The Wind

The shift in the wind was the worst I ever felt

the blow was hard and severe,

the ice stabbed where it didn’t melt
the face of the miles I went to find you

the miles I spent waiting, the trials I roo.


Then, 9:01 P.M,

I am nervous right now,  I miss someone.

My heart is unraveling like a slip of the tongue.


I’m not entirely sure of who I am, nor what I want.

The headspace I live in; it hauntingly taunts.

The Voice In Your Head

You were put on this earth to make others feel better

others were not put on this earth to make you feel better.


You were raised with the wind to carry your dreams

your microburst of energy is the reason for your floods.\


Slide with the beat, my your dance is unique

the trip on your feet with your missteps that reek.


Every day is an excellent day per say

it’s the small, hurtful voice in your head

that ruins you till bed.


Lie times by any side that claims victory

after all, the victor gets to write history.

Times lie by the side that screamed in defeat.

After all, the loser is shamed by history.

What of the generations reeling after defeat?

it must be in their DNA

it must be

Save All Hope

Save all the hope of getting places with these little things that make you smile

send off the dreams of feeling like there is nothing else to believe in

but the lies of the wandering eye that keeps the focus lost on all amounts

toss busy hands in the air as sinful acts take place

in the space between seeing things and believing in dreams.

9:11 P.M.

I’m not worried by the things I’m not worried about

I’m tired to the fighting; I’m going out a lot.
“The fighting?” they asked, “Wait, you’re going through a lot?

The scars are thicker than what you see; I bury the truth in thoughts.


Heat the necessities and try to strive for something lower next time

The room is too full to speak your mind, and the spirit is dancing too much for your words to equate what madness you see before you.

Misty fellows are too far from here, but try to arrive so carefully near.

There is anxiety in the voice and a thoughtless pattern of the tongue.

Things are a little too strange for strange right now.

6:27 P.M.

Right places, wrong times is a new time; I have no way to find it.

The thing is, I can’t have my mind to make sure that I am where I see me.

There was no way to beat the message I’m filled with the confusing darkness of my worries.

The long times, I have spent in my own decent, lying to myself I’m being humble.

An Ode to Oversharing

How am I sharing “too much” if I wanted you to know?

Secrets are subjective, depending on what comes in and go.

If I didn’t say anything, you would snoop till you’re stone cold.

Now, that I’m sharing what I want, you complain about the amount and the show.

Well, I’m going to overshare,  sit back and watch.

It’s not like you don’t like it, you’re more present than a clock.