When you took your mother’s embossed letter opener and gutted your hometown’s streets, did you expect to find treasure
The blade severed the ivy-carpeted sidewalk, it went clean through your neighbors ancient Schnauzer that growled to it’s very last breath,
and the oak trees -the ones that stood so symmetrical that you imagined they were armies of opposing nations squaring off-
they didn’t seem like enemies as they lied in a unified heap of massacred pieces,
One of the trees crushed your eldest sister’s new car, sitting under tarps in the dusky garage like a hulking ghost-
She’s not allowed to drive it anyway until she agrees to eat dinner,
a few bites is all they ask.
When you took your father’s hammer and single handedly broke down the damn-
were you expecting a desert on the other side?
The floodwaters are an orchestra now,
and they don’t knock before they burst through the windows
of your childhood home in major keys and swell into your living room in minors,
Grandma’s wedding pictures are floating out the back door and you still don’t know how she died or why your mother hates when people say you have her bright eyes-
Your little brother’s empty fish tank is gurgling water thirstily and you still don’t know why he’s terrified of crying or why his bathroom mirror is held together with duct tape.
Sound carries over bodies of water
and echoes of your own shaking voice as it tries to find higher ground drip onto your bedroom carpet,
your parents faithless whispers peel paint from the walls and secrets begin to crumple from the drywall
-the sickening silence of morning
froths onto your
and you’re damp and colder than you ever have been-
left with the knowledge of what’s taken root deep inside of you,
and the ability to buy your own axe.
"I don’t love you from my heart" (Kraig Whitesel)
I don’t love you from my heart. That’s not enough to say it. Maybe I love you from my guts, my core, or that place in my soul that aches only when I hear your name. Like a fire in my spirit that’s set ablaze every time I think of you, remember the softness of your touch, your sweet voice, or the kindness you possess. The moments of time keep spinning, but the fire burns on unquenchable.
For all the halfways and betweens, for the things left unspoken, for the times I said too much leaving your tender heart so broken, for the times I kept my distance and treated you like a stranger, for the secrets that I kept instead of putting you in danger, it was all for you.
For your flaws and imperfections that I still struggle to see, for the days and tender moments that will maybe never be, like a song that keeps on playing when the house is long abandoned while the memories dance right on leaving passions nearly stranded, like the starving child hungers for a dried out crust of bread, like the lonely traveller longs for just a place to lay his head, like the winds that build and build in the mightiest of storms, yet would dissipate their fury just to keep you safe and warm.
Yeah. I guess I love you like that.
The rooster croaks
toodaloo to the
crooked morning sky
that hides the nape of
its neck behind a
copper cop a feel sun
the grass is drenched dew
sweaty and wasted
the moss beneath that
big ass boulder
smolders baby smolders
Let’s wipe the memory clean so we can be on one magnanimous accord, a collective union of collectivism. Let us walk with the same floral gait. One sedentary religious mind, one harmonious ball of muck and moss. For it’s not the dead spirit that doesn’t line up with the modern ideal of social progress, it‘s the dead ringer under our dirty glass houses(no comprehendo decorum).
When did I let the color drain out?
when the whole world is digitized
by college dropouts sitting at home
maybe eating stale pretzels or slim jims
each refractory ray
into a single file .gif
(600 mbs or less)
then we will begin the great migration
into the void
for what is the need of living
when you can have it all
at your fingertips
You are an old painting,
Oil on canvas,
Stripped away in places
Built up on others.
Under my reverent fingertips.
I’ve been broken before,
And I lay strewn among the remains,
Forgotten to be fixed,
As new objects of desire and affection
Are bought in my stead,
As I lay gathering dust
Amidst the rubble of my heart.
here is a house i doodled the other day!! i think i am getting better at house doodles
this makes me feel alive
EVERYTHING IS CONNECTED
All I want is education, and I am afraid of no one.