Days 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8.

So I guess I’m not so good at this whole poem a day thing…Maybe this makes up for it. Maybe not. But either way, here are some poems.


I am guiding myself
I find serenity in silence
I discover paths alone
I tour my soul on a river of traveling
I am my own song
Sometimes I slip out of tune
I’m flat– 
      –No mountains in my chest
But sometimes I scream sweet sounds of togetherness



My trunk rocks steady in the wind
Unlike trees
I can tuck my branches in
Cover them in cotton and wool
Shivering in my bark
Skin burnt cold
Blistering red cheeks
Snow rests on these evergreens
Freckling them through winter
Spotted white like blurred vision
Foggy horizons in my eyes
Cloud covered sunsets
I’m rocking
Waiting to fall out of winter the same way I fell in


3 (this was a response to another poem titled “revolution”:
You say my revolution won’t happen in between those thighs
But what if my revolution is really adorable?
What if this revolution isn’t filled with lies
And what if I’m a sweet talker
Smooth walker
What if charm flows from my hips as I sip white wine like a lady
My revolution won’t happen between your thighs?
But what if you just gave it a try…
What if you dismiss those rising dicks and catch a fist instead
And I mean that gently
Because remember
I’m a lady
And my revolution is not an illusion
I’ll make you hot enough to smoke
Stop choking on the boys
Grab some toys
And set your life to vibrate
It’s not too late to evolve
My revolution is kind hearted, I swear
You say my revolution won’t happen in between those thighs
But what if I lay there for days and only ask to play with your hair
What if respect
Is revolutionized



I haven’t written you a love note in a while. Like when I would sit at work and every coloring page reminded me of you, reminded me of something I wanted to tell you. Well, I have something to tell you that’s not spelled out in Crayola. I know I haven’t texted you right when I wake up in a while and I’ve rarely said goodnight. You’re not my first thought anymore. My attention is divided in a divide and conquer sort of way like, you do you, and I do me…and her…and her…And I hope you find a “her”, too. I haven’t make time for you recently, although I’ve had more time than I say. Spring time is alway a growing period full of new leaves, new trees, and new roots. Warm nights are the perfect excuse for a cigarette just to get away from the chaos created inside from spilled shot glasses to tipped fifths. From drunken make outs to roof climbing face plants. Spring always makes me want to get into something. I was into you but you gotta understand my heart is a wandering man easily distracted by a chase, by fate, by bumping elbows and knee tapping couch sits, lingering fingers passing lighters between bowl hits. My fingertips crave hips and lips and sips of sweet rum. I haven’t written any love poetry lately. It’s all about me and my own discovery. It’s clear to my you mean something. You are something. You are my someone. You are not my everything and I hope I am not yours. I don’t deserve it all. I’m not nearly worthy of caring for a blood pumping, life-saving muscle. You’re my something. My someone. The one who knows me all. You’re taller than me. Your head is higher than mine and I’ve tried to stop smoking so much per your request but regardless of if I do, I’m not quite sure I can go on loving you like you love me. I love you, yes, but you see…I love the moment. The present time. The one time get down because we’re both lonely. Not that I love it more or you any less. It’s just that my chest expands with other’s breath. I can’t breathe easy anymore without strangers blowing compliments down my throat. I’ve choked on break up speeches before. I’ve lost myself in another person’s flattery. Instant satisfaction is how I thrive and I could drive 11 hours to see you. And I could keep my schedule clear so I could skype you. Or call you. Or make any sort of effort at all but the fact that I haven’t….The fact that my days are only freckled with you when I used to wear you as a coat concerns me. It worries me because I’ve done this before. I’ve had girls fly into my life eager to by wifed up and at first, I encouraged it but when it comes down to it, birds never stick around. I’m not worm grounded. I’m flight ridden, flight driven, hawk, solo flyer. I have this crazy desire for new. For nights that are unexpected and you’ve become my usual. And I usually do this. And it usually ends in tears. Some people call it dump. I try to call it letting someone else fly. But I’m sorry if I clipped your wings. I’m sorry if I gave you false wind and hopes of everything. I’m interested in everyone and you have been my one, but I’ve begun to get lost again and I actually like not knowing where I’m going. Or where I’m stepping. I’m gonna step on your toes. I’m gonna trip you up, make you fall and hit rocks with a solid bottom broken heart beat. It’s what I do. And I really didn’t want that to happen to you because I know it’s happened before. I’ve witnessed your sulking sadness first hand, but remember, this has all happened before and you still found your flight. You found it in you to fight for the lover you hope on– the love you wish for and envision. You have this perfect vision. And I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’re wishin’ as one.



5 inspired by my old basement:
It’s the sound of broken bottles chucked at basement walls before their contents are chucked into toilets
Chipping the concrete with gritted teeth
Shattering like shrapnel
That chaos is in me
Lingering like a lost bomb searching for a light
That spark of a moment that ignites the match
It’s more than a flicker
More than a tick tick
Or a boom
It’s the bang
And the rage filled fists
The scratched throat from the body-filled scream
That anger is in me
It’s the dynamite trapped in a mountain side
Tunneling outward
Jetting towards infinity,
Wherever y’all thing that may be…
That outer space darkness is in me
I’m high off galaxies and that shit doesn’t come cheap.



There’s a certain ripple that changes things
It’s few and far between
A ripple that casts it’s wave on you and makes you gasp
You’re not drowning
Ripples don’t make you sink but ripples complicate things
Confuse things, even
Ripples are like elmer-glued paper or sheets that have been slept in
Ripples like dream bubbles, frozen in winter air
Ripples ripple things,
Rip them from calm
This is my rippling song



I tie memories around my ankles,
Strap them around my wrists,
Slip them onto my fingers, 
And find the perfect spot for them in my hair
I’m a walking scrap book



8 inside the anxiety i don’t have:
stress to stress because i stress myself to death
worry worry
worry worry
paranoia creeps in
i turned that light off
i know i turned that light off
who turned it on
who’s here
someone is here with my
following me, watching me
nothing has been easy
breezing by days isn’t how my mind flows
that’s more like it
worry worry
worry worry
mental madness
heart sadness
head heavy
chest sunk
eyes red from stoning myself to death
i’ve been stoned with the best
fallen down with the worst
i’m hurting here
I’m worried here
worry, worry
anxiety fills me
depression oozes from my lips every time i sip conversations from another persons hypnotizing calmness
i’m the eye of this storm
i’m a whirlwind
a twirl in sanity
don’t worry
don’t worry they tell me
i don’t have the energy for this
i’ve felt cold steal to temple
i’ve held a bottle of pills in my hand
i worry about the missing i’ll miss out on
i won’t be around for the misery and that’s disturbing to me
i am your misery
why would you miss me
don’t worry
i’ll stress myself to death
so you should be worried about having to dress for a death
not about my stress because that is definite
it’s infinite


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