You're A Mess But That's Why We're Friends

The most interesting people I've ever met
used to shoot poison into their veins and hop trains
to the next ghost town looking to fill itself up
with people who understand that just because it's empty
it doesn't mean it lacks personality.

The most interesting people I've ever met
know what it's like to feel torn apart inside
for no damn reason except for the fact that
nobody around here shares the same
colorful brain-to-mouth symbiotic relationship.

The most interesting people I've ever met
paint their souls onto whatever surface wants them to
and they couldn't care less if you've got the cash
to show off to your guests that you have a cultured taste
and it's proven by the piece hanging above your fireplace.

The most interesting people I've ever met
show off their passions through vibrating guitar strings
that never stop buzzing even when fingers bleed on the frets
and they couldn't care less if their voice is a little flat
because if it was perfect then they'd be just like you.

The most interesting people I've ever met
don't worry about distance, time, or money
because not God or the Devil could keep them from loving
the closeness of someone else's heartbeat
in synchronization with their own irregular pulse.

Shit My Dad Says: The House in Little Rock

Me: People like adopting little girls from China because of the whole one-child thing...girls get the short stick.
Dad: Girls have no stick...
Me: Good one, dad...

For mom...

I'm proud to say that my blood runs thick
with the memory of her heartbeat as my first pulse.

She's perfectly compiled of imperfections,
and she'll be the first to admit it.

She taught me that pride is a waste of time
if you were never right to begin with.

She's the first adult I ever heard say
"I'm sorry, Sara...I made a mistake."

If the tables were turned she always inquired
why I messed up in the first place.

"Have patience", "Love", "Accept", and "Don't judge"
were the commandments she wrote for our family.

"Listen", "Trust", "Be free", and "Toughen up"
were her teachings I held dear to me.

If it weren't for her I wouldn't be this way,
so comfortable in my own skin.

So, thanks, Mom. Happy Mother's Day.
You will forever be appreciated.

You Will Never Be A Ghost

I can tell you what today felt like:

...like stumbling across an old video I swore I had deleted but then remembering why I never actually did.

...like finding a forgotten notebook with faded graphite words frantically written down before he forgot his own rhythm.

...like remembering our first apartment and how shitty it was but how happy we were anyway (at least in the beginning).

...like hearing that first song where we melted our hearts together with our voices and cheap guitar strings.

...like smoking a black clove and smiling because it's his fault I like this taste on my lips to begin with.

I can tell you what Now feels like:

...like discovering the peace in stillness all over again.

...like if my life had a soundtrack it would be the world's I-love-you's and goodnight kisses.

...like being okay with whatever is and trusting that things work themselves into the bigger picture.

For Losha...

With fingertips that spit flames
to build fire under the feet
of those who listen to his beats
blasting through the speakers
is the only way he knows
how to melt the ice-cold-snow
accumulated in his veins
frozen from a heritage
built from vodka and war.

With this passion for rhythm
he brings people together
leaving footprints on their eardrums
for the rest of forever
reminding them of the youthful soul
that stole the heart of a girl
that holds the key to his own.

It's her job to show him
what love really means.

If he lets her in
she will be his relief.

If he lets it be
she will set him free.

Like an extra lung
she can help him breathe.

For Alex...

She's the kind of girl that wears
the short straight black hair
that every girl wishes they could pull off
but they're too scared to cut it.

She's the kind of girl that has
aviator glasses and
half-burnt-cigarette ashes
blowing away with her secrets.

Heads turn past their limit
as if they had x-ray vision
And words like "who is that?"
tumble around in pretty boy mouths.

Give her a gun
and an authority uniform
and I bet everyone would listen.

I hope she knows
that even without it though
people still pay attention.

I hope she knows
that everything inside her head
is definitely something worth mentioning.

Wake Up, Sunshine

You said you hate the birds
...because they wake you up too early in the morning.

I said I love them
...because they wake me up the same way.
 

Nature's alarm clock is made of notes placed delicately on a musical staff.
A melody of our daily events soon to come.

I know that you secretly enjoy each feathery symphony.

You just don't want to admit it yet
...because that would make your mornings easier.

I know that you secretly enjoy
the sunrise,
the sunset,
the moon,
and the way I tell you all about
the stars.

You just don't want to admit it yet
...because it would make your life easier.

I hope that someday soon,

before your eyes slowly open,

you'll hear the composition of morning time's Mozart
and realize it was written
for you.

That One Song...or Few.

Certain songs bring back
memories from a lost time.

We live inside of the lyrics
and decorate each word
... with our own picture perfect idea
of what could have been.

We hang on each letter
as if we could possibly re-spell
what the words are
supposed to read.

Maybe we can rewrite an entire dictionary.

Maybe we can personalize each new lyric book with someone else's name.
Preferably with one that we don't even know.

Maybe we can just write the damn song ourselves
and avoid the whole fucking thing.

Nature is Good Medicine

I feel closest to home
when the sun warms my cheek bones,
and the birds sing a song of rebirth,
when the wind pulls my hair
and whispers secrets of time travel
and the sparkling minerals
show me what I'm worth.

Silence can be so loud
with the ruckus of rolling clouds
stumbling over their own toes
fighting to catch the most gold
tossed from our brightest star.

I am.
Have been.
And will be.
In unity, we are.
Existence is as simple
as the difference between our hearts,
and I feel yours beating
through the art of your creation.

This world is our canvas
and we have created an ocean
with ripples and waves
of desire and devotion
to our destined connection
with love.

There can never be enough.

Little Creature

You breathe like I do.
You sleep the same way, too,
temporarily visiting a world
with black and white pictures
of what you want waking life to be.
I know this because
I am listening to you breathe.

Each staggering inhale marks the spot
where dream sequence shifts.
I wonder if you are dreaming
of storms the way I do.
The way tornadoes rip apart
college campuses that
I've never even been to.

Probably not though
because you stand on four legs.
You're dreaming of bones
freshly picked from carcasses.
You're dreaming of baby birds
learning how to fly.
You're dreaming of Dad coming home
with that twinkle in his eye,
sparkling with "good boy"s and
"do you have to go outside"s.

Either way...
the rise and fall of your chest
reminds me of a rhythm
found deep within my existence.

And I know that you are part of me.

What time is it?

Daydreams of the past are distractions
from that which we are living,
teasing us with what-if's, I should-have's,
and it-could-have-been's.

Futuristic holograms are smothering our attention
with iron bars enslaving us
to a prison of man-made religion
worshipping the "god" that charges
the batteries in our clocks.

But that present moment...
It's there to be stolen
never to return to the laws of physics.
Pay attention because right now
you're in It.

Whoops...

Our own riddles form crossroads
made from body heat
and smart phone screens.
We use "backspace" as a safety net
to catch the words we really mean.

For Anthony...

Thank god that
our exchange of words
was very few back then.
You'd have been my
heroin heart throb story
instead of him.
I'd have saved your life
in a sacrificial ritual
of my own
for two years.
And then
you'd try to find me
in everyone else
but you'd realize
the brightest poppy flower
you ever injected
was from my heart.
Thank god that
our exchange of words
was very few back then.
Otherwise I would
press my palms
tightly over my eardrums
and pretend I couldn't hear you plea
for your one millionth chance.

(Things have a funny way of working themselves out)

Eat My Words

I polluted the sound waves
with the poisonous carbon dioxide
that escaped from my lungs
and slipped passed my once-forked-tongue
stitched together with hope of forgetting
what my words meant...
...or rather that I said them at all.

If I could
I would breathe as deep as the center
of a black hole,
sucking in its surrounding stars
so as to eat my words
before they ever pierced your heart.

I'd save your ears from listening
to the babbling brook of liquid words
that melted due to weak molecular bonds.

Instead
I'd press my hand on your chest
until I fused with your last fighting chance
to understand who you really are.
And in that moment,

still,

unbroken,

you would realize that we were never different
from the start.

Rinse and Repeat

Self-worth.
Self-doubt.
Self-preservation.
Self-taught lessons in a sea of
Self-realization.

We rise
and we fall
without hesitation
washing ourselves ashore
in a salty desperation
to shift the granules of sand shapes made
by the end of someone else's fingertips.

We are an ocean of
rinse-and-repeat
tumbling in slow motion
searching for relief
from someone we wish we crashed into
during yesterday's tide.

Always waiting

We are beautiful stripped of everything,
left with a love so pure.

You've got to take your own hand
and guide yourself home.

I'll be here when you're done
because I was never really gone.

God is a Force of Nature

Stuck in a world between dreams
where reality isn't so real to me.

Wake me up.

Shake me up.

Scream my name
until you can't hear your own voice.

Because repetition seems to devalue our choice
to be separate from each unique experience.

But that's what I need;
for you to blend into me.

We are brothers and sisters
with all the same needs.

And as we learn each others' faults
we can accept and breathe
into our lungs that which sets us free
in the end.
And that's the acceptance of peace.

You have to make it.

You must create it.

What shapes our existence is only found in pieces.

So be it.

Let's join hands
and help each other to see that.

Because without your perspective
mine means nothing.
And with all of ours together
we've created something.

And puzzle piece after puzzle piece
we build ourselves slowly
just to risk being ripped apart violently...

But so what?

I promise we'll all remember
how to put ourselves back together.
And each step of the way
we'll learn to treasure
the joy and the pain
that forced our surrender
to what is bigger than our brain's
comfortable way of thinking.

So, smile.

Even in times of trial.

I swear to god
that he/she/us
is listening.