"I Used To Be Good At Analogies"- A Poem

(source)

you took my heart and didn't even know it

like when 

i guess i can't find an analogy 

because you are one 

why is all i want to ask, why?

because we both know

because

only we do

and unsaid words ought to be the most

painful things

worse than drowning, worst is over

now it's just waiting

and dying of hope

that's the worst way to die, i think,

of (hope)

"Debate"- A Poem

(source)

When my eyes are fluttering

and I can hear the highways through my window

that's when I say the things I believe most

the things that make me scared of my own being

my own soul

but I don't think you should be afraid of me

i won't harm you

that much is not exactly said for myself, though

and I try to make it work, make

sense

but nothing ever does.

nothing ever does sit nicely 

like worn history books on a shelf

things get thrown 

ruined, soiled

by other things

and these other things

are what keep me up when the moon is 

telling me secrets

and answers to my questions

I now realize that 

I'm playing a game of tug of war with my 

soul and

mind

god knows who will win.

Letter to His First Wife, Edie

(source)

“I have lots of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don't worry. It's all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don't know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot, which was taught in immense milky way soft cloud innumerable worlds long ago and not even at all. It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect. We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere: Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes into everything is one thing. It's a dream already ended. There's nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about. I know this from staring at mountains months on end. They never show any expression, they are like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away? Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal essence of mind, the vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, will never crumble away because it was never born."

-Jack Kerouac 

Molten

(source)

The air is thickly filled with molten breeze

My fingers try to grasp it, 

pull it through my hands like molasses 

Manipulate it

Like I did your heart

It rises above me, and for a reason unknown,

I'm not bothered by it

I don't know whether that gives you joy or pain.

"Massacre"- A Poem

(source)

And I don’t want to hear them talk about it

Anymore

They ruined Daisy

They took her pastel yellow dress and pearls

Flung them across the room and interrogated her

In the corner of her own house on a

Wednesday afternoon

Her blonde hair astray, wisps framing her golden eyes

A look of confusion on her face, crossed with tears

Settled in the crevices of her eyelids

Now they’re moving on to Gatsby

Tearing his tie to shreds

And destroying his gilded pocket watch

By smashing it with their hands, their voices

Which sound like the ear-piercing squeals of hundreds of

Strange houseguests outside on the freshly cut lawn

They lock him in his closet with his now soiled trousers

They’ve drenched with wine,

Not even the expensive kind

I sit in my chair quietly and I want to defend them,

Take their hands and help them up from the

Massacre that is these teenager’s assumptions

But the teacher, she’s already seen my face,

And realizes the damage is done.

Musings

(source)

maybe i'll just keep it all to myself 

and fill journals for the rest of my life

I remember when he said, he looked over and I was

furiously writing, he said 

"I couldn't understand"

I said 

"You could've too. 

Anyone could've."

…..

"sorry, sorry, sorry"

"don't apologize so often, why do you do that?"

"because don't you see? there's just so much to be sorry for."