new love poem

i have spent so much time thinking of you,

i am beginning to realize cupid wears diapers because he is so full of shit and lies,

that he may as well be a politician playing off feelings of pity and pain

to pass legislature allowing love to be classified as a political party,

but in this party there is no reason to celebrate when it is clear love condones organ failure, because my heart stopped pumping after it heard loves propaganda promising it to be different promising you to be different.

i wish i could plug my heart beat into stereo system speakers so you could try to hear rhythm in my flatline

it’s time to tell you the truth

i have written you poems to impress you

i have spent hours scrawling lines of metaphor and simile attempting to liken you to everything beautiful

and i have said time and again that you are different than the others

that we would be perfect

but when you start writing from the heart, it often lies

the truth lies in common sense

not the pamphlet written by thomas payne

but the pain written about in every health class pamphlet

chances are

we wont be different

chances are you wont be the woman i spend the rest of my life with

we probably wont have the story book love life lied about in romantic thrillers

nicholas sparks will not write a 350 page book about us ending with a dramatic kiss in the pouring rain surrounded by destruction to show that “love can triumph all”

I HAVE SEEN NIGHTS IN RODANTHE

i have been to the beaches they described and watched as waves ebbed and flowed on to the sand

and i can say mere currents can destroy relationships

but cupid wants you to believe ours could withstand tsunamis to rival sea walls

i wont lie to you anymore

however, i want you to know why i lied before

why it took me until now to explain my words may have misled

it is because i was afraid you would only see the negatives of the truth

wouldnt realize what i was really saying by writing you this poem

wouldnt realize what i am trying to say about us

we likely wont be different

but i am willing to spend my life proving that idea wrong

and that we may end badly

but it would be worth it just to get to know you

that we probably arent destined for a happily ever after together

but i want you to be part of my story at least

it may not be rational to write this for you given the odds we face

but i have always been far from rational and VERY odd

and though we may not be a storybook romance

or have a fiery relationship ignited by nicholas sparks

i want to spend every minute getting as close to that as possible

and i am willing to bet my love, my life, my time, and my heart on the off chance we will be different

but most importantly

i want to believe in love again

and you make me do that

so maybe that says something about being different

and hopefully that goes to show

that though we may not end up together forever

the time we have will never be looked upon with regret

because each line jotted in this notebook

is a promise that i will work my hardest to make us “different” than all the others

if nothing else

we will at least have each other

and the time we spent being perfectly normal for once

but none of this means a thing

when i cant even let you read what i wrote about you in these notebooks

when i cant let you know how i feel about you each time i see you

when i am so afraid

not that we wont be different

but that we wont have a chance to be

depression poem

my name is ian

and i am a master costume maker

i make costumes so realistic i bet you cant see the depression wearing this boy

see i was born with a genetic defect

when i was young i found myself seeing familiarity in storm clouds

i could hear the heartbeats in thunder and confusion in lightning

i was born with the ability to respect death

i saw death as a state of being

most see death as a finale. an unknown to fear for sake of scaring the masses

death doesnt wear a black robe

death can wear a polo shirt and golf shorts as he takes one too many drinks and goes on a long drive into a shallow grave

death can wear nothing and kill masses in forms of gas leaks and chemicals

i was born with the ability to see death anywhere

but the place it scared me the most was the mirror

i could see urns burning in the reflection of my pupil and coffins buried in the bags under my eyes

i was always scared it meant one day i would kill someone.

i was born with a weapon

but the weapon had a manufacturer made problem

there are no returns in this store

so i had to handle the misfires

imagine my surprise when in 6th grade i realized why death seemed to be the only constant in my life

because i took a look in the mirror that day and realized i had already been killing a poor boy born with a defective sense of sadness and anger

this boy who wanted nothing more than to fit in

he wanted friends and for people to like him

middle school makes memories for all, but i dont think i could ever forget the day i wondered if dying would be better than handling these bullies

if dying would be better than handling these grades

if dying would be better than handling the feelings of disappointment your parents never actually gave you, but you gave yourself when you brought home discipline reports

if dying would be better

easier

my victim began wondering if you could feel comfort in razor blades

if a noose too tight could be mistaken for a bear hug

if pills tasted like the candy they looked like

when he looked in the mirror he saw 2 different people.

the victim and the killer

i remember the day he got that shocked look in his eyes when he realized it was the faces of depression

he ran to his mother

and told her about the bullies and the problems.

and he tried to slide it in at the last second

as if she wouldnt notice

his tongue let loose the worst nightmare a parent can hear

“mom. sometimes i think about suicide”

it took 2 hours of prying and pleading before this victim agreed to see a therapist

every tuesday

for 1 hour

after school

she would try to put the 2 halves of him back together.

tried to take the depression and the child and mix them carefully so that the victim could see his killer and learn to stop him every time

tried to make him realize life was worth living’

i was born with a toe tag

my time of birth could be mistaken for an autopsy report

i saw my own killer every time i closed my eyes or looked at the water

i let tears roll down my face hoping to cleanse myself of the demon that deems himself worthy to manipulate my mind

and make me feel inadequate in comparison to myself

it doesnt make sense because you can’t rationalize depression, you can only hope to realize the threat in the mirror,

before it breaks you into a million shattered pieces

and dares you to put them back together before the time left in your life runs out

poem to the rapist who raped my friend

do you remember her name?
do you regret it?

do you care?

i swear to god these questions need answers

and they are the first of many

many to come

i wont take this lightly

i wont play nice with you

because you didnt play nice with her

i bet you never thought i would find out

bet you never thought i would hear her open up to the darkest place

and reveal the violence she experienced at your hand

you scared her

you scarred her

she hides this broken tissue under makeup

covers up the bruises faint enough to be hidden, but present enough to use as a reminder

did you feel your own soul die each time she cried no

no

please no

god no

SHE SAID NO

but you were content to hear consent in her silenced screams she couldnt make a sound and stood frozen. you took her lack of motion as an easy target and claimed your "prize"

didnt care she was just a freshman naive

she believed you when you told her “no. I’m gay”

“my family will be home”

“it is gonna be a movie night”

she believed and was baited

now broken and bruised

and you had the nerve

to text her after she escaped the bed you threw her on

after you pulled her clothes off

after you did everything but….

she refuses to say the word

like you managed to slam a padlock on her innocence

so trapped in your own ignorance

i bet you even rationalized her rape

repeated each cue line like you had been rehearsing your whole life

time to take center stage you proudly defend “she was dressed provocatively”

“she secretly wanted it”

“she came onto me”

“it was my birthday”

now this last one is the only one that was true

it was your birthday

you turned 18

became just adult enough to ruin someones life

she was 14

14 when you stripped her of her dignity

14 when you almost managed to force your lies between her thighs

she is too scared to press charges

too scarred to press charges

a 14 year old girl who learned the definition of PTSD

she will keep going to therapy for what you did to her

she can recall vivid images

details

like how you kept boxes of baseball cards memorizing statistics to save your life

like how ken griffy junior batted 311

and you could rely on 57

57 percent of rapists are found innocent

and less than 10 percent of rapes are even reported

i only wish she had retorted

the worst part was that i knew you

i talked to you

i shook hands at open mics and exchanged pleasantries

let you hear the most private parts of my soul

and when i learned you raped her private parts and killed her soul

my first thought was shock

followed by awe

not aww like fireworks

or awe like wonder

but aww as in “AWWW HELL NAW”

how dare you call yourself human

how dare you call yourself a poet

how dare you stand before survivors and victims and pretend that you sympathize more with this side of the heinous crime you decided was alright to try on a little girl only now reaching the mend

not knowing her friend

knew you

knows you

her friend who would much rather handle this the old fashioned way

with a back to back walk

10 paces turn and fire

but i guess i will have to just shoot you with this poem

load my pen with ink like bullets born from legend

and put my soul behind each trigger

squeeze lightly

and wait for you to say no

wait for you to beg for your life

wait for you to be filled with the fear of staring at someone who doesnt care about your life

but has the ability to end it

wait for you to feel

exactly like she felt

before you pulled the trigger

and killed her childhood in one squeeze

a poem for a close friend of mine

you

were art hell bent on breaking your own frame

you were strength taken and concentrated into a package big enough to be heard

but quiet enough to be just mumbles

like you were born with a muzzle

this poem

is untitled

because i refuse to define you by your past

by your name

by your boundaries

you are more than what is written in the double helix of your DNA

climb up those ladder rungs that dare try to define you

until you reach top

and then scream

scream for the hate you have felt

scream for each bruise to be blamed on others

scream for all you are worth

and then realize you wont stop screaming

because your worth is unimaginable

your life is unending

your poem is untitled because i have never had words flow so fast through my finger tips

and i am trying to describe you

not confine you in this piece of work

your life has already written epics to rival the iliad

your odyssey may not not end in a homerun

but at least the author wasnt blind to her own short comings

you are honest

honest with yourself

honest with others

honestly i cant seem to find why anyone would hurt you

even your faults create lines in this literature

like earthquakes breaking bones

you describe your life as a disaster

and far from natural

born to change lives

the fire in your soul

leached into your appearance’

so each nod and wave

is followed by a firework of red hair and strength

you could move mountains if only you knew where to lift

start with yourself’

and lift’

lift yourself from your past

lift yourself up from this ground the world seems to like to kick you to

lift until each tear isnt seen as weakness but rather as proof

proof that you are alive

proof that you are meant to be different

proof that you are worth the words on this page

proof

that sometimes art wasnt meant to be put in borders

and it wasnt meant to be messed with

it was meant to be feared

it was meant to be learned from’

but most importantly, it was meant to be powerful

so i guess i can see the oil on your canvas each time you smile

you see your life as a picasso

everything out of place

but i promise each brush stroke that dare define your complexion

was executed so carefully

even leonardo da vinci would admire the acryllic alias you go by

so one day

when you break out of this musuem of a life and change something

do me a favor

and dont let this world damage such a priceless piece of work

school poem. video of me doing this coming soon

A

B
C

D

F

i don’t remember much from my childhood

but i still get an itching that i am missing a letter

it’s on the tip of my tongue...

but it doesn’t matter. these 5 letters define my character

A-Above proficient levels. fully grasps material.

B-Barely has trouble understanding the class.

C- Can do better. Average at best.

D-DUNCE! One step up from 1st grade vocabulary and 3rd grade understanding.

F- Failure. Try again next time. Go directly to jail. no re-do’s

My circle of life is limited to the 3 hole punches in my papers

I am sorry officer, but i can’t seem to find my registration

I guess i voided my return policy

i am just an appliance to you

they blocked some websites on my school computers. It screams:

“We can’t let you know there is an outside world

We can’t let you know life isn’t decided by that paper you didn’t spend the obligatory 5 hours on”

I broke the status quo and left the scatter plot of normal data as i refuse to be average anymore.

I want to be Excellent

I want to Ecstatic

I want to remember what comes after D but before F

i donate my life to the PTSA

may they use it well,

or throw one hell of a faculty party

I wish to state my intentions.

i am here to defy stereotypes

i want to exceed expectations and fulfill horror stories

I want to be different

I will raise my hand to ask questions

like “dear mr teacher:

Do you think if you cut my heart in half the biopsy would be as shiny as the apple on your desk

are my lungs meant for breathing or simply as a use for chokeholding me when needed

Do my eyes show the the same text from the books i read every night

copy them from paper to pupils to test”

i am just a pupil

a speck of dust collected on your diploma

as if it was a trophy that you survived where i am now, and have come back to make mine worse

sharpen pencils and call them number 2 to inspire competition

i remember the day that you let slip

that you didn’t know everything

i held onto it

hoping to one day best you so that i could....end up right where you are now.

“Mr teacher,”

I shake nervously

“what comes after the letter D again? I can’t seem to remember”

He replies “F of course”

And then i say. “No. before F. After D it Evades me.”

he is about to choke as if

trying to regurgitate guidelines

Do not let children know that there is more to life than grades.
The bell rings. I go to the library and take out the alphabet book...

It has 5 pages.

A-is for amazing

B-is for better

C-is for crestfallen

D-is for dumb

F-is for flunking. you never want to get an F.

I jolted forward and scream

E

E is for everything

E is for effort

I run to the main hall. and write E on every surface until the school officer asks “why”?

I smile wide and clever and say

“no. this is an E.”

...

he doesn’t laugh.

When asked what E stands for i answered Escape

E is an opportunity to leave.

but i promised i would defy expectations

so when i graduate. I will write F on my diploma which stands for FUCK THIS

and when my children are born i will teach them that F is just a letter

but E is a state of mind