A Million Things

I’ve been told that my mouth will get me into trouble

That my attitude will leave me wanting

That my words will leave me lonely

And my smile makes me too smart for my own good

I’ve been told that my heart will leave me friendless

My body will leave me jobless

And my choices will leave me optionless

Unless I take the path they expect

My fists make me crazy

My mind makes me intimidating

My eyes make me pretty

But the rest of me makes up for that last one

I’ve been told a million things

About how wicked this world is to people like me

But if I can see you smile when I share my mind

Or my mouth

Or my heart

Then the rest of the world won’t mean a thing


I am terribly sorry to my readers for the deterioration of my poetry and my lack of creativity streak. As many a writer and artist would know, when the muse doesn’t hit, the creation isn’t formed. However, I bring you a sweet little love poem laced with some unintentional bitterness about my little goblin. I immensely enjoy this writing scheme, and hope when lovely Inspiration peaks her head out again from the darkness, she’ll grace me with a couple more verses.



I’m not worth a grain of sand

Or a drop of time

I’m not worth the tears that trickle down your cheeks

As you get caught up in my rhyme

My hands are greedy and my eyes are wide

With all that I want and feel and see

But at the end of the day it’s all meaningless

Because I’m hopelessly free

The little pain in my heart reminds me

That I’m not worth my mirror’s gaze

The symphony in my head

Is better than its theater’s craze

I’m not worth the ground beneath my shoes

Because I’m mean, shrewd, and loud

I’m not worth the masks upon my wall

Because I always come out too proud

One day, I’ll live a million miles away

So I can cause no one further grief

Whether it be over my physique or mouth

Or unorthodox belief

I’ll live underground and get a gondola

Living off the rats and stew

But I could never, ever imagine

Living without you


People are inherently selfish creatures, as the Machiavellian principle goes. I once read about a man who suffered from both critically low self-esteem and a God complex, which I sometimes reference because it’s darkly humorous. After all, don’t most people feel worthless? Yet we still want, and we still hope and we still dream. That makes humankind either incredibly optimistic or hopelessly blind.


Coney Island

Soft sand and bleak land

Is where I want to be

But seagull cries as someone dies

Often confused me

I’d stand there with my little love

Holding out hope that from the above

They’d get their heart and soul

And I’d collect mine back

From the same shadow that leaves a muddy track

On the steps of my front door

Forefront in my mind

Sometimes I’ll slow dance

If the music’s right

Flute plays on grey days

Without bright light

And he stands miles away

Minutes from my eyes

And watches the couple

As one cries

The other stands closer

Bare feet with rare pace

Soul and heart marked with empty grace

And in his face, I see a sorrow

One I’ll think about tomorrow

Because for now, I’m dancing

Two by two

Both of us without shoe

And the ocean’s blue

As I whisper a song into your ear

“I wish you were here”


The title, a reference to both a Death Cab for Cutie song and an obscure novel. The song in the poem, a reference to a Pink Floyd ditty. There’s a special place in my mind that holds this little fantasy, and sometimes it makes me smile to think that it may come to fruition, absent of the onlookers, of course. Who doesn’t love a good alternative rock reference?


I Never Loved You

I never loved you
I’m sorry I said otherwise
I’m sorry I entangled myself
In this bed of lies

I fell in love with your idea
With your kindness and fair gaze
What I didn’t love was how you didn’t respond
For days and days and days

When I dream of you, you were always warm
But in reality you’re very cold
You’re eyes looked so young in the mirror
But now you seem so old

Your ghost still lingers
In every word that I write
I fell in love with my muse
But my gut still twists at the sight

At night I shamed myself for loving you
I never knew why
But after I lost count
Of the times you made me cry
I forgot about your virtues
There wasn’t many to name
Tried to count your vices
That gave me a lot of pain

Every time you approach me
I want to shrink far away
Yet my heart starts to stutter
And spikes when you say, “hey”

When you say my name I flinch
The word seems like slander when you speak
I also hate how insecure I feel
How you make me become so weak

I never loved you
I hope you feel the same
So we can stop this torture
And put an end to our mind game


I wrote this poem a while ago and had the audacity to send it to the subject. It’s rather comical how dense people can be sometimes when it’s about them. This was a darker part of my short existence, and still tastes bitterly. However, doesn’t such strong emotion make for such good poetry?



We existed in the space between asterisks

The breath in the crevice of a message

A smile at the fleeting thought

Our words poured from our mind and lips like water down a hillside

Pet name after nickname after game

And game of holding hands

And sharing kisses

And little embraces

All within the space of a couple of words

And two black stars


A love poem dedicated to the little goblin that inspires me. The reader can speculate if the goblin was borne out of fictitious desire or to portray who rests in my heart. Although it’s shorter, I couldn’t bear to add anything on to it. To write more would’ve desecrated its simple beauty. Enjoy the time with your loved ones, folks, even if it’s a hundred miles away and in between the space of messages.


Oh Dear

I’m sorry, no one told you?

No one made the off-hand comment

The afterthought

Proposed the question?

Did they not care enough to tell you?

To inform

Yet you never inquired

You never wanted to believe otherwise

However, I can only keep up a pretense for so long

Especially when everyone else is in on the game

Everyone has placed their bets

Called their bluffs

Watched their hands as readily as they watched mine

Because who knew what I would write next

Declare to the world

To myself

What decision would find itself in my mind

Lost with a sense of purpose

Perhaps I should’ve mailed the secret

Or whispered it in your ear while you slept on the couch

Or even called you so that I could run when I wanted to

Away from your predictable reply

Yet still so unpredictably disastrous

You may flatten city blocks

Or you may merely dent the sidewalk

Either way, did no one tell you?

How unfortunate


I apologize for the abrupt ending, yet the ending I keep closer to my heart than my keyboard. I enjoy wordplay, and while the lines in this may be considered marginally clever, they aren’t the normal rhyming stanzas. As with everything I write, however, I hope that my reader enjoys my organized ramblings.



I imagine us on a Sunday

With nothing to do

I imagine us with our instruments

Playing a song or two

I imagine you dressing my wounds

While I steal your sweater

I imagine you kissing my knuckles

To make me feel better

I imagine driving downtown with you

Or to the big city, if you want

I imagine blasting the radio

To ignore society’s taunt

I imagine you wearing my jacket

As we pull up to the bookshop

As we sit and browse for hours

Neither of us can stop

I imagine a future with you

And I think it’s coming soon

I imagine laying with you on the hood of my car

Under a full, bright moon

I imagine you in my arms

Whispering how you’re here to stay

But for now, we can’t see each other

And you feel so far away


A poem written on a whim, yet the rhyme scheme was good enough to post. Recent events have put me far away from the rest of humanity, as I’m sure it’s done to almost everyone. While this is a love poem, an undercurrent of bitterness permeates the blissful and longing words. However, as with most my writings, it is merely a work of fiction.



Sometimes I just stand there.

I just stand on the edge of the world

I let my breath hitch in my throat

I let my heart choke out the music of the world

I close my eyes

And when my heart slows, I listen to the gulls

And the crashing of the waves

I can see the gray sky already

On a day in a future that may never happen

Or a past that happened too long ago

I can hear the piccolo

Or the screams

Or the laughter

I can feel the sand between my toes

And reality sits below me

Yet time still orchestrates above

No one bothers me when I’m here.

No children

No people






Everyone sits on the other side of the globe

For I stand on its edge

No shoes

Swim trunks

No shirt

And fresh scars lining my abdomen

I take a deep breath


And release the years of disgust and distaste and sourness

Throw my secret into the ocean

Yet don’t follow

I won’t let my past weigh me down.

For I am a person

Not a memory


A description of my happy place. No witty remark, no imparted wisdom. Just a poem.



One dose of the grandiose

Wasn’t enough to keep you here

You left my side and my eyes wide

That’s when everything disappeared

Two cries of blatant lies

Tore a rift and left us stiff

And as we drift there came a shift

Anger came to pass yet the broken looking-glass

Still remains and I still refrain

Three troubles seemed to double

As we ran away from this day

I cam to free the placidity

Of this time yet through my rhyme

It only strengthened and lengthened our woes

Four wishes set on dishes placed too high

Five ambitions broke traditions

Six thoughts and my mind fought

Seven declarations tore my patience

And one does of the grandiose

Wasn’t what you sought

So now, let me rot


Another bitter and longing poem, yet this time composed without a person in mind, merely a line. Inspiration struck my mind at an ungodly hour (as it is wont to do) and what started as a simple play on words turned into an entire poem. How many times have we befriended someone, yet truly grown attached to our mind’s perception of them, what we thought of as their potential, only to be disappointed when they don’t meet our lofty expectations? Too often for comfort, or at least that’s the answer from a person who spends most of their time lost in books. Although, most people I encounter can say the same.



I never see your tears

I never see your fears

I never see you here

I can feel your grief

Heavy, beyond belief

A silence that suffocates

I try to placate the mood

But it’s like throwing water in the sea

It just adds to your misery

A misery so palpable I can feel it too

I see you use tissues, going through the box

Yet hiding your face

I never see the place your mind takes

“***, are you okay?”

You turn away

I recognize your stride

Of someone trying to hide

The sickness inside

I can never see your sadness

I can never know about your pain

And everything, you’ve always taught us,

Would happen again and again

“***, are you fine?”

Don’t keep yourself in line

Show me the hurt

What you think you must skirt around

Tears fall to the ground

But you still wipe them away

It’s not your fault

You never had a say

Chemical imbalance

Is what stole the day

I want to tell you that it will pass

That what you have will never last

But I’m too choked up on tears to say the words

I would turn from your problems too

If I didn’t know I couldn’t take them from you

Please, ***, just be okay

Get up to see another day

Fight through the grief for my greed

Battle the pain, because I need you




There is a silence that comes with being in a room with someone who struggles with their own mind and thoughts, and it’s not a silence I could ever describe. It’s worse than the one at funerals, because at least there is a peace in that silence. If I had any experience on a battlefield, I might describe it as one looking at the remnants of war, from the fresh corpses to the mementos and lives they used to carry. It’s heavy and thick and suffocating, yet it is nothing, I imagine, compared to what those who must constantly war feel. Be kind to the mentally ill, folks. Walk a lifetime in their shoes before you judge.