Bitch

“Honestly, I’m tired of him being such a bitch,”
she said.  Perhaps it was the edge of the words
cutting the meaning in two.  The core–misunderstanding–was
just that.  Her words echoed over
one-hundred-and-sixty miles and cleanly wiped
the smiles off of those
her beloved had left behind for the sake
of being a heart-hungry fool.  Sacrifice
in vain; the lamb left to rot.

The paradigm of bird-meets-bird was never
so clear as it was
laying about in the apple-green grass.  But Spring started to fade, the buds sprouted and
shriveled.  Perhaps Autumn should always be the time of atonement for the sin
of being less-than-frugal with happiness–especially when the leaves
are exquisitely more vibrant and green than my young mother’s thumb.

And maybe, as the buds sputter and crawl back into their gnarled,
twisted branches of mothers, so too do I.

5 long yrs(BR)

i rmrmbr da first tim i herd abt gw2.  it was da best day evr.  i was playing and beating da eyes of north and then i saw dat it was annonced dat gw 2 gon come and no more expanshins would b made.  i was sad but that okay because then i got happy for da gw2.  so i hurried up and beat the eye north so i culd b rdy.  den da hom come out and i realize i got nothing

so then i start 2 save up 4 everystuff that i can have and it rly cool.  so i start farming and im not rly don yet but i look to it for fun.  and then i rlize tht i can predorder so i do and get statue of the charr named brimlock and other stuff.  i so happy i did bcuz it is awesome and i lov cherr nd i thnk i will play one win da game coms out bcuz it was lots of fun.  i did play one on the

beta wknd bcuz i not like humans r stupid bcux they r dum lol.  

neway i been waitin 4ever nd i cnt wait no lnger plz hury up im so excited i hop to see u all in game lol.

 

the end

Crows, Gods, and Sheep.

A storm is brewing.
The crows crow,
the sheep bleat.

Frogs croak,
the sheep weep.
People bleed.

A storm is brewing.
The clouds roil,
and coil.

The crows weep.
The mountains
fall blue.

And blue lightning strikes,
like the gods,
the people weep.

Rain falls,
the frogs bathe,
the sheep sleep.

Spiders creep,
and creep,
and bite.

Crows whisper,
gray, gray secrets
as blue kings weep.

Frogs sing,
ugly, ugly songs
as green trees steep.

Sheep weep,
and bleed red, red
as old gods sleep.

A storm is brewing,
the the thunder weeps,
and the clouds leak.

And trembling,
beneath the brewing storm,
all things fall, fall, fall.

Sometimes,

I think the only person I owe anything to is myself.  I try hard to please everyone and to give back as much as I possibly can.  But I think it’s time for Tj to focus on Tj.  Maybe when I’m better at the things I’d like to be good at, I can give back more.  A lot of the times I think my time helping people who don’t care to be helped takes away from me helping my self.

Self-destructive caring.  That’s what I call it.

Sappy, Sappy, Sappy

I miss your silky voice,

the way you gracefully sang poems

without even singing at all. The way you smiled,

when you told me you had written something,

something just for me,

and that you hoped I would like it.

I always loved your pieces.

I miss being your muse.

I miss the touch

of your milky skin. How you would quiver

while my hands washed over you until goosebumps

would erupt all over your soft, beautiful body,

and you would laugh.

I miss the certainty in your eyes,

when you would tell me you loved me,

right before you gave me a soft,

tender kiss.

The way you used to reach for my hand,

but you always held it wrong,

and so we would awkwardly fumble until it was right again.

We always fumble

until it’s right.

I miss waiting for ages

in an old theatre,

right by your side as we watched and watched

as the people danced under the lights.

Your head on my shoulder,

trying to catch the sleep you missed the nights before,

like it was a butterfly, but you lacked a net.

I miss the silent nights,

watching The Office,

or Weeds, as we laughed

any troubles we had

right on away. It would always

be cold, but I’d leave feeling warm.

Always warm.

Most of all,

I miss your sunshine smile.

Tonight, I Confess

Welcome to my mind.
A place where I live
free as I ever will be.
A place where making money
pays less
than making make-believe.

A land of imagination
and interpretation
so
raw
that if you took just a single bite
you’d get sick.

A canvas
where my feet are the
brushes
and my will the paint.
A pantheon of color,
confined in a world
of ants and ant-eaters
where
believers and
non believers
just ain’t.
And they all share
the same room,
just with different paint.

Tonight,
I confess,
with regrets never
meant to happen
of repressed
creation.

I’m an artist,
who won’t
breathe in a
world where
he
can’t
create.
Soul’s
where the heart
is
right
where the art
sits.

Tonight,
I confess,
I’ve never
loved anything
as much
as you.
I’ve never
felt irrefutable
colors as I do
right now.

I’ve never felt the moon
kiss my cheeks,
and the sun nibble my toes.
The ferns at my feet,
grass scribbled on the ground.
Trees cut out
of cardboard and recycled to breath.
I’ve
never
felt the fresh morning air
in my tussled brown
yarn hair.  But
I’ve never felt anything
more than I
feel it

right
now.

Tonight,
I confess,
that the only
thing more
irrefutable
than love
is joy.
The joy to
create
masterpieces
from nothing with only the stained hands
my mind gave me
and the nothing for me to fill.

Tonight,
I confess,
that tomorrow never
happens unless I create it so.

Tonight is a promise,
a promise to never live
in a world without inspiration.
Where money
is worth more than imagination.

I am beautiful
I am beautiful
You are beautiful
We are beautiful

A Sneak Peak!

This is a small sketch from a story I’m working on.  Really excited for it, and I hope you are, too!

 The only sound was a soft hum coming from the console, a complex array of buttons, levers, knobs, and pipes. The only illumination came from a large round light on the far light of the console. Slowly and silently blinking on and off, washing the room with warm red light.

“Bloody hell, that damn thing ‘as been goin’ off fer hours. Can’t a man catch a wink?” Ewan said, making a loud racket as he quickly turned side to side on his small cot .

“Oi, it’s only been goin’ off fer fifteen minutes! You’re the reason neither of us can’t catch a wink, you an’ that damned noisy bed. Now shut-up an’ fetch me a fag, will ye?” Alan held out his hand. Ewan shot up, his grogginess suddenly purged.

“Wait a tick. Crim, Crim, ain’t that the bloody cosmotelegraphic-communication-receptor? It is, isn’t it!? We’re saved, Crim! By god, we’re saved!” Ewan shouted ecstatically. His eyes raced up and down the complex console, trying to make sense of something.

“Naw, the CCR’s right next to it, Ewan. Use yer head, aye? That’s the fuel capacitor, lettin’ us know we’re outta steam,” Alan said sheepishly, “Now what about that fag? We’re stranded, might as well enjoy a smoke, aye?” Alan beckoned with his hand. Defeated, Ewan retrieved a cigarette from a box carelessly thrown atop the console. He shuffled his feet as he handed the cigarette to Alan and plopped sheepishly into his noisy bed.

“Night, Alan.”

“Aye.”

Faeries

I believe in some faeries,
I pick my words fresh from the fields;
my diction is a basket filled of bluberries.

Sweet clementine
plucked from the orchard
all mine, delicious, sublime.

My words are sap and honey
no flow for no money.

Your mouth
waters like the Sahara,
and thirsts for a new era
where writers yield feelings, and
aren’t tortured by dry dreams
of good sleep and silent gods.

I believe in some demons,
the kind that give no good treatment
for no damn good reason.

I think it treason
among those who believe in
good demons.  The kind
you can smoke away.

Bad devils,
good nightmares
for those whoever don’t care.

Eyes wide shut.
shutters of ifs ands and buts dig
right into long-softened guts.

Wings like slings
fling us and bring us
into deliverance of
ourselves. Packaged,
reordered

FedEx it across the border. Falling
flightless;
sightless.
We traded eyes and wings
to demons
of which nothing
they bring. At least
we still have
our voices to sing.

I believe in
verse and rhyme.

My Beauty Isn’t the Face of Benjamin or Washington

My meter,
is measured in the iambs of
my ambition.
My sanctuary
is one where only sun shines
and love grows freely.

But love never
lined my pockets
with the green I'd wish to grow
and so it's a no go and show-
boats while I sit 
stagnant on the lake
watching yachts sail on by.  Singing
yo-ho, all the while my engines are all, "no-go." 
I love in letters
and feel in songs,
but this one can't be sung
all alone and hung
out to dry.

I'm beautiful,
my love knows no bounds,
and can't be unwound,
but could be unbound.
I just need a little
fertilizer, so my flower
can bloom more beautiful
than the sun.

Warning: May Attract Bees

I’ve always wanted to bleed my blood red words onto egg-white paper,
but time faults, my pen runs out of ink, my tongue becomes tapered.
I’ve longed to spit fire, and to paint with the masters.  My brush
sits, perfect bristles, on an old oak table.  Just as stubborn as
the birds that gently sit outside the window, soaking up the gentle breeze.

“I forgot it at home,” I’d never say, but shy away into the

branches that kept me warm and scratched me.  ”But

I’m no artist,” it was always so easy to say.  humble pie

never tasted so grey, safely speaking; I’d never taken a bite,

even if baked fresh.

Tomorrow’s green, yesterday, rose-red.  I’ve been planted

on the wall, it seems, and I grow pretty well, I think.  Grows best in

moderate sunlight, water once a day; make sure

the soil isn’t too fertilized.  The most beautiful flower you’d

ever see; wallflower blooms: never.

I’ve always wanted to jump, lovingly staring deep down a monumental cliff.

Fearful eyes wide open, mouth just as far, “but what if,” I’d gladly say.  If is if.

Inadvertently, heights have never seemed so scary from the rocky bottom;

falling had never been half the battle worth losing, if so choosing meant

I could fly or fail, swim or sail; water’s stretching until the horizon, or I could look down.

Feeling a quiet bee stinging the tip of my piquing curiosity and asking, “What

if?”

I’ve always want to be the

most beautiful blossom you will ever see;

warning: may attract bees.