Posted in My Daily Adventures, My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

I can do my own taxes, and can legally rent a car, but today for lunch I had a handful of diner mints, and while filling out a form for a new credit card I forgot my new address. So I’m sort of grown up, but maybe not so much.

Nobody just becomes an adult because they want to. Sure, people can try to be an adult, but honestly, it’s not something you can control. One day you’re a kid, and the next day that’s all over, and you are an adult from that point forward. It’s not sad or painful, at least not all the time, but it’s not something you can just will to happen, it just does.

So trying to judge yourself on the basis of whether or not you are a real adult is sort of silly, although I’m sure everybody has felt like a “bad” adult, or that they need to “grow up”. But people don’t grow up, do they? No, people don’t grow up, they just…grow.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“I’m not surprised by many things anymore, which would explain why you managed to shake me to my core.”

You were everything I never knew could exist in a soul. You were a soft sunset, yet you never lost any of your radiance. You made the end of every day something to look forward to. I had no idea a person could actually look forward to tomorrow without even a hint of fear. You wove hope into your shine, and the sky itself responded with a brilliant display of the infinite possibilities contained within person’s light.

It took time, and then some more time, and it will assuredly take the rest of the time laid out in front of me, but I won’t give up, not anymore. I’ll spend every second I have in pursuit of the person you showed me, because that’s the type of person I want to be.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics

You can tell all the lies you want, pretend it never happened and try to live a normal life, but in the end you lost something you can’t replace nor get back, so sometimes okay isn’t an option.

Every step seems like the last one my body will allow me to take, even though my door can’t be more than a few feet from the furthest point of this cramped apartment. From end to end it’s a simple box with walls to create more boxes, and all of them are small and have doors and windows and fancy, recessed lighting, so they are definitely not prison cells. I am not trapped, but I can’t seem to move. I glide between a fridge that’s empty to a bathroom that smells like bleach, meandering my way back to that galaxy of a mattress draped in clean smelling sheets and kept cool by a nearby box fan. I collapse into that sea of softness and can’t hold back a sigh. I rotate my neck over my pillow, stretch out my arms and legs and hear my back give a loud ‘crack’, reminding me just how much my body hates me. With exhaustion this deep sleep should be an easy task. But the hours slip by, and I’ve visited the fridge 4 times, and my bathroom remains spotless, and my laundry is all washed and dried and hanging in neat rows, and my bag has been packed and repacked between my backpack, shoulder bag and sling bag because I’m awful at making decisions, which should be obvious by my aversion to my shirtless reflection; the marks a very clear sign of bad decisions made in poor lighting…

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry

I’ve spent the past 4 years surrounded by nothing but noise, yet it’s still her silence that speaks to me the loudest.

She kisses with that glowing touch;

A muted, thin breach of confidence.

A kiss laced with smiles,

Wrinkled noses, a million words

Expressed in two lips

Meeting over an exchange of hearts.

The sort of kiss that fills you up,

Rushes blood throughout your body;

A kiss to replace the rhythm in your chest

That forever now skips a beat

With every glance she gives,

With every look you steal.


Now do you understand?

Love come to pass starts with a stolen heart,

And when the sun you share

Finally begins to dim

You are left as the moon; 

Stealing light as you try to become

A beacon in the sky once more.


Her kisses gently revealed

How much a fool has to lose.

Searching for answers now

Is stumbling through the dark,

Reaching out for hands to guide.

The problem with that is

Only those looking through the dark

Can now see as you try to shine,

Truly the blind leading the blind…

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry

If ever I find myself falling in love again, I hope it comes as one big wave; I’m tired of drowning slowly in sweet nothings.

She touches you with two hands,

And she cradles you in a lover’s whisper.

She outlines your face in her right;

Slow motions, etching into the tips of her fingers

The curves you never knew you had.

 
Her left makes its way toward your ear,

And the fire starts in your blushing cheeks,

Burning a red across every inch of skin

Her light walk leads her to.

 
Without a sense of purpose, nor known destination,

Still; her hands feel as familiar

As the glare from the Sun off windows ,

The scent of mornings in July, or else

The cold of snow that somehow warms

These bones during those terrible

Winter days of December Ohio.

 
Yes, she is that feeling

Of being lost out at Sea

And being home at the lighthouse

All rolled into those midnight touches,

Those kisses from fingertips

She has strung around my soul.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, Uncategorized

On clear nights I stare at the sky and make a wish to those billion year old lights, and it’s the same wish every single time. 

I want to live in a place where my heart feels…weightless. I want to know the type of hug that feels warm, like summer air against your skin. I want to find myself lost in thoughts of fireworks and pancake breakfasts, snowball fights in January and chocolate filled Halloweens. I want to look forward to what I can be, what I can achieve. I have the type of heart that feels as if it is made of lead; to heavy to carry with me, and so I often find myself leaning on others for things I should only support on my own 2 feet. Basically, I feel a need to wish I was just like everyone else, to smile just because, to laugh without trying to hide something, without having to cry about it later. Do people walking down the halls of malls, the streets to different bars, parks and stores, do these people ever stop to wonder “why does every step I take feel as if I’m falling?

~A place where I reach for the hands of others instead of for the knife sitting on the table…

The scars are cat scratches and work mistakes, rough basketball and rugged runs through trails at dusk. The scars are warnings, screams of “stay away!” “I’m not worth knowing!” “I can’t be saved…”

If people were to have to face this, the reality that I’ve created in my own mind, I’d like to think they could appreciate my self-hatred a little more.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I.

I can file my own taxes, change my own oil, and make my own dentist appointments; all sure signs I’m a “real adult.”

Nobody just becomes an adult because they want to. Sure, people can try to be an adult, but really it’s not something you can control. One day you’re a kid and the next that’s all over and you are an adult. It’s not sad or painful, at least not all the time, but it’s not something you can just will to happen, it just does. So trying to judge yourself on the basis of whether or not you are a real adult is sort of silly, although I’m sure everybody has felt like a “bad” adult, or that they need to “grow up”. But people don’t grow up, do they? No, people don’t grow up, they just…grow.