A Poem Page

P a g e 1

Nicholas Camarena


Shot to the Moon 

Every weekend I shot myself straight to the moon - then back again -every single journey started from me swimming in the liquid of promised happiness -
then I crawled out of the liquid and latched onto the trees of chocolate -
I climbed the tree as high as I could go - I stared at the moon -
I laughed, giggled, cried, I even had a partner there waiting for me at the very top of the tree,
we had sex, laughed, giggled, played, talked,
until, some how, some way, I closed my eyes and was shot straight up to the moon,
on the moon, I didn't have the weight of gravity to hold me down,
I floated, all by myself, I continued to laugh, I forgot about the world,
then, for whatever reason,
as the hours passed by and the sun reared its ugly head,
I open my eyes again,
only to awake in the real world,
only this time, with a headache.




Our tattoos were an instant bond -

you noticed mine and I noticed yours -
Your daughter was another bond -
we both loved her - though in different ways -
you were her protector and her hero -
where I failed to be such in both regards -
it suits us both well - however -
because, I wouldn't want to trade spots with you in life -
as I'm nearly almost certain - you wouldn't want to trade spots with me in mine -
You left the earth and I thank you still - for being the protector and father you are to her -
as for me - I am still failing. 



A tombstone can only speak for itself -

when those who care are near it -
for the memory of day and night has ended -
but for only to those who care not. 



Run Dry 

We all write with a pen whose ink will run dry sooner or later -
like it's author - shall it be thrown away - and replaced by another. 



Ready, Set, Go. 

The Truth is you were born, and you died -to in which I ask - which one were you prepared for the most?



Thin Layered Pulp 

I'm living in a society and time frame where everyone has something smart to say - yet, no one is writing their own thoughts down on paper. Why not?  Certainly, if your words are worth interrupting the tongue of fellowmen, then, your words are worth scribbled onto a thin layered pulp. Perhaps, there is a difference between those who talk, and those who write. Those who talk, are merely in it for the moment. Those who write, are stamping the very thought from their brain on a piece of pulp, right - or - wrong, in a way where they say here I am - here I "was". This was my thought, this was my ambition, this was my function. It sounds more heroic, though maybe, it's a little more cowardice then those who simply speak their mind. Why? Well, Perhaps, it's a safer bet to be one who was willing to simply write your opinion - because something tells me those who talk would never find it appealing to argue with your piece of paper. Then, again, maybe being one who spoke but never wrote is a cowardice act, because you know that your opinion isn't worth the paper you'd try to write it on. Maybe, perhaps,  no one is a coward, and it would do our ears and mind some good if . . . 
we all just tried to shut up for a while.



"Self inflicted Indictment" 

So, I've always wondered why my writing had very few readers. It's no different from my music, my artwork, or really any other form of art I've made. I realize that as time has passed, just because something is popular doesn't make it great. Because as you can agree, what is popular today will soon be embarrassing or played out tomorrow. The Beehive, the mashed potato, Picasso, Beethoven, Shakespeare. 

If you think those aren't played out, then simply ask everyone you know to think of five Shakespeare plays? Does anyone truly know? How about Picasso? Everyone is running around thinking they can all draw better than him now a days. Beethoven use to be something not only people liked listening to - but wanted to be able to play like him on the piano! I'm not sure how many people even like playing the piano, any longer, and if they do - can they play a piece of one of the best natural music composers ever to have a heart beat within his chest? As far as the beehive, yeah, unless it makes a slight comeback, it's played out. Even though I think bitches probably would still look good in them.

Even language, itself, is a tricky form of art. For example, I probably offended a whole mass of people when I just used the word - bitches. Perhaps, I should have simply said, "the beehive was a gay o' time."
My point is whatever the artistic expression, odd or not, popular or not, it doesn't change the art piece itself. The piece could have had a million people see it, or, could have been locked away, in a basement somewhere, where only one person ever saw it.  Either, or, the piece is the same, the eyes didn't change the piece. My art seems to be the latter. In a way, it's kind of the story of my life. People look at me, they see a welcoming, handsome, good-looking man, then when I expose my thoughts, my art, my way of reasoning and rationale, they can't connect the dots. One eye, doesn't believe the other.  So, they run. I don't blame them, I mean, some of the stuff I've made, done, or said, could be unfit for the times to in which I live in - the worst part of it is that I truly don't care.
When we, as artist, create something, it comes from our deepest of intellectual thoughts or expression. All it takes to understand someone's creation - is simply to take time to watch what he or she building! It's not about building a boat to your specific needs, after all, you are not God.  Art, is subjective, and it's for the art seeker to simply look forth!
In my case, I'm just a weird fuck, and I've always been such, and the older I get, the stronger that characteristic becomes. All my art comes from that prism, the prism of no rules. If you're making music, make something never heard before, don't make it to what everyone at the time likes, force feed them an alternative and separate yourself as a musician with your own sound that no one will ever duplicate.
If you are an artist, don't just draw a flower-pot and call it a day - draw something that no one can ever duplicate because it comes from the inner struggle of your own mind! Draw- what you see- inside your head! There are times and places for all art forms, don't get me wrong - and most certainly, realism and portraits, have their role in our world! However, why not take the pen and pencil, and draw what only you can see inside your brain, and try to capture your thoughts on a portrait! No matter how odd, or, how vile!
When it came to writing, the twist, was my biggest worry.  Does the story have the twist in the end that I can appreciate? Is there something to learn from the story? Does it make the reader feel something? I can honestly say that every one of my Novelas does indeed follow those guidelines, so, to me, they are something I enjoy reading.
Perhaps, as I grow older (as I am only 34 as I write this - but feel dead inside) I am starting to realize that maybe the reason nobody else took to my art - is because maybe it was just a gift God gave to me - to help a weird piece of shit like myself survive.  Survive and help entertain myself, in a society to where adults worshiping caped heroes - seemed a bit too odd - to me.
So, maybe, when I'm dead and gone, and it's all long been said and done. Perhaps, even three thousand years from now,  someone will read what the fuck I wrote, and maybe, perhaps, be as entertained as I was.  If not, then I guess no body missed a damn thing to begin with. Did they? :) 



Baby, you leave me no surrender,
you had my heart from the start - diced it up in your blender,
baby, every time we kiss,
it's so real that you draw - the blood from my lips,
baby, my soul is yours,
nobody else can even see through my doors,
baby, when you make love to me,
I swear nobody had it this good in history,
baby, there's no reason to taunt,
because I'm prepared to give you everything you want,
I can see the world as it's fading away,
I swear I'm tired of this shit everyday,
in the end all I see left is you - and - me,

my body belongs to no one else,
my soul is yours even if I'm in hell,

baby, lets say fuck it and join love eternity,
baby, every time I pray,
I swear I don't see anyone else but your face,
baby, every time I walk,
I draw your body in my mind like sidewalk chalk,
baby, if I went and died in a bliss,
I swear the only thing I'll miss - is your kiss,
baby, let's go forth,
because the world is going south before it goes north,
baby, lets take a shot,
before the world forces us to love a robot,
baby there's no reason to taunt
because I'm prepared to give you everything you want
I can see the world as it's fading away,
I swear I'm tired of this shit everyday,
in the end all I see left is you - and - me,
my body belongs to no one else,
my soul is yours even if I'm in hell,
baby, lets say fuck it and join love eternity,
There it is on the table, right by me,
there is my gift to you - won't you join me in love eternity.



Delusion of Grandeur

My father is a very famous man -
he tells us all the time how just outside of our house lives the paparazzi -
they are all outside, like hungry bears, waiting for him to exit the house, so they can all jump on him like he's a smoking hot piece of trash for them to eat -
he forces us to comb his hair for him, sometimes more than one hundred times -
he tells us he needs to look perfect, because he doesn't want to see his picture on a tabloid cover looking horrific -
we have to always follow him around the house, write down everything he says, because he has all these important appointments with famous important people, and we need to keep the dates straight -
my mother cooks all his meals, prepares everything for him, and makes sure he eats a healthy diet -
when it comes to movies, we go over his scripts with us, and he acts out the scene with us -
it's brilliant the way he is able to transform into a different character, every single time -
he tells us he has all this money, the money is kept safely into four brown different suitcases -
However, today, today is a marvelous day, we are getting him ready because he has probably one of the most important interviews of his career, probably even one of the most important interviews of his whole life!
Today, my mother, and I, are getting him ready to see doctor Fox.
Doctor Fox, well, he is going to try to talk to my dad about his delusion of grandeur.
I hope it works this time, frankly we can't continue feeding this disorder -
I just wonder what will happen to my dad, once he walks outside and realizes once again, that no one is waiting for him out there -
he always says they are just late, and he screams to try to get someone to show up -
I hope he gets it this time.
I'm growing tired, but if he doesn't get it, as he hasn't thus far,
I suppose when we welcome him back to the house,
I'll simply continue to comb his hair for him. 




The Bind To Blue 

The color blue is my favorite color of all time- 
So, allow us to see if I can take the color, and ring it through a rhyme-

I don't want to just say anything about it, I want to keep it as factual to what I think as possible-

because I don't want to lie to you, and write an entire poem that's deletable-

ever since I can remember I've always been drawn to the color blue-
no matter what it's thrown on, to me, it felt more cool-
the shade reminds me of my favorite season of the year-
most people think of blue as summer, because of the blue skies, but to me, I think of blue as what people act like in the winter, in front of my very eyes-
everyone acts less jumpy, more subdued, less charismatic, around here it seems criminals even take a chill pill when it is really cold outside-
it's a beautiful thing, because with less criminals out, it chills the harsh reality of people getting murdered, in a never-ending crime tide-
in movies, I've always been attracted to the shade of blue, anywhere from the gargoyle end sequence in "Tales From The Darkside", the crashing of the "Titanic", the T-Rex scene in "Jurassic Park" all the way to "Terminator Two."
Somehow, I don't think those scenes would be the same if covered in the shadows of red-
blue made them comfortable, made them watchable, even though in most of the scenes I mentioned, someone was getting ready to be dead-
As a child, and film watcher, I noticed right off the bat that blue must have been studied upon by the studios, because most of my favorite scenes or movies was covered with the shade-
it's amazing to find a color that is not only cool, but can also act as an aide-
I feel in my life I have always simply been drawn to it-
Take the "Dallas cowboys", for example, when picking a team I just couldn't help not getting past how the blue looked so cool against the silver,
and how the yellow, and black, of the Steelers, made me shiver,
Blue, is also a color I've always liked in someone's eyes, but mainly it's because where I am from to see it is merely a surprise,
Blue, is the color of water, in art, the color we draw our sweat, our saliva, or our tears-
water is life, so thus the color helps aid our feelings towards it-
I don't think it's a secret that most of us have accepted to wear the color on a day-to-day basis-
mainly on our jeans, it's become so natural that basically any other color appears as a specialty-
I never liked the red carpet, perhaps if they changed it to blue, I might turn to watch it-
so, in the end, blue is simply just another color, out of thousands of colors, and I'm nearly positive there are enough people alive on earth that can claim a different color as their favorite-
though, just remember, as God looks down to his creation of earth, from the heavens, he knew-
that for the most part, he wanted people to live on a planet that is shaded in blue.  




Dear Year 2100

Dear 2100,
Is it weird at all to you to know that in the year 2019 I am alive, my fingers are moving, and I am writing this message to you at the moment. Because, surely, by the time you read this I am merely nothing but a mythological creature who knew how to sing, knew how to play the piano, compose all types of music, knew how to write stories, novellas, knew how to take a piece of forgotten land and turn it into a beautiful place everyone wanted to relax in, knew how to fight, was tough when I needed to be, self-educated, (because my last graduation was when I was in sixth grade).
In art, knew how to draw, paint, create, knew how to tattoo, old fashion way, not with the gun. I was someone who was able to make most women I was banging spray their panties over and over and over and over in one sitting. (Not to toot my own horn. I just know they are dead by the time you read this and can't really tell you if that was true or not.) ha ha
I was someone who also felt what it felt like to grow mentally retarded to a certain degree, fighting against a countless amount of depression attacks, I been through the pills, insomniac, binge drinker, saw danger at night, cried for no reason, felt what it feels like to want to kill someone else, a lot of times, while at the same time knowing what it feels like to have the thirst to want to end my own life.
I know what it feels like to spend twenty years talking in therapy, trying to get a handle of my brain, my emotions, my feelings. It's been hell for me for the most part. All along, helping raise three up and coming young men, using myself as a tool of what not to be, while guiding them along the right path.
I'll tell you what's weird to me is that everyone I know at the moment will be dead along with me. I surely hope our soul does go somewhere after death. So, maybe one day you and I can meet. Because, truthfully, it sure would suck to know that the only way you will ever know who the hell I am is because of this piece of sh*t letter.
Love always,
Nicholas Camarena.     




Drowning Without Water

If you think of life as a drowning victim, it makes perfect sense,
first we sit and watch the beautiful water of the ocean as it moves, not chaotic but calm, smoothly beautiful, at peace with itself,
kind of like a child sits and watches their parent moving along during their day, taking care of business,
as you watch the water you become more brave and want to dip your toes in, so you do,
this is like how we play with our toys, and mimic the lives we see adults living, we play their lives, dipping into it without any real threat of the situations being real, because we are simply playing, we are simply still in control,
then, one day, you stare at the water far too long that you wonder what it feels like to put your whole body into it, but only you want to do it with a life jacket
this is our teen years, the years where you learn how to drive, the years where you begin to engage more in adult oriented subjects, but you do it with your parent still there watching you, making sure you do it right without getting into too much trouble,
then, one day, you want to take the life jacket off, and see if you can float on your own, so you do,
this is the young adult years, where you are out in the world on your own, but you are merely still just floating, just enough to prove that you don't need the life jacket anymore,
then, one day, you want to swim and take control of your own destiny in that water, you want to move when you want to and swim where you want, so you do,
this is the adult years, where you are more confident in your ability as a person of your own, and begin to do what you want, go where you want, and take charge of your own life,
then, one day, you are swimming, and your foot gets all tangled up in seaweed, you panic, you struggle, your heart beats fast in fear of not knowing if you will make the right decision in the split seconds you have to make them, your life begins to flash before your eyes,
this is when we make an error in our life, and some people run to their parents to try to bail them out, but most of us don't have that luxury, so these are the moments when you have to truly rely on yourself and nobody else,
you begin to notice that your foot will not budge away from the seaweed, no matter how hard you try to pull it out, you begin to panic because you truly never been in this situation before, nor did you prepare for it,
this is the years where your parents are dead, and can't help you no matter how hard you scream or wish for it, it is truly you alone in the sea,
now, you begin to feel yourself tire, your out of breath, your starting to breathe in water accidentally, you are fearing death,
these are your fifties and sixties, where you can feel yourself getting older, you can no longer do the things you once could, no matter how hard you try, for some reason your body just isn't moving the way it did, your thoughts aren't as sharp, and you fear the decaying of your own body,
then, you find yourself suddenly under the water, trying to hold your breath, and nobody is there to help you, and you realize that you can't sustain holding your breath forever,
this is your elder years, where you know people care for you, but they aren't around, and everyday you wonder if it will be your last,
then, you breathe in the water because you just couldn't hold your breath any longer, water fills up in your stomach, in your brain, fills them up so much that you pass out,
this is the moment you are in the hospital, and you know you're in trouble, and it's serious this time,
then, you drown in the water, and it's all over.
Just like life, this all started from our foolish assumption, that when we entered the water, we had control over it.
The truth is you never had control over the water.
You were simply always just in it.    




Time Isn't Your Friend

Time isn't and will never be your friend,

one day you are young and youthful, the next you are old and wrinkled,

one day you are smart, the next day you are dumb,

one day you are free, the next you are trapped in the hell of a prison cell,

one day you can speak clearly, the next day you are struggling to get the words out,

one day you're in love, the next day you are crying with pain from love lost,

one day they are here, the next day they are here no longer,

one day you are fresh, the other you are stale,

we as a specie were taught to believe in the future, we study it, we plan for it, we welcome it,

because of that mindset, we think time is our friend,

but trust me, time was and never will be your friend,

because it's only a matter of time,

before your end,

so carry-out as many goals as you can today,

because tomorrow time may stop the clock in play.





So many people sit and watch themselves in the mirror,
they pick at themselves, their own flaws, the flaws of their thoughts,
they see themselves as what they wish, instead of what they are,
to be a good person in heart, will always seem like a bridge too far,
especially when you are your own judge,
because people are notorious for damning themselves without a budge,
the human condition tends to think more for others, than one's self,
on the surface that is a beautiful quality, because we end up offering help,
but to ourselves, we don't offer any help, in fact to ourselves we are to scalp,
scalp our own hair off, for any little single thing we had done wrong,
it's amazing how to ourselves, we never feel like we belong,
you can be the most amazing, happiest person alive,
and there will come that moment, where you too will look at yourself and wonder about your own drive,
does your life matter? Did you do the right thing? Are you good enough?
In my life I've noticed that the best meaning people, are the ones that often remain the saddest,
the best meaning people who offer the most help, are often the ones, who are scalped,
sometimes by other people, but most times by themselves,
what's the solution? If there is a solution to this growing epidemic?
I'm not sure, but if God doesn't hurry to his children, being a healer won't matter any longer,
He straight out will have to be a paramedic,
The people who are trying to do good on earth, are being scalped, scalped by their own hand,
because maybe it often seems too much a burden, to be the worlds friend.




Buddies in the Night

I lit a cigarette, took a puff off of it, while I stood outside of my house,
as I stood out there, on the front porch, late at night all by myself,
I remember thinking to myself, that the night was so calm,
it had just rained and the air was clear,
the weather wasn't even cold, considering it had just rained,
the mood of the night seemed calm, it seemed beautiful,
I knew to myself that it wasn't going to stay that way for long,
I had a feeling that death was once again sweeping the area I lived,
I get that feeling from time to time,
the tricky thing is you never know if he's coming for you or not,
perhaps the feeling is maybe some kind of eternal warning?
So, I put out the cigarette, and went inside,
I sat on the couch and started talking to my nephews,
and wouldn't you know?
Pop, pop, pop, pop! There goes a familiar sound,
the sound of two people getting shot,
the sound of a car trying to make a dash,
while a woman in the car died, as it crashed.
Death was in the air, again,
it's okay, because the fact that he warned me,
simply means he and I, are still friends.




Two Different Lives

So, if I am someone you don't want to talk to,
the question is, was I supposed to be different for you?
If I am someone to whom you despise?
The question is, was I supposed to turn myself different in front of your eyes?
If I am someone you hate, or someone you want to fight,
the question is, am I supposed to be turn different for you, with all my might?
If my music is something that you don't want to hear,
the question is, am I supposed to be singing solely for your ear?
If my artwork is stupid, makes no sense,
the question is, was I supposed to draw for you, to solely keep you in a trance?
If my mood, personality, hair, eyes, looks, weight, height, build, is ugly to you,
the question is, what the f- do you expect me to do?
If my poems are not uplifting, if they don't tickle your fancy with rainbows and butterflies,
don't worry, the same as why the rest of me is different from you,
is because we are simply living two different lives.





We have to all be satisfied, and entertained, with looking out our window for a few hours,
because anything other than that, is sure to cost you dollars,
how many dollars will you spend?
About as many as your insanity will lend,
the fact that you want to look inside a square, for entertainment, is a curious proposition,
so curious, that for your wallet, Xfinity will go fishing,
fishing for more green, more doe, more ca' ching,
that is until a better "promotional deal" they bring.
O' How I wish I could just look out my window and find the same entertainment value,
but all I see is meth heads, prostitutes, predators, thugs, 
some in red, others in blue,
now that I think about it, no matter how much money I had to spend, 
it's no wonder why I never canceled my cable subscription,
because it's providing an alternate window to look in, 
one that makes me less nervous, and one that I can simply change or turn off, with my hand.




A "Mans" Tears

When I cry it feels like my lungs, heart, throat, all get hit by a ghost all at once! I make a small whimper, the tears quickly drown the bottom of my eyes, the water tries to overflow its way down onto my face . . . but then I suck it all back in a hurry!  Why?  Because, I know I wasn't supposed to do that to begin with. 




The Duck and the Hunter.

I lived my life as both the duck, and the hunter,
at one point I looked abroad into the far horizon,
cheerful, free-minded,
my wings sailed through the open air,
I loved the feeling of the wind that brushed through my wings, without a care,
from the above, the possibilities seemed as endless as could be,
I've been tutored, fed, shown through example by those before me,
only to find myself in my own crosshairs,
a man waiting, with his finger gently tickling the trigger of a gun,
waiting . . . waiting to finally catch the duck, in the open, and rid it of its happiness.
Yes, it would seem that for whatever reason, in my treacherous mind, I've been both the duck, and hunter. . . to myself.  




A Loser With Talent

  My life was certainly filled with unusual habits, possibly the worst of all, was how I managed to cement myself, a loser with a lot of talent.  




Unenviable fall

The feeling before you fall,
is scary because you remember how high you stood tall,
you don't want to hit the floor, you do everything you can before it happens,
but, you know the unenviable is going to take place,
at a certain point in your life,
no matter how strong you are,
you are bound to fall on your face,
the question is are you strong enough to pick yourself up, one last time,

I suppose all that depends, on how badly the fall destroyed your mind.  





"Yesterday, I closed my eyes, only to feel like my brain was having a hard time focusing, it was a horrible feeling. It made me feel almost as if I was suffering from schizophrenia. I found myself scared, for no reason, I had a hard time focusing, for no reason. At one end I could see myself taking my own life . . . at the other end I could see myself wanting to survive from it. I suppose the oddest feeling of it all . . . was as I laid down, I had this realistic thought that my dead mother of five months, was probably going to be coming back home sometime soon . . . she is . . . isn't she? I mean, if you were ask me yesterday . . . I could have sworn to you that she was going to walk through that door. I guess that's what happens when you become a schitz . . . you see and feel with your brain and nothing makes sense because you overload it . . . your brain takes on what your heart no longer can .  It seems that when you go crazy, your heart dies first . . . then your brain, because your heart simply had enough."




Beat Down:

"I just saw a man get beat down about fifty yards from my house. He was getting attacked by at least four opposing gang members. I would make a rhyme, a riddle, a poem, or a prose about it . . . but sadly my friends, for me, there just wasn't anything unusual about the situation."




Trolling the Error:

"I've trolled myself my entire life. The problem was I had always had this suspicion of dying early, yet, as my life had gone on, and the days had passed, and I stood around, all that was left to look at was a million errors I had made in the mist of living life to the fullest when I was younger. Carefree. I simply thought it truly didn't matter, because I wasn't going to be around later to see it. Now, people question my actions, and they judge me from my past, even though I never even once thought that I'd live a life to in which I had a past. I always lived for the now . . . I was fearless, careless, I did what I had the urge to do at the time of doing it. I was unapologetic because usually it didn't hurt anyone else. Usually, it wasn't anyone else's business either.

There was never anything I did that seemed to not have encouragement by some of my friends, either. Which is also an interesting part of life that we must all grow wise to. You find in life that no matter what you do, there will be a pocket of people who like it. After all, there are those who idolize the porn star, as much as there are those who idolize the pope.

There are people who write love letters to murderers in prison, just the same as some write a letter to an actor they love. I've walked the shadows of a musician, an artist, a martial artist, an actor, a manual laborer, a writer, a lover, and a fighter. An angry man, a saddened man. Walking those shadows, and living life for the moment, let me tell you, you do some pretty messed up things. You see some pretty messed up things. You also don't think you will live a life with a past, because you are creating for the now, for the moment.

As an artist, one of the best abilities you have is to act on impulse. You have an idea, the idea soon becomes reality! You make it happen! But in life, this is the single and most dangerous way of living. It can, and will, ultimately get you in trouble. You'll wake up one day, with the horrific feeling, that your errors are being judged, more so than anything else you ever done good in your life.

I've given to charities, helped raise my brother's children, I've tried to make my mother's life and her living conditions the best I could, by building things for her, using my artistic ability to create things that would give her at least a little joy, during her overly stressed life.

I've helped train people from children to adults, in martial arts. I've tried to encourage those who had a dream to go further in their life. Whenever I was called upon, I tried to help. Even if it meant putting myself in danger. I took the time to write to thousands of people online, and help them with their mood issues, knowing full well that I was struggling with my own.

As I've done bad on impulse, I've done plenty of good, with that same impulse. But that's not what's looked at in the end . . . not in a world where it's sensational to focus on the error. Sometimes in life, all we are judged on is the error. Plenty of artistic minded people get caught in that trap. Because we are impulse minded people. What a cold, brutal, reality of the fish bowl we all live in. It's an especially horrific reality, in the bowl, when you are your own troll. "




The Problem:

"The problem with living a life as a free person, is that I was the author of my own stupidity, I was the author of my own depression and I seemed to be the author of my own anger. I've made so many mistakes that all of them can simply be looked upon as just a very stupid, reckless, human being. Yes, I did most things for good intentions, most things for survival in one form or another. But, every time I look in the mirror all I see is a very stupid, moronic, ugly person inside. I lived by the sword and chances are I'll die by it as well. If I were to offer any advice to those living in the future, my only advice would be to simply don't be like me . . . because in the end I sometimes can't even bear the sight of myself in the mirror . . . don't be like me, because if I had a choice . . . I probably wouldn't be myself either."




The Idea:

"If you want to become smart,

you must be entertained at the idea of learning.




Two Boxes:

"In the end we will all end up in a box, some maybe not even that.

So, please, get as much arts and culture as you can, experience all the strange, the peculiar, the bizarre, unusual, abnormal, as you can. Experience and see all the rare things life has to offer. Because it's sad to see the existence of some people now a days, where they don't know even the half of what life's about, even though they are alive! Engage your mind, try new experiences! If you're on the phone looking things up, look up and learn, challenge yourself. Or else you're simply putting yourself in a box . . . before we do. Everyone alive must understand there are two boxes. One that you ultimately build for yourself while you're still alive. The second, well, you know. I just hope the first one you were in, by the very least, had room enough for some damn ass arts and culture."




Death Sentence :

"I remember one time I wrote on a public board, a very inspirational message to those who were suffering from cancer. I got a reply back, just one. It was from an anonymous person, thanking me for what I said. They told me that they really appreciated the message, because more than not they felt that no one cared. I'm not sure whatever happened to that person, but I am glad that at least for a second, I was able to allow someone to forget the cruel and unfair death sentence they had been given. If a crude person to all; at least spare those who fate decides to squeeze the life out of undeserving. In retrospect when you think of it ; perhaps, in our own way, fate will do that to us all. So, if that's the case, perhaps the advice would be to try not to be crude to one another at all. Why? Because something tells me no matter how rude or crude we are to one another, nothing is going to compare to what fate has in store for us . So, if we were smart . . . we'd be trying to make this ride as easy as possible for everyone . . . but we don't . . . do we?"




I'd Rather:

"I warded myself against the annoyance of idiotic criticisms. I defended myself against some who spewed a false intelligence. I buckled the brains of some knuckleheads who thought they knew it all. I fought them all, as an adult, proudly, with my simple sixth grade education! Well, actually, the sixth grade was my last graduation, but what I learned along the way since then was always my secret weapon!

Sometimes, in life, it's better to be looked at as a stupid kid, only to surprise everyone with your intelligence later as life happens. I'd rather be that, than deemed a person of intelligence too early, only to eventually shock everyone with your stupidity."





"On my way to becoming intelligent -

I forgot to graduate. "




Role Model:

"I relinquished my right to be a role model for children, a long time ago.

However, when they turn into adults, they may give me a second look."




Blow to the Spirit:

"If concussions, head trauma, body trauma, in sports is something sports scientist , or doctors claim to care about, then wouldn't combat sports be the first sport to be scrutinized, and studied? Football, at least at this time, is the sport we hear from the doctors, fans, and critics, the most now a days.

But, How can you focus on a sport where they are wearing helmets, and pads, and has made restitution and rules for the players safety through out the decades. Versus a sport where it's not only the goal to hurt your opponent, but in some combat sports they hit each other with a bare knee, bare shin, bare elbow, and with only four once gloves wrapped on their fist?

To hurt your opponent so bad, that they can no longer perform. To use your body, to inflect damage on theirs. To spark them from their own consciousness, to break their arm, their legs, their ankle, to choke them half to death on purpose, simply as the goal to win!

If they truly cared, then combat sports, would be the first sport to really look into, on the after effects it has on its practitioners.

They won't though, you know why? Because anyone who truly competes in combative sports, would rather die, than to be looked at as anything less than a warrior. Having the crowd feel sorry for them, would be a blow to their entire existence, worse than any head trauma they may suffer."




Balls of Clay:

"Children are like balls of clay -

and you are like the mold -

they don't necessarily follow what you say -

but they find ways to sculpt themselves by who you are -

what they see you do-

it's important to use yourself as an example early -

if you have a kind heart, are intelligent, hardworking, stay out of trouble, and are wise -

it's important for them to see you act that way, and represent your mold with class -

if you are not that, if you are bad, if you are a criminal, a murderer, or a crook, and are proud of it -

it's important to use yourself as a mold, a mold in which they should aspire to never become."




The Beauty of Being Poor:

"As someone who's probably looked at as being poor,

I've had the chance to hear beautiful sounds, and see unusual sights.

I've heard the sound of a flock of birds, pigeons, crows, flying in-sync over my house. Not all at once, of course. I have heard the sound of rain, sometimes thunderous, and sometimes calming. I've heard the sound of wind, rattling the neighbor's wind chimes. Sometimes, the wind chimes would make a faint noise, sometimes, they would make noise so loud it's like the echoing sound of a mother calling their child in for supper, banging a pan and spoon!

I've heard the sound of the wind, ripping the leaves off from a tree, and blowing them all around the yard. I've heard the sound of music, being played, constantly from the neighbor. Yes, literally, constantly. I've heard the sound of music from passing cars, sometimes rattling the walls of the house!

I've bared witness to a tiny baby lizard, crawling up the white concrete wall, in the backyard. I've bore witness to all sorts of beetles, one figeater beetle was so big and shiny, that its green body looked like green shiny metal. I bore witness to ants, small ones, big ones, spiders, from recluse to daddy long legs. I bore witness to a duck, wobbling its way across the driveway, without a care in the world. Till this day, I have no idea where it went, or where it came from.

Fog, so much, fog. Sometimes so dense that it was hard to see the neighbor's house. I've played in the snow, I've played in the rain. I've played in the mud. I've tasted dirt, I've tasted frost. I've seen mushrooms grow, alongside yellow flowers, that till this day, I still have no idea what type of flowers they are. I've heard bees, zoom past my ear. I saw butterflies, floating through the air, bumblebees, flies, dragonflies of all different sizes. Dogs and cats. All of different sizes.

In the two large trees, on the far corner of the yard, I even heard a bat. I used to lay down and hear the train, going by, off in the far distance. I used to hear a helicopter, circling the sky, for whatever reason. I've heard ambulance sirens, as they roared down Belmont street. I've bore witness to cops, on patrol. I've heard people laughing, people crying, people screaming, I even heard people getting shot. I bore witness to people helping each other, I bore witness to people fighting each other. I bore witness to women using their body, to serve men, for money. I've seen more transsexuals than that of a LGBTQ community meeting. I've heard children laugh, children play, children pray, children cry. I've seen drunk men stumble, drunk men fall asleep, I even saw a man die.

Ah, Yes, I've bore witness to life's beauty and what it had to offer. Who needed the shore, when there was so many interesting things around me, being poor."




Time as a Winner:

"To those who feel like they can't overcome, or achieve anything -

understand that when you were born, you raced a million different sperm cells, who fought their way for a chance at life -

you were simply one of a million -

but, because of your determination, you and the fierce competitiveness of your natural will to live, made you the one out of a million.

You earned the chance of life -

you earned the chance to breathe -

the chance to walk among the other winners, outside of the womb, who made it to the glorious outside.

So, if that is true, then from the moment you were conceived,

you were born a winner.

Life in general is hard -

but if you go back to the very beginning of it, you have to understand that if you were able to out race a million, in milliseconds -

you surely can overcome your issues -

through time."




Dirt box:

"There she used to lay, in that spot, under the comforter,

I used to hug onto her so tightly, I felt most comfortable with her there,

I always slept better with her there, than without,

we always had fun together, I revolved my time around her,

If I had something to do, and if knew she was coming over,

I would get it done before she came, just to have more time with her,

If I could make something for her, I would, if I could help her along the way, I would.

We had great weekends together, and I didn't even demand any more time,

because I knew eventually, as the dirt box, she would tire of me.

And wouldn't you know, that empty spot where she once laid is still empty, I guess that proves a dirt box like me right."




The Well:

"I found myself in the presence of the so-called holy -

I cried, was disoriented, was distraught -

I found myself with my hands over my face -

I heard nothing but good things, but I just didn't feel that way -

I felt angry, I felt upset, and mad -

I felt that this church was part of the reason I lost one of my best friends -

I felt it was now open season on me, where it hadn't been that way before -

a new-found right to judge all of my faults -

one of the things about people who go to church, is they pretend like that little area they worship in, is the way it's supposed to be in God's eyes -

But a church who teaches its followers anything less than the word, may not be so much of a church at all -

yet there I was, being told by people who probably never read the full word, that if I were to finish a twelve-step program, I may be saved by Christ.

I told them of my anger, and I showed them my despair -

only for them to talk amongst themselves -

and didn't even offer me one single prayer -

what a shame, what a pity, what a fraud -

I thought to myself, at that moment in time, who needs hell, when I'm in "The Well."




Who Cares?:

"Someone died by train, today,

Someone by drowning, at night, by the bay,

some by car crash,

some by suicide, or burned to an ash,

some by gun,

others by amusement park accident, while having fun,

Some by rape,

other's with just no escape,

some cops lost their battle with the bad,

some bad lost their battle with the cops,

others were eaten, with nobody to hear their screams in the wilderness,

some as they were making love, and were lucky enough to feel one last kiss,

some died before they lived,

others led a full life, then died and left those around them sad,

some died mad, some died glad, others before they graduated, and others left us never knowing what it felt like to be a grad,

some by natural causes, others by acts of God,

every day it happens, every day, every night, every second,

and who cared for them all? Did you know one? Did you care?

Most people don't care about any of them until it's someone they know,

so that means most people won't give a damn . . . when it's your time to go."




Dispirited News:

"I have some dispirited news to report to you -

if your heart hurts, as mine does too -

no matter what century you read this - it's nothing new."




With One Flick of the Finger:

Dedicated to my suicide brothers and sisters.

"Is suicide truly the act of a coward? If examined correctly, one might think differently. I mean after all, how many people have the strength, and courage, to put an actual hot tipped barrel to their own temple? Knowing that with the flick of their finger, they will prove the judge, and jury, of their own future.

With one flick of the finger, they would decide their own fate, a judgment that had been reserved for God, yet, they are thumbing their nose to him, stripping him of the power, and taking charge of their own destiny.

Even if it meant suffering an ungodly amount of pain for a few seconds, or perhaps maybe even a few minutes, or for some, a few days. Pain from, and to, their own hand! With one flick of the finger, they are neglecting their heartbeat, that I'm positive was racing up to their throat! They had to have the courage to drop that heartbeat down, to take their last breath, to stare death in the face, to take their destiny away from their Lord, to laugh at the face of Lady Luck, to say good-bye to the sun, the moon, and the stars.

They all made the choice to no longer want to see the clouds above, they said good-bye to mother nature, they no longer wanted to eat a piece of pizza, or smoke a cigarette, or even play a game. They said good-bye to their bodies, good-bye to their lovers, good-bye to their friends.

Good-bye to laughter, and good-bye to their torment. All these choices, couldn't be easy to author, in a body that was built around fear, and a natural instinct for it's own self-protection.

In the moment they choose, they laugh in deaths face, as to say to him for one solitary, single moment, of their existence, that they dared death to care! As they tell Death, God, the Devil, how does it feel to be on the looking end?

A life where they literally had no choice in anything. They never chose their age, they never chose their sex, they never chose their color, their race, what century they were born, what city, what state. They never chose their parents, they never chose their size, looks, and sometimes even intelligence.

For one single moment of their life, they looked at everyone, from all the God's, to all the people, square in their face, and told them all loud and clear.

That it is their choice, why they are no longer here.

If put in the same situation . . . I truly believe a coward, wouldn't have the courage it took, to flick their finger and author an end, to their own book. "




I Was:

"I was smart -

I was stupid -

I was cool -

I was lame -

I was a blessing -

I was a curse -

I've been well -

I've been very, very, sick -

I've done things others have been proud of me for -

I've done things nobody would want to admit -

I've kissed, I've loved -

I've hurt, I've betrayed -

I've been strong -

I've been weak -

I've takin' pain and been the boss -

I've felt like a bitch to the crushing, emotional, blow, of a woman -

I've been called sexy -

I've been called disgusting -

I've felt pride -

I've felt regret -

I've been scared -

I've been fearless -

I've learned -

I've taught -

I've sold -

I've bought -

Ah, yes, I certainly have lived a hell of a twisted life.

I suppose same is true, with every human being on earth.

Good luck - my friends."





"As I opened my eyes wide, I saw the World for the filth it truly was -

my only error -

was that I joined in."





"I looked at her with my binoculars, all the way,

until she turned around,

and I saw her face."




One Day:

"One day I won't have to wish upon the stars and hope that I can overcome, hope that I am being heard, hope that I made a difference,

I don't want to wish upon the stars because to a man like me, the stars are no longer useful, they are worthless . . . why?

Because I no longer look up to the sky."




Alone in the Night:

"Alone I walk, with wine in my stomach,

Alone I walk, really having nowhere to go,

with the hopes and dreams that I find myself into a conversation,

Alone, at night, I walk, with a cigarette in my mouth,

hoping that the cops don't stop me, don't notice me,

The wine is starting to make me nearly fall,

The lights of the cars pass me by, people look but keep their distance,

on this night, the only conversation I had, was a man who asked me if I wanted to buy weed,

and another man who asked me if I was alright,

sometimes nothing new happens, even when you're drunk, and alone, at night."




Stuck on Sorry:

"When my mother was alive, she used to have this quote "getting stuck on stupid". She described that as someone who just can't get past the idea of learning new behavior, or learning how to listen to ones sound advice.

Depression can sometimes be the same way, only in a weird reversed sequence, if you are the one depressed.

Instead of those you meet being stuck on stupid, a lot of them, though well- meaning, will simply be stuck on . . . ''I'm sorry.''




My Addictions:

"As the tale of my life has gone, I have had a few addictions.

My first addiction was attention -

my second addiction, was nicotine, possibly because of too much of the wrong attention -

my fourth addiction was alcohol,

because my third addiction was women -

my fifth addiction was more attention . . . and now we start all over again."




Damnass Best:

"I tried my damndest, 

I tried my damnass best, 

but you see,

my damnass best, was never no damnass good, 

now was it? 

ha ha ha !"




What's it to you?:

"I just now noticed that my tears are starting to sound an awful lot like my laughter -

both of them are coming and going at the oddest of times.

I think I'm laughing when I am supposed to cry, and crying when I am supposed to laugh -

I suppose that's why I'm laughing an awful lot these days.

ah, well - what's it to you?"



To Only What I've Been Through:

"What if I were to tell you, that life mattered not-

Would you be confused?

What if I were to tell you, that confusion mattered not-

would you be insane?

To only what I've been through, thus far,

does a man like me know how both feel, confused and insane -

But only recently, have I thought, that life matters not."





"I'm surrounded by idiots,

none of them know they are idiots, only I do,

none of them know that I know they are idiots, only God does,

all of them are happy, all of them have lives, all of them go through life in a blissful boat built by idiots,

perhaps in the end,

I'm the only idiot left

because I didn't get on the boat."





"I noticed that in life there are so many people who copy each other. How amazing. We are the smartest creature alive, we are able to cage every other single living animal for our own pleasure. We are living in the most liberated nation on earth, only to find that there is a vast majority of people who act like a xerox machine and copy the hell out of someone. I guess, in the end, it's better to live as unique, though, don't expect to be unique for a long time. What's unique about you today, will be commonplace tomorrow. I find this a lot in the music scene. "He's the next this, the next that" . . . I'm sorry but shouldn't we all be in search of creation and a unique sound? If anyone tries to sell me on the "next" someone . . . all I really hear is that we must have stalled for a while as a creative bunch."




Already There:

"Sometimes I wonder . . . if I'm in the pit . . . already."



In The End:

"Life is best lived as if you had died already. You might as well try to help others with your words, because in the end, your words are all that will matter. They truly become all that will be left of you. All the physical favors, money you lent, sexual favors, gifts you given, the jobs you had, that in the end will mean almost nearly nothing. From those who heard you, to those who read you, all you have in this world is the capability to communicate with others. So, live your life as if you are already gone, and say what you have to say. Don't hold back on your words if you think they need to be said. Communication is key to the change of human behavior, above all else. In the end, if you can help at least one person, by allowing them to see something different, or feel something different, through your communication . . . then that my friend was a life well lived. "




"How are you?":

"I awoke, I brushed my teeth, combed my hair, got ready for school,

my mother drove me to school and I got out of the car,

a teacher asked me a question,

it was a question that unwittingly to me when I answered it, would set the path of my life forever,

she asked me,"How are you?"

An innocent question, a question people ask each other every day.

She probably asked five, ten, students that, before she asked me.

It was how I answered it, that would cause a change of course in my life.

I simply answered,"I'm doing all right, but with a shotgun, I'd be doing better."

The price of that honesty, would have me locked away less than two hours later.

There I was, a fifteen year old male, surrounded by people I had never met before,

adults who were there to talk to you about your mood issues, adults who were there to straighten you up when you got out of line,

Arise every six o'clock to get in a line and take your medication,

we had to complete our school work with crayons, because no one in there were to be trusted with anything as sharp as a pencil,

children there, teens like myself, all bunched up in a new world we had no idea about.

When it was all said and done, I must admit that I did learn about life for the better,

it allowed me to begin the process in working on myself, and in myself, my thoughts, my feelings, my emotions,

it allowed me to help others through their own difficult times,

however, years later, when I open my eyes, and stop to look around me, I am now alone, usually with nothing more but my own thoughts to keep me entertained,

a lot of people who say they love you, but no one is truly ever there,

so, as I am now an older man, no longer fifteen,

through these colder years of adulthood, I couldn't help to wonder to myself,

if that little fifteen year-old was right?

perhaps with a shotgun then, I would of been better."




Who Am I?:

"I can't breathe, my heart is racing, and my mouth is dry,

My hands are swollen, my wrist bent, my shins are hurting, my knees are busted up, my jaw hurts, my head spinning, my body is being swallowed by my own sweat and yet I am very alert, very focused, very calm. Who am I? Just another mixed martial artist. Willing to go through all of the above simply for the illusion that in this life maybe if even for an ounce of a second, I was worth a damn."




What is Poetry?:

"Poetry to me doesn't have to be fancy, or worded in a way that most people these days would have to understand the language first, before they understand the thoughts behind it. I think a poem should be an expression of thought, an illusion of emotion, forcing the reader to have to instill your thoughts in their head, even if it only last a few seconds after reading. A poem to me, should be like a picture you draw, seen suddenly through their imagination, and in their own consciousness. I think those who write poetry have always made the mistake by trying to appear smarter than they are. That's not the point of writing your own thoughts out on paper, because the thoughts aren't really coming from a place of intelligence, they are usually coming from emotion. We all know, emotion isn't that smart. Poetry should never be focused only for or by the super intelligent. Why? Because I feel poetry is simply an expression of feeling, or a story that should be so simple and subtle that it makes anyone who reads it, from the dumb to the smart, think the same thoughts. If you can achieve that, then you are probably a good poet. "





"They'll choose them, before they choose you.  So don't expect a helping hand in your most desperate of needs."




Wine Ready:

"That Devil better have my wine ready in hell, or, I'm going to bitch slap his ass."




Author of none:

"Being an author is the closest I can feel to being God.  Some people store you in their phone, library, or CD player, and truly read your words.  While most, simply pretend to have read me for the status of others, or, my approval.




Trials and Tribulations:

"Why are there situations in life that make you feel like a failure, even if what you are doing is something positive and good?

Is it because we aren't looking at the situation right? Though good-hearted was our deed, was there another lesson that should have been understood?

Do we have to constantly go through the age-old (if it ain't one thing it's another?)

I'll tell you the most hurtful is when you try to do something nice for your family or mother,

yet, you're thrown into more trials and tribulations, asking- why you? Why is it that I always have to clap with one hand, only to punch with the other?

It appears more and more often, that I've done great things, only with the almighty blessing of luck, to lend me it's hand,

I just wish that more often, in my life, when I tried to do something positive,

I just didn't have to go through more trials and tribulations."





"I used to think nightmares were scary, until I awoke, and truly saw myself."




Thunder in the Head:

"Nothing makes the wicked man feel more at norm; then a good old- fashioned thunderstorm. "




Same Loser I Always Been:

"I woke up to realize that I am still the same loser I always been,

I wonder if our destiny is something that is painted on our forehead, and no matter what you try to do you just can't change it?

After all, Judas was to back stab Christ, and no matter what Jesus said that day it wasn't going to the change that. In my case, I have been a loser to normal society for years. I been called it, as we all have been, but I've manage to stay put in positions that still draw off winning vibes. I managed to stay put in my oddly thoughts, that will no way in hell ever draw a winning vibe from the people around me that try so hard to discount their own oddly thoughts. They try to conform to the "normal" train of thought. I managed to stay put in my oddly actions, keeping ambition, but only my ambition is for the abnormal, the uncharted. I can see how most people can tire of that, considering the fact that all they want to do is hide their own desires away under the bed! I mean after all, who wants to live in a "Ripley's Believe It or Not" as a main society? When all you are trying to do is go to work, come home, and try to rest your faults as deep under the bed as possible and not explore them? But, as life goes, like in Ripley's World, you are labeled for what you are. So, I awake today as a loser. However, I often wonder to myself. . .what is the loss in being considered a loser? Fewer people to judge you? Less crowds to try to entertain? Less fake people to try to please? Hmm. . . perhaps . . . if that's the case . . . some of us are actually winning, at living the life of a loser."





"I'm living in the days of social media, there are great aspects about it and a lot of ways it's become actually pretty useful. Though, I have also known quite a comical phase as well. Different from the catfish people, this phenomenon is simply people trying to create a more balanced version of their life then they are truly living. People posting their lives online that really don't have anything to do with the lives they are living, but rather, the lives they think or wish they were living. These certain people won't dare to put up any real struggling thoughts, a critique of themselves, or what in life they are learning, or struggling with. Life is not perfect, yet I'm living in a generation where lots of people who post a profile depicting their life, pretend it to be. I suppose it's better off that way . . . after all . . . chances are these type of people had already gotten good at fooling other people . . . so, the last one left to fool would be themselves. What better way to fool yourself, then post a misrepresentation of your life, on your FakeBook, each and every waking day. Over, and over again. Good luck my friends.




Beware the Sex Addict:

"Beware of the sex addict. Most people like the feeling of it, but it could also be used as something that helps mask and cover the way they are truly feeling inside. It's my belief that sex addicts aren't just chasing the orgasm. Sex, itself, is what you see them doing from the outside looking in. Just like crack is just a substance, the needle is the needle . . . but it's what they feel after the action is done, is why one can become an addict. The sex addict in my experience, are some of the most loneliest people alive. Always chasing the illusion that they can satisfy, they are important, they can conquer the conquest, they are wanted. For the strong hour of the action, or more, they can tell themselves that they in life were worth something. Yes, beware the sex addict . . . because even though they may have a lot of partners, they truly could be some of the loneliest people here on earth.




Drunk as a Skunk:

"When you are drunk as a skunk,

you find yourself in a funk,

when you're in a funk,

you might find yourself acting as a punk,

when you act like a punk,

you might find someone who wants to take a chunk,

if someone takes a big enough chunk,

you might find yourself no longer a hunk,

if you are no longer a hunk,

you might think of yourself as junk,

when you think of yourself as junk . . . you may end up once again . . . getting drunk as a skunk."




Change You Can Believe in:

"The arguing over politics is always an interesting proposition for the human condition,

it's one of the few things people can argue over again, again, and again . . . even though . . . nothing really changes from the last time they argued about it. Every four years, the same points are made from the same sides. Same points, different faces. I think the human condition may not be in good standing, if it could argue over the same thing over and over and expect a different result . . . in fact . . . isn't that along the definition of insanity?"




Where Have You Gone?:

"Where have you gone, now that I need you?

It seemed that you were always with me, always in my heart,

you never left me, nor did I ever think you would,

every time I wondered, you always understood,

every time I feared, you always calmed me down,

but like the dead in a coffin, now, when I call, you don't make a sound.

When I used to fool myself and think I can achieve,

you were so kind to encourage me - lie to me,

Now, you're not there anymore,

So, I wonder, where have you gone, once more?

When I got jumped, drunk - late at night,

I know you were there to help me with the fright,

When I was kicked out of school,

you whispered in my ear that so long as I sought knowledge on my own, I still wouldn't be a fool,

When I broke up with my girlfriends,

you were there to remind me that I was still alright, because apparently I looked better than your average man,

Now, you're not there anymore,

So, I wonder, where have you gone, once more?

you showed me that finding a woman for me, was going to be easy,

you showed me that keeping a woman, was ultimately always up to me,

You helped me, a fool, whenever I would argue,

You kept me strong, whenever I would want to break down,

you showed me that I could use my life experiences to help others who may be going through the same issues,

you taught me that I can help fix those who suffer from the blues,

Now, you aren't there any more.

So, I wonder . . . my intelligence, my smarts . . . where have you gone, once more?




Happy Ending:

"Every time I wake up; I get this feeling that death has stood me up, yet again."





"I died by my own hand . . . But then again . . . I been wrong before."




The Jungle:

"If we are going to the jungle, it might be free. If freedom is there . . . it won't be cheap."





"I'm living in a century where politicians lie their ass off and everyone believes it. So, if you're reading this in the future . . . I guess nothing has changed- huh?




F for the Future:

"I'm going to be dead and gone and one thing will always stay true. Some people, as they read this, think they are perfect. Well, I'm here to remind you that I don't even have to be alive to know that when you leave the restroom after doing number two, it smells a whole lot like shit.

So, F- you."




Wake Up, Nightmare:

"Just last night, I awoke from a nightmare, my girlfriend died, was revived, but only to die again. I woke up, only to realize that it was probably a message from my dead mother, asking me to cherish what I have, because my girlfriend, along with everyone else, will soon one day be gone as well. Because of this, one can only wonder which nightmare is worse? The dream . . . or the reality of being awake?"




Back in line, failure:

"As a child I told myself over and over that I was very different from everyone else. That there was just something special about me. Only to find out, as I got older, that I just simply had a problem with lying to myself."




Ode to the Pen:

"What is the difference between paper when being written on by a pen, and the difference of a human simply speaking aloud to another human?

The pen, can share it's deepest most disturbing thoughts, and the paper will gladly carry its burden, forever, and never tire.

The pen, can draw out the most beautiful picture - or most disturbing, and the paper will help bring to life what ever images are bestowed upon it.

The pen can color, the pen can scribble, write, or doodle,

the paper doesn't know or care of the difference . . . it will always carry the pen's burden.

The difference between the pen's relationship to the paper, and our relationship to other people . . . is that the paper . . . will never tire of you."





"So, out of all the artist out of the last thirty years, I must admit that "Banksy" has certainly caught my attention - as he or she has with most people around the world. The images are striking, thought provoking, sadly, his, her, or their approach, was yes - vandalizing. However, the thought provoking images weren't something only a spoiled anarchist could appreciate! His, her, or their art, in my eyes - was and is art. In every sense of the word. They had a style of their own, an approach of its own and though he, she or they, brought vandalism into the approach, what they did was give people something to talk about - something to think about - and in most cases monetary value! If only all who vandalized were so generous. Just last week, the city had to use their money to paint over the scribbles of letters people can't even understand, which was supposed be some kind of warning, to one gang to another. Yes, If i had a choice, I'd rather wake up in the morning to find that my fence had been vandalized by Banksy - that way, it would at least be worth the money it would cost me - to put up another fence."

*Written while Banksy's true identity remained unknown.




Take care of her:

"She was the most faithful person I ever met,

a beautiful soul, whose wool was tested, but never wore in regret,

she loved, she took care of her children, her husband, her mother, her siblings, she learned, she failed, she struggled, she achieved, she cried, she laughed, she bled, she died.

All she wanted was to be with you at the end of the day - so take care of my mother, because she's one of the only reasons I still pray."




Dear King of Kings:

"Dear King of Kings,

I thank you for these years for giving me the strength to turn the other cheek, learn from the bad experiences in life, to devote myself to you wholeheartedly no matter what. You are my one and only true father. Without you, I simply would have not made it this far. You never give up on us because you can't ever give up on us. That omen really falls on your sheep here on earth. The test is really within your sheep like me. You give us the choice and chance, to make mistakes with one hand, and turn the pages of the word with the other.

However, I'm sorry to keep you apprised of nothing new, however, you might just find that even to the strongest sheep of us all, we can only be changed around, destroyed, moved over, humiliated, path redirected and stripped of encouragement, expecting offerings when there is nothing left to give - but for only for so long.

I understand the testing of our devotion. I understand that it's all about love and not hate. But, king of Kings, do you remember what it felt like to be strung up by your hands and your feet for public display of shame? To be bleed out, the wool of your faith stripped from your body and your faith left there bleeding bare. Do you remember asking your father why he has forsaken you?

I am sorry to write to you but I write you this letter in a friendly and yet- loving warning. The same that has been spoken to us, all these years. Please, if you can (since I feel I may finally break from all the lessons of my own doing), but to the others out there like me, can you please start rewarding those who continue to bleed their life dry for you . . . not a reward of material things, or egotistical achievements, but to millions of your sheep out there - can you reward them with the simplest feeling of acceptance to themselves - that they are indeed loved by you.

Because sometimes, King of Kings, that stripping of our wool really hurts. And it hurts the more and more you keep doing it, over and over again. There are so many lovely sheep out there who finally just break. Not spiritually, but mentally. You can only strip their wool so much before you force them to stand bare in front of you broken . . . Your forcing your faithful to have to continue to always start over . . . over and over again. Warning, mister King of Kings, a sheep with no confidence, dignity or wool - is easy pickings - for "the big bad wolf."





"Tattoos can be a symbol of life for some. First the plan, or, beautiful artwork comes together. Whether it be skulls, butterflies, bleeding hearts or rainbows, it's all art, it's all glorious. At the time, seems like a good idea to dig that art into your skin, then you are willing to go through the pain in order for it to be something symbolic with you, something on you that people will see for the rest of your days and ever after since we are all filmed or have pictures taken of us constantly in this day and age. Then, you have a sense of achievement. . . a sense of pride.

However . . . sadly . . . for some, all of that achievement and all of that sense of pride goes away as time fades the illusion of accomplishment.

For some, the only cure is to reignite the dying logs of achievement past, by getting another tattoo! Something else to look at for a while . . . until that one will fade . . . which will make you want another one yet again!

Ah, yes, to some, tattoos can be a symbol of life. Never satisfied with oneself, even though you should be."





"One should choose them wisely, because if you say something bad unwittingly to someone, and they die, they will only hear it once, but you will hear it for the rest of your life over and over again in your head. Choose wisely, my friends."





"The wise man, knew to ask questions to the subjects a fool never knew existed.

The happy man, knew to never ask questions, to what the wise man will never know.

The happy and wise man, knew it were better off to be a fool."




Self Worth:

"I'm so filthy that when it's all said and done, most women who laid with me, will say that what I had a little higher then my knees, was like the snake, to eve."




Deepest Apologies:

"You were someone that shared the flame of my heart, a kiss, a tender touch. Now you don't care to touch, or kiss me too much.

One can wipe away the tears of love off my face, but who cares, I'd rather have you clean the pieces of my brains out of my place."




Mother Mary:

"You were smart, you were kind, you were gentle, and you were rough, you taught me more than you ever knew, you probably even taught me how to be tough, you were the one people thought of when they needed help, now you're gone with Christ, and we still call upon you every day, still in need, at helping us in life you were best . . . I just wish I had done more for you, before we had to lower the casket, and lay you to rest."





"It's amazing how many times a man can thinketh his own mouth a slot, for a buckshot."

September 2018



And So The World Turns:

"It's amazing how atheist want to do away with the Bible and the idea of God itself. Whether you believe in him, or not, you can't get away from the idea that there are millions of people around the earth who are only keeping on a straight an arrow because of their conviction that if they don't, they will have to answer for it later. The same way the Bible is used as a crutch of war around the world, it also can't be denied as the reason why some people choose to turn the other cheek and not to kill you for being an atheist. All humble."

September 2018




"Everyone hears my laugh as something bad, even though inside I am angry and sad. Everyone tells me to stop joking and stop laughing like a

kid . . . if only they knew what they'd be in for. . . if I did."

September 2018



Death is a Stalker:

"Death, death is like a girl that stalks you at every turn. She is around you, around your life, around your curiosity, around your family, around your heart. Like a stalker, one day, when you least expect it - she'll give your heart - a kiss."

September 25th 2018



Depressed, In The Eyes of the Lord:

"I know that all I ever did was believe in you wholeheartedly. I ingest, your spirit through me, I used you as a teaching tool to help others make sense of their trauma and turmoil. I preached you, I thanked you, I let you in every day of my life and I love the blessing it felt like every time I looked around and thanked you for everything you had given me.

I thanked you for everything. Always said, "Thank you, Lord Jesus". Every time I woke up, I thanked you. Every time I felt a cool breeze on my nose, I thanked you. Every time I ate I thanked you for my food. I thanked you for everyone in my life and I asked you for forgiveness every time I done something wrong.

I read the Word, and found ways to help other people understand your word better! I shared you with everyone. I believe in love thy neighbor as yourself. I believe in showing compassion to those who need it and in ways earned it! Isn't that why you died on the cross? After all, if it weren't for your father deciding to not destroy us all in anger anymore - then we wouldn't have a beautiful rainbow. Compassion and love is the birth to a healthy life. It's not the other way around. Love is earned through compassion. You died for us - because of your father's desire to understand us and have compassion as offering his only son as the lamb, as we as his creation offered sacrifices to him constantly. Yes, some were even willing to offer their only son to God as well.

I preached your name, and never lost faith. Then, you slowly began to pull everything I thanked you for, away, slowly. I will never doubt you as our Lord, I will never doubt you as our savior, I will never turn my back on you nor I know will you ever turn your back on me. Just know dear Lord that we all inspire to be like you and because of that we all want to be loved as well.

Love is something we all want and when we have it, it's not easy to take away! I will never tell someone to not love you - the way it may appear you tell others not to love me. I can't tell you how many people lose relationships of any kind from depression. Because the lack of compassion that is shown for someone who is falling not to the devil, but they are falling from the sadness they feel, in feeling like we need a helping hand to get back to you - but it feels once we need that help you would call on people that we love to turn away from us.

This war can be won, between good and evil, if you show mercy to those who have always and will always love you. Just an ounce of mercy to us who preached your name. That's all we ever wanted. Depression is not the devil because, depression is usually shown through lack of compassion. And compassion the devil will never know how to give. So, where does the lack of compassion come from?

Going through depression is not a loss of faith! However, I'm looked at as if I am a devil worshiper to those who preach your name. . . even though, I preach the same name . . . to some of them I preached your name a lot.

We must all give you every ounce of our love and our heart dear Lord, I know this. But are we really to cut ties with people who need help? As a Christian you are taught to love everyone, unless they threaten your love for God and the Lord. What if you do love that person - but the person simply needs help through compassion, time and understanding? Are we to further drop them into depression by turning our backs on them?

After all, if I am to give every ounce to you will you be jealous if I fell in love here on earth with one of your beautiful creatures? Will you be mad if I love them as much as you do? Well, how can that be, I never died on a cross for them. But, what if I found a love that I would die for? What If I loved one of your creations so much that giving my own life to save them wouldn't take any hesitation? That would be loving someone as much as I ever loved you . . . but you see that as wrong.

Not to say I'll ever worship a woman, I will never do that. But, love, love can be a tricky thing. Isn't it my Lord? Lord, why is love, something okay, for you to be jealous over? And not us? Isn't love what the earth needs more of? You will still be our Lord and savior - no one will ever take that away from you. For those who are stupid enough to love the devil, you will do away with them anyway. But, you don't need to be so jealous, of our love for one another.

I guess in the end . . . we are all just like you more than we think . . . because I know that if we all found love in one another here on earth, and all got jealous in anyone's love for you, more than us, and in retrospect we all cut ties with you if it meant keeping our love for one another untouched, not only will that make you jealous . . . but it will probably make you . . . depressed."

August 2018




"People grow, places don't. But things change. People won't."

January 2000



Make Them Frown:

Featured in "Famous Poets of the Heartland" book by Lavender Aurora

Click here to see the book.

"If no one is looking, while you try, don't worry, there will always be an eye in the sky.

If people turn a blind eye to your achievements, and how hard you work, don't worry, because you are the winner and they are the jerk.

You go when you want, achieve the things you set out for, even when those try to rob you of happiness because they are morally poor.

Keep going, keep achieving and keep yourself off the ground.

Cause' after all, you know your true enemies when your achievements make them frown. "

January 2008




"Cut my arms, cut my face, all but perfect, is a mirrors disgrace.

Wash my mind, wash my taste, wash the blood from out of your face.

Never worry, never care, watch in the mirror as you pull your hair!

Trying to forget who I am, but the mirror will never lie to me, my friend."

(no date but early 2000's)



I Love You:

"I sat there, snuggled shoulder to shoulder with my wife, she said nothing.

I leaned over and gave her a kiss . . . she said . . . nothing.

I asked her what was wrong, what did I do? She said nothing.

I told her I loved her and that I was tired of this silence. I would do anything to make it right. Still, she said nothing.

So, I grabbed her hand, and kissed it with tears beginning to flow. It was at that moment, where I realized her hand still had grass left on it, from the car crash we were in, two nights ago."

(no date but early 2000's)



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