and so

And so..

The world is ruthless
Because i cannot cooperate
i don’t know if it’s the fact that
i can’t conform
or
if the system is designed to a calculated output.
An output that has now put me in a critical position
i’m in opposition with prosperity,
i’m wealthy with optimism but poor in presentation.
the ground cracks as I tiptoe over chances of success
Then burn in the dark
Can’t be seen in the light so im pushed aside as if lie is pristine
But it aint
And I hurt
im in pain because i don’t know if a pure soul is meant to endure through this
This is life?
This is bullshit
My optimism is incendiary
Burning fires through my smile
And it dances alone across shadowless cold floors
i can’t cash in on happy thoughts
I would rather scream
As blood drains down the gutter
Blending it with everyone else's
There i go conforming
And the world drinks us victims
Because as beautiful as she is….
Avenged
She is ruthless
Ad her kiss
Dilutes my purity

testimony

See,
lately i have had this fear that i wont live up to my own expectations
that ‘ll fall short of my own finish line
and diminished time will grapple my shoulders and force me to submit.
i feel as if tears will fall and collect and my puddle will gain vast swells
swallowing me inside
drowning me until i can no longer cry
anymore
my days are filled with sighs and blank pages
inside; my soul silently enrages
and i'm warned about this stage is called what??
a quarter life crisis?
i embrace no crisis
the only word comparable to crisis is the crying i’ve done since i’ve turned twenty-five
but that’s only a soul purge
twenty five means I’m mature, too old to splurge
working on patient nerves and responsibilities
and responding to students that need to hone their abilities
they look up to me…
like a monument standing tall, eclipsing the sun,
they don’t squint, bright eyed and hungry for instruction
they don’t doubt that the outside world could lead a soul to destruction
if steered wrong
but as they run with me, soaking up the carefully placed words
their understanding will lead me to my finish line
and my fears cannot live in their lives.
i leave 'em at the door;
could you imagine if I used my life to give ‘em nothing to hope for?

so i find refuge
using their eyes as the windows to my escape
free falling through minds
journeying through the compos mentis presenting a conscience to the conscious
my inner lost adventurer discovers a new route and
the vices in my life
work like the devices that have been banned while driving
distracting
and fatal.
and no one fancies a fatality.
i lost a friend a few weeks ago making death
a first hand reality.
and i could not image leaving all of these touched souls behind…

[unfinished]

good

There is so much strength in saying the words - "he's a good man." As simple as those words sound they bring a sort of humbleness to your psyche when you hear them. Although good can be as subjective as you like we know when the phrase is stated it has amazing intentions.

highway blues

Shifted like a heartbeat lovestruck and confused. Moving fast while staring intently into the window of a car, there's this beautiful woman in which I only see a side profile of, but the side must be her good side. In fact, I just realized it was half of her face, and if it is as identical as I assume then she's the elegance I've waited to change lanes for. As I casually cruise my eyes in the direction that my car is traveling I tug my car in the momentum to dodge a large truck. (WTF!?) Why does everything have to stop me from pursing an interest? The windows of this car mute the conversation that is dying to exist, yet in my mind it doesn't go over so well, so I fancy her with a charged smile, and her response- still a side profile. So then I wonder, am I under the impression that she's not feeling me? I drive on waiting to grasp a glance, then a 1/4 mile passes and I lost my chance, she's on the off ramp.

Life's too short to dance with ugly chicks

Married or not, she's a helluva woman. There's not a woman that I've crossed passed with that I haven't fell in love with, whether it's 10 minutes or 10 years. Is that fair? Men love cars, men love sports, fishing, drawing, reading and writing. Hell some even love drinking. I love women. A woman, I do love, but as a collective noun women are the love of my life. How sad. It's as sad as how lonely I'll be if I chased that love over the one that loves me back.

I know it hurts

I've got to be one f*#%@d up person if my volatile temperament has the capacity to mutate a once sweet and kind hearted person to someone who can hold the cold reigns of my persona. It should be illegal to transfer vices, and loathsome thoughts, yet it crosses the threshold on a plate grease up with olive oil. I am trying to find the please in my voice, or at least in the blue sky, and maybe the chemical imbalance will bring me back to happiness. It seems I'm getting it together in a mindstate that keeps saying "you got it." I do love her, and her love is strong, or else I wouldn't have made it this long, but she won't always "love me no matter what."