Writers are Selfish

July 18, 2014

but writers don’t care
they rearrange,
mix and match letters
anyway they wish.

They don’t care if H
doesn’t like it near A
or T doesn’t like it in the middle
and if E isn’t fond of the end,
but they do it anyway

they force letters together
just to express themselves
with no regard
to the feelings of others.

Writers are selfish.

Once upon a time writing

All That I Can Do

July 13, 2014

scrabble board game words

I wrote these words
only for you
so do with them
as you wish.

Take them for the literal
or the figurative
it doesn’t matter to me
as long as you promise
to read them
and know
they were written
only for you.

Crumple them up,
throw them out
and burn them in flames when you’re finished

but as long as they were read
and not wasted
I know
I’ve done
all that I can do

Alone in the Woods

July 9, 2014

big foot woods

See these fingers,
see these hands
they’re like yours,
waiting to be held
warmed to the touch.

Give me a smile,
give me a wave
not just a flash.

I’ll be your travel guide
follow my foot steps
down to the riverside
we’ll lay

watch the sky turn orange
count the constellations,
debate
if we’ll ever get that far

trade me your freedom and
I’ll give you mine

No Traffic on Rt. 17

April 21, 2014

We take it for granted,
the ability to see and be seen;
ninety miles per hour on the highway
would be accompanied by red and blue lights

But not tonight.

It’s an orange-white street light
over your shoulder
masking the faint-taste of alcohol
on your tongue and
not judging you for what you have become,
but there to show you what you could be.

So look past the orange-white light
and to the skyline
as it gets all of the attention.

When the city falls asleep,
remember who it is
guiding you home past midnight

9505477

Camouflage

April 11, 2014

Army_father_daughter_68018104

He hides behind a new sea of camouflage
shades of green and brown colors
similar to the terrain he fights on

it’s what he breaths now,
it consumes him
it’s his new norm

he’s killed a man in cold-blood
and strangled another until his last breath
but he won’t let it be told
nor will he ever tell his family
or seven-year-old daughter,

he doesn’t want her dad
to become the enemy.

He sits there alone
in the desert, under the stars
as his camouflage colors
turn into shades of greys and blacks
for he is a man who has lost himself,
behind army lines.

At home,
he imagines
his daughter sitting on the window sill,
waiting for his return and running
down the front stairs and into his arms
before he can make it to the door.

His image shoots warmth through his veins
and into his heart
not for if his moment will ever happen,
but when it does.

She doesn’t know it,
maybe never will,
it’s her
that makes him stay alive
for another day,
it’s her

that is
his hero

I Won a Poetry Award!

April 10, 2014

20140410-204633.jpg

So I recently entered my school’s poetry competition for a collection of poems and my collection didn’t win, but one of my poems did!

My poem Write in Color, won an Honorable Mention as a stand alone poem and I got the chance to read it in front of a bunch of people, it was awesome. Thanks to all of my readers for inspiring me and pushing me forward, never would have thought a poem of mine would ever win anything to be honest.

PS: Not too sure what a guy like me is going to do with a rose. I told one of the judges I would have rather taken an Xbox lol Hopefully I can find somewhere to donate it to, I don’t want to waste it lol

PPS: I actually found and went to a place to donate the rose!

Nothing will Remain

April 8, 2014

9_note-on-door-london-1999

 

Don’t push me from behind
and think that’s okay
I don’t need help,
I’ll get there

on my own.

See me now,
take a mental-picture
never again.

Now I’ll be
where I want to go
and when I get there
I will make it
where I want to be

For my memory,
nothing will remain
except
this note
posted up on your door

A Touch of Grey

April 6, 2014

May I addcrow-187x300
a touch of grey
to your sky of blue.

For what I’ve seen
is not blue,
but something like
a passing storm
through your

flawless skies.

As a mix of gray
and touch of blue
will change the mood
to a sky
I would never
dare to ruin

_______________

Would like to thank Robert Frost’s Fragmentary Blue and Dust of Snow  as the premise to my own combination of the two.

My Words

March 29, 2014

I can write these words
put them together
and use them

as my voice,
as my puppet,
as my escape

and tell everything
I want them to say,
because I know
they won’t argue,

they’re voiceless without me.

But these words don’t
express everything,
everything that is me.

I’m limited,
to the sixty
blue lines
on the page

and
filter
in my brain
constantly telling me
what to write
and what
to lock away,

only for me to know

Celing Tiles

March 22, 2014

He’s to impatient to wait,
too eager to relax
too ambitious to stop

but he sits there,
he knows he should stand
but he’s nervous
nervous to make a mistake
and ruin his one chance

so he stares at the ceiling
and counts the tiles.
He taps his fingers anxiously
he knows this time is his
not anyone else’s,
it’s his

CeilingTiles_3D_1_0001.jpgb29e52e3-f832-4a26-a786-9f47a3f5e099Largeand he’s not sitting anymore

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