I Bid Farewell To The Exile Kings.

I bid farewell to the Exile Kings:
the street warriors, the broken hearted lovers,
the silent activist, the bloodless brothers.
Y’all go by many names, but will forever remain my drunkn’ friends.

In a small boat I sailed alone and astray with time’s current steering my vessel.
The sea is unforgiving in its own way, suffocating the heart with uncertainty
and drowning the mind with whispers from the Devil.
Despite its cruel intentions, I owe the sea and time for these past memories.

We found each other as outcast do by shipwrecking into one another’s boat.
We took the remains of our wreckage and united our ship, building a crew steadily as we went.
Everyone spilled blood around a table soaked in beer within a fog formed by cigarette smoke
Our philosophy and speeches won’t be found in any textbook but in a book.

I never been good at saying bye, but I never been good at saying hi.
Stay true to you and never give up on your dreams, I write you this to remember me by.

Dear June,

Dear June,
I’ve completely shut all senses.
My body in reality ignoring responsibilities
My mind in limbo till late noon.
I’ve turned to new substances,
harder deadlier substances to reawaken the consciousness,
leaving track marks on the skin.

Where is the Poetry?

      This past week I’ve been burying myself in my readings, and privately writing in my journal flash fiction and poetry. None of which I plan to publicly publish here, for a lot of it I feel is unfinished and needs refining. Although, when I do read whatever clutter of words I have mustered to a friend they tell me it’s fine.

      I’m not sure why but I’ve been quite cynical about things lately,

Dear February,

Dear February,

         There are people who love you and there are people who love to hate you, but no matter what it is it’s always in the condition of love. As for me, I’m in between, and I don’t care. Your month felt more than one day less, despite it having been Leap Year. 

         I don’t remember much about you; other than you, making feel a little

Footnotes: The Great Gatsby

 

Outlook: A Bright Moon for Fools

Am I a Lost Cause?

I asked my father if I was a lost cause
he said, “son, you’re a cause that can’t be lost.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because
in a sea of people I can spot
you and your curly head.”

I asked my mother if I was a lost cause
she cued in, “sweetie, you’re a cause I’ll never lose.”
“How? I asked.
“Because
of mother’s intuition
I’ll always find you.”

The Spider and the Ghost of the Fly // Vachel Lindsay

She is…

I claim you’re everything to me
I claim you’re everything
I claim you.

My mind back tracks
to memories of better times
“How much longer?” I ask.

How much longer will I continue
to rely on you
to be my muse?

Every poem is about,
one specific girl
and how
I must fight a war
with myself
to never write about her anymore.

It’s a losing battle
as everything I do
constantly brings back
thoughts of you.

Even things that you hate
like smoking
and drinking.

Maybe
I do them out of spite
or maybe
I do them so you could save me
and tell I’m wrong and you’re right.

But no matter what
you’ll always be the girl I’ll write
about on sleepless nights.

She Is Alcohol.

The things I write are just love notes
I wish I could say to your face.
I think I miss you the most with alcohol in my veins,
So I drink for the joy of pain.
Cause it’s better than feeling nothing.
Oh, how I miss you so.