boys cry
cigarettes do kill,
parents lie
boats sink
flowers die
life goes on,
with or without you.
be easy
take your time.
you are coming home to yourself.
fear was quiet,
she kept to herself. she was the type of girl people read books about.
fear wore a cross necklace every day
but she didn't believe in god.
fear always wore socks, because she never knew when her feet might get cold.
she wore 3 rings
but she would never put them on her middle finger.
and she never let her feet hang off the side of the bed.
her family motto was "live to the fullest"
they thought it was clever because their last name was ful.
on her phone at family reunions,
head down in the hallways,
by herself in the lunchroom,
windows down but no music playing in the parking lot.
fear was never the type of person to believe in love,
her wallpaper on her phone proved it.
and she believed that anyone would lose their mind trying to understand hers.
but he was the type of person to call take out for her,
only every other time.
he forced her into thinking those monsters were inside her head,
not under her bed.
she started to believe that it was okay to go barefoot,
it was okay to take the sheets off for once.
fear learned that it was okay to outgrow people.
she looked for him in the hallways,
invited him to family reunions,
and fear made sure to blast her music so loud in the parking lot because she knew he would hear.
he taught her in ways no teacher could,
he loved her in ways no mother could.
when he left, fear changed.
fear disappeared.
fear moved away,
and she changed her last name to less.
days are going by faster now,
the nights are longer,
the morning breeze is colder.
the wind blows on my newly showered ears,
sticking to my worn out, homework drained hands.
and i want you to think.
think about how the world is crumbling around you, one building at a time.
think about how guns ring in distant lands,
think about how that little nothing,
really meant everything.
think about here and now.
and its the here and the now,
and the there and the then
but only two months ago i saw my nieces face for the first time,
and i couldn't help but think that maybe heaven is not something you need to die to get to.
and I'm still trying to hold onto this helium balloon called happiness,
and i couldn't help but think that maybe heaven is not something you need to die to get to.
and I'm still trying to hold onto this helium balloon called happiness,
but remember,
remember that we live for the sound
of the moments,
the moments that make us feel alive.
and i wonder.
i wonder if on the other side of the world,
on a dirt floor,
with a lightbulb hanging from a string,
if they can hear it too.
and every day,
i'm learning what it means to be alive,
without being whole.
and every day,
i'm learning what it means to be alive,
without being whole.
new words in old styles
tracked on a canvas of brick
scribbled by artists
who failed at art school.
a presentation of names
written incredibly wrong,
plain to the system
that failed.
we pause at a piece
written in beautiful paint
dotted so carefully
white streaked on black,
black streaked on white.
we might even pause
long enough to take a picture
of the rebellion,
the opposition.
we let them loose.
but are they to blame?
they play their own part,
and it doesn't matter because
its all a poem
the city writes to itself.
you roll out of bed eyes too swollen to see but your mother is cooking you breakfast, trying to ease the pain.
your dad pulls you in for a hug and kisses your head but the only thing on your mind is the goodbye. the can't walk, can't talk, can't stand up, can't breathe goodbye.
nobody will protect you from your suffering. you can't cry it away or punch it away or even therapy it away. its just there, and you have to survive it. you have to endure it.
you have to live through it and love it and move on and be better for it and run as far as you can in the direction of your best and happiest dreams across the bridge that was built by your own desire to heal.
when your heart broke it was completely silent.
you would think as its so important it would make the loudest sound in the whole world, or even have some sort of ceremonious sound like the gong of a cymbal or the ringing of a bell.
you would think as its so important it would make the loudest sound in the whole world, or even have some sort of ceremonious sound like the gong of a cymbal or the ringing of a bell.
but its silent and you almost wish there was a noise to distract you from the pain.
i want to write a novel.
a novel about silence.
about the things people don't say.
i want to write a novel about your thoughts.
about my thoughts.
about the courage i never had,
and about the love that never left.
mother don't worry, i've got some money i saved for the weekend
mother forgive me, i sold your car for the shoes that i gave you
mother don't worry, i've got a coat and some friends on the corner
so may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten
sons are like birds, flying upwards over the mountain
mother forgive me, i sold your car for the shoes that i gave you
mother don't worry, i've got a coat and some friends on the corner
so may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten
sons are like birds, flying upwards over the mountain
-iron and wine
tell me this
does any of this love exist
or is it just a fire
keeping out the cold
fear of the unknown turning us to coal
-whitaker
don't want the world to know i'm by myselfdon't want the world to know i'm on your shelf
there's no coloring around us anymore,
you either know or you don't
-kevin garrett
