"Tell Me" Responded The Believer

we're too proud of our struggles, and useless luggage
and yet we find everything we've been searching for all without trouble
so if it's good to think wisely, how come it doesn't feel fine (it strands you with nothing)
but i've broke through it all, it's just the free fall
you know how we end up? declared demons of our species, the grave robbers, and decadent beauty, all wind up the same, a face in a frame, on a wall in a house
all built with bare hands, the only things that still stand.  all our frequent dreams, they conclude - the curtain dropping is what finally stops us
so heavenly father, please, tell me this - should i look down?
because i lost something trying not to get it stolen
i'm about to show all my cards, i'm folding

The Next Big Thing

you didn't even wanna come home with me that night, i swallowed my pride and almost begged you. the lack of life in my eyes caught your attention and you came. on the ride home you rested you head and i was happy to have my lap full. every pothole we hit didn't register. it was one of our last times together (i never saw it coming), i pulled you aside when we got back to your house and i asked how you felt about me. you kissed me like you had always wanted, like when you dated that chubby philanderer - as i'd come to call her - and i wouldn't be within miles of you. none of it mattered because you failed to answer the question. it had become my bible, i studied it until my eyes drooped and died, they couldn't see clearly. and you kept on living like our production had never existed. nothing ever pulled on you, got you frantic - it all did to me. they all thought just because my lifeless body was still breathing they shouldn't put me in the ground. boy were they mistaken. i was low enough and i was done living. peace might have come had you tossed your fistful of dirt over top my grave.

i didn't really want to die, but i really didn't wanna come back to life. however, i misjudged the presence of religious zealots, and overestimated the revelations they would all suddenly have after the initial shock of my blessed miracle. one night too i had a dream that the government seized me and took me to an abandoned lab furnished with faces frozen in time. they ran tests on me, but that was never the case. i woke up feeling less convinced i'd be the governments number one target. the zealots terrified me though because i had nothing to prove, but i was aware they'd force my participation in spectacles. it had always had success with their transgressions and how the choose to spread the word.

when i came back to life is an impossible moment to describe. but i imagine it felt something like being jolted by those paddles dr's use to restart your heart.
in my case however life had slowly built backup over time but i only realized it in one quick instant. just like that i took everything out of the drawer and got it back up on the shelf and if you come over today and saw it i'd make sure to tell you i did it all without help.

Where Are You?

i don't talk to anyone because i'm so scared of rejection. it all starts with eye contact, lillys on a pond. i often explain it as i'm the kid in class that the attendance sheet never gets to, no matter where i'm sitting. i'm not sure what it means, but i know it drives me towards being away. towards crazy.

it makes me resent myself, and i'm not sure what for. most days i sulk in solitude - the uncontrollable hiccups of my mind swooping in reminding me where not to begin. but how to continue, to perpetuate forward. effortlessly waiting for a lifesaver, a life-changer - i listen. it must be one who knows me and separates me from my sullen thoughts. one who with ease carries me from decimal points and rumored boats that wait for me to be aboard.

it makes me resent myself because the unadulterated thought has crossed my mind that we've met, maybe in passing and i found you too old, ugly, or fat. but the truth is we'd be glamorous together - outrunning foes and joining follies, maybe even being biased unnecessarily, but without attention to the details.

this is just a dream i caught and kept in a chest with a latch.
let me know if you want it back.

Dreams Aren't Just Figments

i had a dream last night that i was playing sandlot baseball, pitching a great game, and next thing i know i look at where my shortstop should be and it's just a cardboard box - there to represent my hopes and dreams. this brown-cardboard-worn at the edges-taped up-box. i stared back at it and wondered if it was empty.
only a second passed.
i went back to pitching. i didn't take the steps needed to reach the box, and open it. had i my dreams would have been revealed to me. i swore there was something telling me not to. a voice without a vessel screamed out of every direction "knowing too much can lead to delirium." anyway i could take a guess at what's in the box, i'm not completely in the dark. but i cowered from the ah-ha moment cause i know i don't need it. my unconscious was trying to test me, screw with me, checking to make sure i'm not what everyone says i am. i'm still me.

i'm still that same person, who after i reached the top of the tallest mountain i ran down it. the view was terrible, as it spanned everyone. for now i'll wait in the valley, and i won't tamper with any boxes. and heck, there's things i regret but retreating down that hill just ain't one of 'em. the nonbelievers won't rest. i just hope it's me that keeps them up at night.

A Figure Of Speech

once when i was a clever student of life i wrote the most splendid piece of poetry on how i was dependent upon your love. not much had changed in the months that followed since i produced it, and i pressed hard to overcome that little problem, but when no solution presented itself i did the only thing i knew how and gave up. but i didn't walk away with my head down, no, instead i bagged your love and sold it to my neighbor who promised to put it to good use. when he tried to talk me down i got nasty and told him i'd find another buyer. then he clamored something about the value of a buck and reluctantly bought it.

the son of a bitch then challenged me to a foot race, and without a moments hesitation i accepted. i stopped racing, but for all it's worth i think i would've won. after i dragged myself to the side of the road i sat down and waited. for what i'm not sure, but i was sad when it didn't show up. and in between all the waiting there was some longing. after hours passed i decided to start the walk home. when i arrived i went right to the couch and there i sat down. i retraced the events of the day for all the good and bad. all the love i harbored and i had sold yours. i made some coffee and sipped it slowly. i started to hum the melody of a song an old grade school teacher taught me and with that my eyes got heavy.

i died on that couch. that day. alone.
thinking about what i'd have to live without.

A Dreamer Dreams, She Never Dies

the clouds looked like a marble counter top. i was lying outside and i couldn't help but notice. i thought it must retain the cold - quite similar to you.

then i remember this dream i had, where we were both out front. you were upset with me all because i was trying to sway your enemy to get an education. and then suddenly you ran to the left gate and by the time i noticed i had no choice but to go through the right gate. my reaction time has always been subpar and the dream solidified that. i just figured we'd meet in the backyard. but my cellphone rang and it woke me up so i'm not exactly sure how the dream would have played out had it run it's course.

now i just think it's such a shame dreams usually only come around once.
and when i go to bed now i adjust my sound setting in my phone to "alarm only".
just in case.

Daydream Believer

sometimes i wonder about what could be. and then i break down. the stuff you say tends to scare me, and then i want every dream of mine to be lucid. i worry if it tends to be me.

and i don't care what they say about how when you have nothing to lose you're free to do anything, because i'm still terrified.

and i carry a poem in my pocket that i wrote for you. the paper it's written on is tattered from me touching it. plus, it's incredibly cheesy - but it helps me forget how i'm always too polite.

A Boys Dream

i went to work one day last week, a saturday actually. one of my many responsibilities at the cleaners is taking out the garbage. when i went to remove the bag from the front garbage something caught my eye. this something was clearly out of place in a dry cleaners garbage. i couldn't tell what it was, all i knew was this was wood, and this was hand crafted.

i picked it up out of the garbage, avoiding snotty tissues all the way through. i don't even know what came over me or why i picked it out of the garbage. it wasn't worth any money, it wasn't pretty. it was a small wooden snowman decorated with buttons and glued to a wooden base. it wasn't even painted. it was a project my bosses son made in kindergarten and gave to my boss. what was it doing in the garbage? i flipped it over and looked at the bottom of the base, jack was carved into the wood. i felt like i was about to cry, or just throw up. i thought about my own dad, and his absence. i thought about how a son loves his father, who is just a man - no matter what. but that man maybe doesn't recognize the love, or doesn't have time for it - or at least doesn't have time to return the love. maybe i took it too far. maybe it was taking up too much space and just getting in the way. i mean christmas season had long passed and who is a five year old to notice the gift he gave his father go missing? i still couldn't help but think that the snowman was a gift and couldn't mean much to my boss, who threw it out.

my manager, a mom, was more disgusted than me-and she wasn't giving my boss the benefit of the doubt. she knew this snowman wasn't just a dust collector. she went into his office and placed it back on his desk. it's been there since.

after all this i remembered a time earlier, over the summer when jack came into work to help his dad wash the car. he looked so happy. my boss looked irritated and drained. not to mention stressed. i also thought about a time when i was on the train and i had put my backpack in the carrier and a man not too different from my boss helped me take it down. i wasn't even struggling or reaching for the backpack, i hadn't even yet attempted to get it. but he must have noticed that i was pretty short and not too toned. he sensed i had no one to help me, and i would appreciate it, he knew that. i missed my own dad right then. i missed having my own dad. not that he would have been on the train to help me anyway, but i wouldn't have felt so sad when someone else was.