Stereotype
Shoved into their stereotype
to do the "right" thing
nothing dangerous, nor unpredictable
just follow father’s path,
listen to mother’s words
hearing what’s good for me—
to be the same, molded
to be good, to be better than you
to be right, and all of you wrong
in their eyes, not mine.
Some of the things I write are sad, isolated, and sometimes dark. But that's because we live in a world that makes those things real. In reality that's the world we live in, but we make the most of it in some fashion. This makes YOU, ME - real .
Just be real - all of you. It's not that bad. Really.
Leaving
Ever so slowly - the leaving.
Tiny spaces appearing between us
creating the void only you could fill.
And as the sun turns to the moon
a transfer of why day turns to night,
hiding the real reasons why you felt so heavy.
The feel of drowning isn’t exclusive to the darkest water
but is shared with emptiness,
including this room we once called
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A clip of a new song / video I'm working on -
More Than Skin
Little wisps of jagged wind
brush against you,
I can see every word from your breath.
So we wrap ourselves with comfort
a tight hold on this world
and brave the cold.
Snowflakes swirl, white -
So it goes between us,
so many frozen secrets, swirling
hidden beneath your skin.
“Let it out” you said
an impossible thing to do
today, tomorrow,
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Penance
When I lay on your bed
it is like the sea
rolling, rolling, rolling
the starry sky looks bigger
its blackness deeper
illuminated only by a 60 watt bulb
it feels safe and warm
floating like this -
until the moment you asked me to leave.
Snow Angel
the first snowfall
we made snow angels
the yard white, wet
and a texture of nimbus clouds.
standing up
our shadow casts our ghosts across
and we waited
until the December sun melted them away.
Silence
Why do we do this?
Continue to build—
this wall between us.
Creating dark clouds,
and rainy days.
Letting all the world know—
how far apart we’ve become.
Little birds
tattooed on her skin,
seem to reach the sky
caressing the clouds beneath her breast.
And I failed to notice them
in the black of the night,
accidentally brushing them aside
as if to smother them beneath a blanket of selfishness.
But as the daybreaks
they again show their need to be set free.
Just as you did. Little birds.
Just Drive
She jumped in
her hair a mess,
in a faded blue sundress
and said “just drive”
it was late
the night sky dimly lit,
when she pulled back her hair a bit
and whispered “just drive”
Past the corner
and beyond the hollow,
nobody in sight who might follow
I heard it again - “just drive”.
Why she left
I’ll never know
maybe
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