“boys will be boys”

i always walk swiftly passed your

watchful eyes.

i can’t stand to be evaluated by those

puny pupils.

darting between my face and my body, something tells me you’re not interested in my intellect.

you never speak,

you just watch and then continue with whatever had your attention before i walked swiftly by.

i remember your face,

disinterest. burn. 

Lost PiecesĀ 

The worst part about losing yourself is not the process in which you dress yourself in every kind of darkness and go to foreign places that beckon the other side of you…

 No, it’s the constant thought of:

 “Will I ever get those pieces back?”

The Runaway Clay

I lied to you because the moment was right.

I said I would give you every bit and piece of myself, but the truth is,

I’m storing some in my soul just in case you get frusterated with the puzzle.

I’m sorry for being a wanderer. And a doubter. And a confused little child. 

I mimick the road I see instead of the destination of glory.

It’s a habit I’m trying to break,

Along with all the other chains.

But I guess that’s my problem.

I take my problems into my own hands and try to stitch things together with a makeshift sewing mechine and clumsy fingers. 

My clammy palms always cause me to slip up and nearly mess up the masterpiece… 

I have learned to run back into my arms when the unknown is a bit of a jump. 

But,

I am the clay.

I need to learn to be still as I am being molded. 

Open Road šŸŒŒ

If I could, I’d drive a long stretch of the highway and keep driving until something caught my attention. In the car would be music that thumps in my chest and spills lyrics on my tongue. I’d turn on a slow jam just as the sun begins to set. I would draw out that moment and breath the crisp air of the birthing night. Windows down, hollow sounds. Once night drapes it’s arms around the sky, the music would reflect darkening excitement. Music and open road. No thoughts of home or destination. Just the rumbling of the base and the overflow of words that mean all too much to me. 

Half Past One

If you knew the thoughts floating in my head half past one, would you hand me a bible or would you hand me a gun?

Would you give up on me? Throw in the towel on my behalf? Tell me,

It’s unfixable.

Drown out all bellowing yells of victory and point and lead me to where darkness hides best–in myself. 

Or.

Or would you tell my frail heart to stop feeding me lies my spirit despises? 

Would you cradle my mind into your sacred arms and take me by the hand and walk with me?

 Even when it gets dark enough to hear evil howl, will you still walk with me? 

I beg of you,

Walk with me.

I Can Hear The Echo.

A touch,

A smile,

A glance.

All internalized into my little head.

It’s not like I’m desperate to hold you,

To be held by you.

But it’s cold in here and I’ve been here alone for quite some time.

I can’t call this love,

It isn’t even infatuation.

It’s pure attraction.

Your eyes and your hair that falls to your neck, sweeping past your ears.

I have a lot of time to stare and think but the more I look, the more I can’t breathe.

It’s the passion that’s enticing.

The moment where our eyes meet and I’m carried back to safety.

I’m safe in my house but,

I’ve been here alone for quite some time.