Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Everything at Once

Last night she dreamed her mother was murdered
She realized it was not her mother that gave her unrest
as she woke again and again, alone in the bed
It was love that was dead

This town is small but she had a knack for finding hiding places
She found herself in exactly the place where she had begun
before this town knew her name, before her father had died
She dug around for that feeling that would make him alive

She knew he thought we would all live forever
in that impossible and reckless way
that killed him when he was much too young
Kills so many in the same way but saves some

It hurt to think this way, to make him a Jesus
to pretend that piety would make him return to her
He was a man who made her laugh and then broke her heart
She decided he was just a man with a broken heart

She couldn't cry
because her hiding place was out in the open
She would have cried
but nobody had died

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Consistently Inconsistent

I used to think bruises were pretty

but blood is better left in the vessels that carry it

We never deserved to see under our own skin

not in the way you captured it on film

We deserve

I deserve

You deserve

better than manufactured indifference

to War and Violence

Hey, Hey, Hey, Look at me

I'm not mad at anyone

I'm not mad at you

I like the way you pray

I can't even say that I believe in peace anymore

peace is the new villian

But I can say

that I don't believe in bloodshed

I know we are bleeding

But I would rather cry

than spill your blood

I would rather be poor

than empty your pockets

It scares me that the people that are pulling the trigger

are not holding the gun

It scares me that the people being shot

are paying for the gun

It scares me that I'm always talking about things

that I don't know about


If I did what I wanted to do
I would go curl up in my car
and fall asleep
until I was supposed to wake up
and the day would go on as planned

but probably someone would find me there
and fine me there
for some kind of public atrocity
and I would be an embarrassment
again, I guess I can't do that

If I had more money
I would rent a hotel
and sleep in a made bed
but that would make me sad
because no one makes my bed for me

And believe it or not
I'm not one much for
escaping reality
Passing the time is not my forte
I'm much better at decorating it

Quote, End Guote

The problem with being a medium is
you don't know how far the middle is
from everything else

The problem with extremities is
you have to be one
to know one

The problem with balance is
everyone wants you on their side
and balance doesn't understand different sides

The problem with sides is
they're always opposing something
that's the beauty of balance

this is shit, reorganized

my whole night was this
one big build up towards
me shitting my pants
and then consoling myself
with the idea of running away
and the thin memory of
the smell of roses

I like the idea of humility

whatever was attached to this has broken away
most likely from persistent aggravation
or maybe it was curiosity
And my only question now is what is one without the other

I like when things change

The most beautiful people grow up

The rest of us grow older

Sometimes you just have to forgive yourself for shitting yourself
or whatever else it is that you did that doesn't make any sense

Friday, November 4, 2011

Oh, Just Something

I don't know if you've noticed
(oh, I hope you noticed)
I haven't been writing as much
(oh, it must be obvious)
It's not that I don't have anything to say
(and surely I haven't said it all before)
It's just that I'm not so sure anymore
(but I'm still sure about us)

You see, my thoughts go 'round and 'round
(oh, and sideways and up and down)
You don't know what it's like to be me
(oh, I would die for this town)
You're every piece of every puzzle
(and all that's left is to put us all together)
You're that thing that makes us better
(but better still left underground)