Snow Day

Snow day,
Nothing else to do today
I could catch up on homework
or maybe go back to sleep

Anyway,
I'm glad there's no school today
I'm so bored and I'm hazy
So this is quite a treat

What's a boy to do, as to not waste this day?
I guess I could go outside or stay inside and play

Snow day
Better than a two hour delay
Lay my head on a pillow in my bed
And hope this lasts all week

But someday
We'll have to go back to that place we hate
Just pretend there's no tomorrow
and we'll pretend that it's not too late

Crescent

Streaks falling across the sky
Begging for redemption along the horizon
Hanging on for its dear life
Once it's spent its worth, it burns into the sun

The pitch black crawls and gnaws
Needle marks scar the perfect photograph
Before too long, they were all gone
Saving the echoes of everyone's last laugh

Last reserves of the nuclear bomb
Served as the reminder of what once was
The symbol of the rebellion wall;
The symbol of the rebellion lost cause

Finally aligned, they cast a shadow
Watch from afar and listen to the whispers
of the cheering children below
The choir asking for that perfect picture

With every sunrise comes the following day
With every shallow breath is another way

Here is where it starts and here is where it will end.

Existential Doubts

What am I?
A bag of repetitive phrase?
Redundant thoughts and emotions?
Part of a species too self-aware?
Recycled thoughts?

I know what I like, and it happens to be you.
Oh there he goes again with his second person pronoun reference,
using random words that semi-describe what he's saying.
There he goes again, using commas excessively and wondering
what you're really thinking
There he goes, breaking up sentences over lines
in a way that seems somewhat poetic.

There he goes, staring straight down at the table.
He's lost in thought, staring at the same paint pattern.
Chances are that he's thinking of you.
When he realizes that he has, it's too late.
He's fallen behind.
Integrate, deliberate.
Don't argue.
It's true.
When his eyes sparkle, it's often because of you.
When he crashes, he probably tried to impress you.
When he makes a fool of himself, it's a desperate attempt.
A desperate attempt to make you laugh, to make you smile.

When he opens his phone, he types the same words over again.
He hopes for a different response and hopes to keep it open.
But really, when will he get the clue?
When will he stop rambling on?
When will he finally, after three years of hitting his head against the wall, expose the fool he really is.

The one you never wanted him to be.
It wasn't to be.

When will he stop coding everything in dumb similes and metaphors,
pretending he knows his way around the English language enough to
pretend that you don't know.

With every "her", every "you", he's probably thinking of you.
Every word is not etched in stone, but it might as well be.
Deleted text is scarred in the brain.
Every word, every motion.

It's over analyzed until he finally lays his head down.
It's never too late; Stress inducer or reducer?

He refers to himself in the third person in an attempt to distance himself from the boy he really is.

The one that doesn't know what else to say other than, "I'm sorry"
The one that somehow manages to pack so many feelings into so few words.
Whatshisname?

This boy sees every situation. His plot thickens with every twitch of your mouth and every indirect motion.

Every hug, every glance.
Every shift, every dance, or lack thereof.

He kicks himself, damns himself, and runs on to catch up.
He wonders what went wrong and what's right.

He pretends to know what you believe in and who your friends are.
He pretends that these words will actually do anything, or do nothing, whatever is less destructive.

He's far too gone, past the point of wishing sweet dreams or good night.
They are not returned, reason unknown, reasons speculated.

It's never too late. He begs to differ.
I beg to question.

I wonder what you will do once you've read this and thought about what it means.
Does it mean anything?

In the end, we'll never know.

Red Ribbons

They rejoice in their own lack of ignorance
Standing high upon their hill
Burning the notes that made them glance
the other way for a thrill

Acting tough and scoffing at stuff
Disregard the radio
Taking charge, taking the helm
It's Hell or highway now.

Can you feel it?
Can you beat it?

Hear them laugh, hear them cry
Over lost adolescence
Sending messages to die
It's a country that makes no sense

There's no right idea, today or tonight
Don't ask about tomorrow
Lost in the puddle of elites
Drowning through the sorrow

Do you have your gavel, your underlying independence?
Do you have your sad soul trapped in civilians?

Sit right next to me
And tell me
That you're listening...

Step 2

Hey Sarah, I think that's a nice name
I like your face and the words you say

Hey Sarah, any advice for a growing guy?
You're living your life and still asking, "Why?"

Que Sera, Sarah?
We were gonna connect
But you don't believe in the net

Que Sera, Sarah?
We were gonna connect
But I'm left looking at the back of your head

Oh Sarah, how'd you learn to fly?
You didn't even give me a chance to say goodbye

But Sarah, will you still walk around the campus?
Making friends though you're new and have no one to trust?

Que Sera, Sarah?
We were gonna connect
But you don't believe in the net

Que Sera, Sarah?
We were gonna connect
But I'm left looking at the back of your head

Slick

I open my hand til my skin becomes taut
Only to find that I'm red-handed, that I've been caught
Said she thought that I was a great catch
Meanwhile baiting her hook for a chance at discovery,
channeling her fears into a single factor,
creating a quantity of problems to be multiplied
I won't lie; I take it standing still with her voice in my face
Masking the glassing of the planet, she didn't plan anyway
Didn't bother to plan it.
Instead, she got a different plan in her head
Gonna run the place the way, gonna jog her mind
with a mile a minute coming out all of the time
I don't need this, it definitely isn't healthy
So I hit the town, total downtown knock out
Clock cleaned with the power of Pine-Sol
Saw the person I was looking for,
per chance her percent of effort was a hundred and four
To get right in front of me
Left to get a drink and get back to me
Where's the issue here, I've got plenty to see
She's pretty, oh so pretty, just like a magazine
I couldn't see her halo because she said she left it at home
Along with the rest of her games because she said she was laying it low
Said she was hit with bricks from her family affairs, no fair,
Not a single chance of fresh air, only a chance of rain
Scattered showers part of her daily routine
She's laying around sulking instead of staying clean
Her first night out spending something other than time
And killing it rather than her precious mind
Over dumb founded founding morals, and rules
Rulers that created them to be broken
Like off the back of your hand once the teacher's done croaking
Said she was tired of problems with math involved
Her father plus another equaled something not easily solved.
Until I heard the name, feeling sheepish and hollow
Sleepy, and almost fell down as I swallowed
the news like a bird with the word
Remembering something sickening about my girl
She felt so slick around the older crowd
The colder crowd
The men who had problems talking loud
And I made the connection, Verizon,
connected the dots, the numbers and the sun on the horizon
I was finally free to help this girl recover
Pull the blankets back up and out from under her
And my girl, now my ex, she wonders why I moved away
and am now hanging with the daughter of her beau today.

Ceramic

Is she hot property?
Sorry, you can hardly look but don't touch
She's a celebrity waiting for you to go a bit rough
She's there waiting on you
Waiting on something
Something to come her way
Can't you hear those bones cracking?
Those necks turning?
Waiting on something
Something to come their way
It's the shades, isn't it?
It's the pace, isn't it?
What's flowing through the blinds?
What's their purpose? All they seem to be doing is blocking the light.
That precious light
Preventing another light
Lighting it up
Like she's hot property.
Not even legal and more hits than you know
Need a killer of your self-esteem?
Look no further.
You have your beast to tame.
How does she do it?
She acts like she acts and flows like she knows
how it all turns out in the end.