Poetry

i hear his whisper daily,

"everything must be perfect..."

"hush!" i scream, but to no avail

"text again, they didn't see it"

i obey everything he says as if my life depends on it

every number must be a 5 or 0

I fell asleep,

in your lap,

my head on your leg,

It wasn't one those deep sleeps,

It was the kind when you still hear and feel everything but you are indeed,

asleep.

I sob for

something I think I

hate, but cry "no no no"

when asked if I

want to quit.

Because I just can't.

There is no

possible way

that I could quit.

It starts with the smell

faint tints of gasoline

soggy leaves and damp surfaces

the air moist and wet as the sky prepares its dramatic soap opera.

The opening scene begins

a drop here and there

Unimportant

often forgotten

most times ignored in large groups

provides assistance

side character

never the main character

never given a chance to be the main focus

if at least for an hour

I felt my heart shatter,

just like they wanted

I wished I could have yelled

I wished I could have SCREAMED

SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GO TO HELL

but I can’t.

I can’t breathe in the water while I drown.

I took a step out of team and

immediately wished

I could take a step back in

of course the timing synced.

I walked and heard you

wave to everyone

exchange talks with everyone

The Real "Greatest of all Time"

A year ago, if you had asked me,

"Who is the greatest of all time?" 

I would've claimed it was a soccer player or a surfer.

The journey of change must end.

The arduous climb to the top

For a cause left unspoken.

Our hearts craved the triumph that was so close.

lying down on the rocky ground of western Colorado

and looking up at what the vast darkness of the unknown has granted us tonight

an ache fills my lungs as my eyes take in the beauty of the millions of lights dotting the sky

I stare out into the blues and greens of the Atlantic,

My fingers press into the sand as I sit in silence

I feel time pass slowly, an ache that eats at my soul,

And I realize there isn't much left of summer

Wishes are a funny thing,

they are a thread of hope that pulls until it hits the next stitch,

the next wish,

I can't say I'm not one the fools who try,

I wish on everything I can find.