little bit of a late night,
To realize I've barely done life's starter.

All the things you mean to me,
All the ways you've let me know you've cared,
Family, written by love,
Any relations on lonely blood could never compare.
So, to the ones I love,
Who are both near and far,
I just want to let you know...

I thought I knew what love was,
And I thought I'd experienced misery,
But it takes a little bit of a late night,
To realize all the things I can be.

Long Distance

The distance between us seems insurmountable
When all I do is want to hold you close.
What you mean to me, can't be explained,
When we've touched deeper, on the levels of the soul.
So tonight, I'll pop the top off of a bottle,
So tonight, I'll play pretend.
Even though you're not near me,
You're nearer still, to my soul.
So tonight, I'll play some sweet song,
I'll find all the little ways to let you know.
No New Year's kiss in physical form, true,
But I know you well with my soul.

What Used to Be

Like smoke and dust and remains of once were,
The fire is out, the embers burn no more,
Still lingers an image, a fragment, a soul,
To one to the other and to pay the toll.

The darkness is damning, the light is too sweet,
It seems all that's left is to compete and compete,
And though we should have enough, there is no whole;
Repairing a soul is more than burning coal.

The past is past, what's done is done,
And it is the same in moon or in sun;
Consequences pass over like they are the all,
Never once recognizing the real and true goal.

The candle is melted to useless wax,
And the barrels and bags are now useless sacks.
Yet time and time again, a new order calls,
The tears collected in the useless bowl.

Like smoke and dust and remains of once was,
Still lingers an image, giving pause;
Not all is lost, not as long as there's soul,
Even broken, it's as good as a whole.

Never Quite Safe

Safety in numbers is the phrase.
But it is in numbers that I never feel safe.
Instead, I feel scared, frightened, and afraid;
The pretense of being someone who doesn't pretend is too much to take.

When I find lonely hollows and run,
My mind spirals and changes social action
Into a harrowing experience of nightmares and faux pass
That, despite my hallowed heart, I cannot quite escape.

Solitude and softness free my mind,
The trap is anxiety and pressure,
A million hands, a million directions,
To go this way or that way.

But in isolation, the voices sound,
The misery shivers its way up my spine,
And vices wrap around my soul like vines,
I am the error, the glitch, and the fool.

Safety in numbers is the phrase,
But lonely hollows better suit this goal,
With solititude and softness to wear away the stress,
However, isolation brings up the dark.

So I write terrible poetry that pales
In comparison to the emotional fate
Of a faithful, aching soul,
Who is lost along the waves.

have poem, will travel (untitled poem)

For me, writing is a drug.
A cathartic experience.
It is like nothing else.
When I write, I create.
What I create is up to me,
but so often I let myself lose control,
let myself pour words onto paper,
words onto screen,
carry myself and my thoughts away.
I write, and I learn.
My passion drives me to research,
and like many writers,
someone who saw my search history
would accuse me of murder.
Writing is a need for me,
as much as shelter or food or water,
a necessity for my survival.
Writing is how I feel God.
It's also how I dive into the world
and breathe in all the many different people
and become more than myself.
I feel calm, and at peace,
when I write, because finally
I am doing the one thing
that I can, with reasonable assurance,
say makes me whole.
I am passionate for it,
I am in love with it,
and because of that
when I find the words coming,
in whatever form they take,
I feel utter bliss,
something dangerously close
to what I'd say
might just be nirvana.