Her

Everyday I kiss her on the forehead and tell her it'll be okay. Everyday I see the pain in those china blue eyes. Everyday I hug her before she steps on the bus. Everyday except for today. Today is the day I left before sunrise. Today is the day she'll be on her own. Today is the day she'll be pained as ever. Today is the day they come home.
They'll act like it's normal. They'll act as they care. They'll say they'll stay always. By morning they won't be there. The day they leave, is the day I come home. The day they leave without a word, is the day she'll no longer be alone.
Let that day come. Let it be now. Let it come before it sets in and before she asks how. How could they do this? How could they leave? She'll be sitting on the stairs with a tear stained sleeve.
I'll take her in my arms and carry her in. She'll be limp and frail, then my job begins. I'll hug her and smile and let her see. They'll never love her as much as me.

Keem the Meme

The gnome, the gnome
He's home, he's home
His baby face is oily
His welts are slowly
Disappearing
His beard is a black snowball
He definitely has no balls
Keem, look
Your meme is over
Stop driving around
In your mom's Chevy Rover
It's okay to be nice
Little boy Keem
You gnome, you gnome

Behind Your Life

Behind your life
Lie  many others
Your life has luxury
Your life has compassion
Your life has windows
But outside those windows
Outside the luxuries
Outside the compassion
There is life
At the smallest level
From the stone that lies
From the leaf that falls
From the water that runs
It's important to go out
And witness
The smallest level
Then go up
Go up from the water
Go up from the leaf
Go up from the stone
Then come back
To the compassion
To the luxuries
And to
The window
It is then you will realize
There is more than you thought
Behind your life

Repetition

The boy began to notice a pattern
A kind of repetition that is so repetitive it doesn't seem like repetition anymore
All of the other boys wore the same clothing
Had the same toys
Lived in identical houses
And were referred to exactly the same.
They had the same faces given to them to wear by unknown beings
And at school they learned the exact same things and were expected to get the exact same grades
Soon the boy began to wonder if they thought like him too.
When the boy looked around all he saw was a monotone world
He began to long for more than just grey
So he cut himself open with scissors so everyone could see
But they snatched him up and sew him back together with string


Eventually the boy stopped wanting to be anything at all.

Rambling Autobiography

I was born in the dead cold of December in 2002. I belived (and still do) that I was a superhero. I love my brother. It's difficult to think about the past, not because of how dejected it was, just because I don't remember. My parents, when they were together, were cute and didn't fight a whole lot. I skipped pain and sorrow. I can chose to let something itch at my mind. I lie sometimes. I'm very thankful. I want my mother to live till she's sixty. One time, when I was in the 4th grade, I split my head open. Two years and more memories later I did it again, not intentionally of course. I worry about my heart breaking. I wouldn't say things are well at home. My step-dad is a broken person who has no will to fix himself. He yells more often than he loves. My dad has married a woman whom has drastically changed from the person he knew twenty years ago. I think he knows it. We get along way better when she isn't there. I pray for him to find an end to his farce love. I pray for my mother as well, I pray so she finds refuge for her damaged heart. I feel that if I treat people better than what I have whitenesed, they will be above that low since of cruelty and find elation. I test myself often, and often test myself.

1.30.17

She did it to make people angry
She did it to make them scared
She did it because she was alone
She did it to make them care
She did it to make them hurt
Like they had done to her,
But most of all she did it
To make her happy and reassured.

The Truth

He yelled and
  yelled

Until his voice was
           hoarse, his legs

Unsteady, his mind
  empty

And his eyes,wet
  and full

Of the Truth

Insomnia

Insomnia 

Sunrise and I have become close friends

As have 2 am and 5,

The silence of the night transforms grimly into static

That cradles me in its arms

The darkness is no longer a stranger.

I understand why the stars sometimes hide behind clouds, 

And why the shadows dance around the empty house 

They begin to understand me

My incurable insomnia.

Formed from a simple worry

That soon manifested itself inside my body, 

Consuming me,

Until night felt safer than day

I'm not afraid of the dark,

Perhaps that's part of the problem. 

About Life

Once, Once there ‘Was’
There still is, just not as there was
Not like back then
Then
Then, the time of no worries
The time of simple pleasure
The time of make believe
And no digital observation
Now, however, it is different.
Now it is full of media
Media the size of corpses
Full of farce depictions of life
By 12-year-olds in all black
With little or no knowledge of life at all
Looking in hindsight,
We see that none of our depictions mattered
They were just clouded opinions
Made by social constructs

One may think that I wish
To be back in the ‘Was’
They would be wrong
I make do
I keep living in the now
To forge an opinion of my own
To meet people and foster their trust
And to not think too much
About the ‘Then’
So one day, when my body gets tired and old
I can rest knowing I have made friends
And I have learned something
About life

Niff Snave

His Eyes

Gleaming copper,
Smiling gold.
Still innocent,
Not yet cold.
Sparkling in
the hot sun.
All day,
Until day is done.
Looking up,
To the skies.
Everything's perfect,
in those eyes.

Fall

Colorful leaves dance among the crisp breeze,
Sweaters and red noses fill the school yard,
Autumn has finally come
Fall, often forgotten in the minds of others

But how can that be?

The town becomes a painting of colorful trees and grey skies,
But most don't see it and pass it off as just another season,

Another month,
Another day,
Another minute,

Though it's one of the most spectacular seasons of all,
Who could not like the colorful leaves
Seemingly taken out of a watercolor painting,

How strange is it?

To think that some can not see the beauty in the little things