A New Direction

A friend told me a few times to stop using my blog just to write posts about bands and that maybe I should use it for something else too, maybe something a little more personal. So this is whats happening. At one time in my life I was writing a lot of shit (not shitty stuff, just stuff) and I stopped for a while because I just couldn't seem to connect or feel anything the way I wanted to, and you can't force yourself to write about something you think you are feeling. I think that's the worst, not feeling anything, I am really in to the ups and downs and when I couldn't feel these things everything was a monotonous joke.
Within the last few weeks the sky has opened up and devoured a lot of my thinking and I have been reading some of my old "poetry." I've also felt like writing again and I think some things are bound to pour out real soon. Mind you, this is just how I feel now: like everyone enjoys spending there time wanting to know how I think or feel and that I AM really important. I usually go back and forth on feeling like sharing my thoughts might matter, but now I feel like this is it, the final time when I just let it all out there and accept the fact that I am a great thinker and if some people don't see that then they can write it in their own shitty little notebook. Don't mind my mind.
Here is a new direction, two pieces each update, and updates more often.

Here is one I wrote my last year of college:

Skin

She says, “If not the sun
then let the rain drown you.”
Is there hope in drowning
when you can’t breath
in the first place?
Suffocated by anxiety, jealousy, frustration.
Is it lust?
Is it love?
Is it the passages your mother hopes to read?

None of these bring a showing of teeth;
Only once,
they fall out from bleeding gums and
Cracked, sore lips
full of cheat.
She attempts to strangle you
with influence
as she hints at death
from a split and poisoned tongue.
You boil over with self-hatred.

Turn it around.

Turn. IT. Around.

Bring the wolves home with you.
They claw down the door
and shatter windows
as they jump through
with snarling fangs, flowing strings of spit,
stomachs ready to devour your doubter.
Lead them to her hiding place.
Watch as they rip out her neck
and peel the skin fresh from her bones.

Is this your victory?
Mixed up in fur, blood, spit, and skin.
She will meet the man she’s hinted at so often.
You are not jealous, envious, or hateful.
You have graced death,
touched his leather cloak
made from the skin of lepers,
and loved him.




This is one I wrote about a year ago, when my cousin thought I was genius and asked for some of my writings.

Wreckage


Broken since birth is what they said.
Their sympathy is a cheap fix,
full of soft hands and moist eyes.

Many words have built the foundation,
only to see it crumble
under pressure from demanded perfection.

It's when the door is opened
and visitors take a look inside;
They see a presumed sturdy home
Weaker than they'd like to believe
A floor plan they can't understand,
unattractive decorations.

Attempts at repair become futile
A fear the tools will rust
if the truth rains down.
No one has been able to repair this for 24 years.





* These may have been posted in other areas before but this is the first time they are together here, and they begin our journey into my past/ present/ and future.