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I don't like cotton candy blizzards anymore, Yes, even this creature of habit can change. I want to be a writer but oh shit does that mean I have to do what I am most afraid of. If so, how does one fix a will that is strange? I want to avoid it like the plague, but my plague is a faltering expression. Red light turns green then red then green and fuck! I’m swearing again and I don't do that often, but then again this creature of habit can change? I’m always on yield, swerving

I wonder if Catullus felt the same, or was he a conman who believed love and realism are bitter enemies? Was he so enraptured to a delusion his heart stayed lively while his hope stayed numb? Parts of this poem I lost. Who cares, I would have cut it out anyways, because time reminded me I feel this truth adamantly, one that contradicts the pessimist. Not one to profess Blason. I mostly treat it like distraction. Higher thoughts allow no time but quickly it consumes my ever

An arrow pierces my side, I know not from whence it came, Even writing, for me of all people, feels dull, To express myself like this is pathetic and I am ashamed. I watch the library lady try to put together a community puzzle that you know will never be finished. Too many pieces. She doesn’t know what she’s doing but the discovery excites her. And I see life as that puzzle. It looks full of possibility and hope, until we realize we put all the pieces in the wrong places

Today's lack is tomorrow's appreciation. Don't you know a glimpse of the horizon is worth every lost breath? Fate never runs out of ideas, even as poets exhaust the endless list of cliches and words too bold to say out loud, in their mesmerizing and confusing lives. Nostalgic music plays on the radio at work, you've never felt a more peaceful sadness. And looking back, all that complicated bullshit you thought might never end was just growing pains. Today's abundance

People are fascinating, and to enjoy their presence is serenity, to find service in the littlest things like a smile and an attentive ear. When walking into your not gonna pass you by even on a tired Tuesday kind of fate feels natural,or your beaming on a Sunday birthday feels much needed. When I bow down to pray, I try to make the surreal seem something my yearning heart can understand, because I have a million reasons to smile if only I allow myself to focus on them. And th

When you have to prop your eyes open because hustle is your daily partner, overdosing on yawns, eyes drift off, lashes lock tight, have more caffeine, about to doze off. Wait, cute chick I'm wide awake now! Sometimes they smile back but I don't care that much these days anyways. The chin is from my Irish grandfather, the meekness from my polish grandfather who fled from Nazis, both immigrants, badass men, zip your xenophobic mouth, they would be rolling in their grave. Ev

I see the preacher and Mr. Joad Winding down that old dirt road. Huge have become these grapes of wrath, how many years of poverty my characters can't do the math. And so I'll have them head out west, for me a journey of escape from my stress, For them a last-ditch effort at comfort I guess. How will I get anything finished? Am I a dead man walking Or a breathing creature on the precipice of a successful writer? Will I ever know if plot will seize attention like Lennie Or

Water under the bridge. Murky, polluted, a stained soul. Can’t drain the creek anymore than you Can change the weather. Desolate twigs clutter the surface. But it’s over, it’s God’s water now To clean a dirty lake has no purpose Just furnish a better one for tomorrow. Forgive yourself for rummaging through dirt Under a bridge acid water is not a myth To be concealed from sunlight And recall that’s why it feels so cold. The crags stare back at you like ghosts Your life choices

Why can't I love the empty moments, why can't I be present and own it? Why do I cry out when my heart and mind are pounding, and feel worthless when there's nothing inside sounding. I'm tired of the little things, the run to the bus, the fake ass smile, getting in my own head oh don't be so dramatic! Let me be vibrant let me be chill something beyond me help me find it. What is a hero? Someone who stares into the void and doesn't let it break them, someone who sees wh

I hope to make your creatures smile not to be selfish but it makes me smile, even when kindness is not everyone's style. If I make someone laugh that's a victory, regardless of my lonely place. My hand lacks for another's to hold, but that's alright, the heart's troubles tend to pass real quick. I hope I made your creatures smile, and I promise that's enough for me. Nice guys finish last? Not in impact they don't.

This is a cowrite poem with Wolf A. Carrington. W: At last, a beautiful garden that I now call home! K: At last, a time to welcome new sense of peace in this fleeting memory. W: Let it be known that the birds sang with a lively tone. K: Nature knows when winter fades, as ice melts I long to wear shorts again. W: Til the sun rises, and til the heat thickens, I walk upon this paradise. K: Frozen with fear, yet eager for the beauty I am about to meet. W: Along this path I ta

Patience is a bitch and gratitude is a savior complaining cuts up your heart What's the point in that? Headaches at work as of late but I dream of glee but I'm reminded patience is a bitch. I want to frolic in a wig or fedora and escape again but patience is a bitch. And yet patience is strange cuz I feel so comfortable with it, asked for my company too many times to count, Now I look like the fool lamenting that patience is at my doorstep. Me as I wait for a train.

Inspired by Robert Frost's Poem Nothing Gold Can Stay Frost wrote nothing gold can stay, If you don't let life beat that out, Growing into a childish adult before it's too late, becomes what comedy and love are all about. Scratched up dvd's and an old TV, Picking up an instrument like you're 17, Guitar glares as shit 20 I will be, By next month no more talking to myself so mean. Nothing gold can stay Not even teenage years Not even a one week crush But I'll stay gold when

Life is filled with little epiphanies, Wow how the years passed. And what a stone-faced soldier you have been, you stop for a second and realize love abounded even in moments where you didn’t know it was there. Little microseconds of complete assurance pay you a visit, That it will all work out and you’re already killing it. Yet doubt creeps back in without your consent Control is anxiety pretending to be your friend. Life doesn’t change with the snap of your fingers, But it

I laugh at the joke I don't even get. Is this progress or regret? I whack the flies away from my food, and stare at a list of shit I don't want to do. I try to wrap my mind around my atheist teacher's explanation of creation, and I feel empty, like my whole world is spinning upside down, abnormal behavior. Perhaps it's just bitter to realize how unfulfilling your dreams are, living each day under a hell lot of pressure, dodging the molotov cocktail that is a nervous breakdown