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

Years may pass, but the Sun hasn’t changed; It’s the same every May, and so is the pain.

Speak to me, on bended knee!

“O sweet dreams, my dreary queen!”

Sail away on those ships of yours

Past the end, over the floors

Of a raging Ocean, with waves as tall

As my clouds, the love that won’t fall…

~My words on paper mean nothing at all, for in a moment of rage it can all be lost, tossed and torn, gone without a moment’s notice. I would prefer to write my words in the forever sky; my moments saved in a world solely for the heavens…~

Scream at me, the words you’ll never need,

Write them in the sky, so far from your seas.

The ships that you sail lack the wings

To carry you away with all of your things.

“My clouds are mine, the heavens untouched!”

So this love is mine; a pallet waiting on your brush…

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

Girl Scout Cookie delivery day at work is the #1 reason I haven’t given up on being a part of society yet. Mmhmm, I can already taste the type 2 diabetes.

Girl Scout cookies are heaven in a tightly baked, well balanced, easy to shovel into my mouth form. Seriously, those things taste like magic and friendship and so many other things that I’m sure will draw lawsuits from My Little Pony’s parent company if I ramble on to long. The serving size states “2 Each”, and I wondered why they would only give you half a serving with a box, because they MUST be referring to 1 box as part of the 2 each, right? I mean, who in their right mind could eat just 2 little cookies? This isn’t some pizza party where 2 slices should satisfy any persons hunger; girl scout cookies aren’t even meant to quell hunger, but instead they foster self-indulgence. These cookies are designed to boost your moral, put a smile on your face, and have you feeling satisfied as a human being, even as you realize you’ve become a literal elephant and consumed 1/5 your body weight in cookies. But while your body may be unable to move, your soul is enlightened, and all is forgiven, and you are nothing but a creature of pure light and love. And at the end of your feast, you get to pass out into the most wonderful, bliss filled sugar coma, with dreams of clouds made of cotton candy, mountains made of various flavors of fudge, and a thin mint cookie that isn’t thin, but regular sized (Is that to much to ask for, Girl Scouts?! I’m 25+ years old, I don’t need “thin” mints, I need “Thicc” mints. Make my dreams come true!!!)

So, in conclusion, the Boy Scouts should just disband, because earning an Eagle Scout honor is literal shit compared to giving another human even one crumb of the sugary allure that is the Girl Scout Cookie.

Except Samoa’s, those things are fucking garbage.

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

The rush you once gave me has become a burning friction, and the years spent alone have turned my love into fiction, and nothing I ever do will mean a goddamned thing.”

You know, I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to keep waking up in physical pain, throwing up my future all over my bathroom floor, replacing my bath rugs on a weekly basis. It’s not fun, and it makes me feel nothing. I don’t want to be nothing, but what else is there? I have to ask, because writing about it, saying it, screaming it out loud in my car at 3AM doesn’t make any other feelings come out.

I must have been happy.

It’s impossible that I could have lived over 25 years if all I ever felt was this.

But what is that feeling? I’d settle for unchecked rage at the world at large, or an unbearable guilt for the dreams I’ve abandoned. I’d take a million tears, a million crushed hearts, a million more minutes of my fall from the top to this bottom. I’d take any feeling, anything to wake me up, to make me feel… I just want to feel something…

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

“It feels like I’m thinning out my soul, turning once sturdy cider bark into bargain bin brown paper bags.”

You love me.

But your love,

It’s the same love

As the January Sun;

An abbreviated afternoon

Punctured with pockets

Of cumulonimbus skies.

Your kisses breed frostbite,

Coating every syllable

In a gelid timber.


But I found something,

Even if you are

Just passing through.

And it was enough

For me to latch onto,

Even if all I have ever held

Was merely a reflection;

I’ll reject reality

To keep living

In your light.

I exist to you

Only as dense air;

Slowing your time,

But you can’t, won’t stop.

All that remains

Are your refracted rays,

And the scatterings of

A cranberry glass heart.

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

“And it’s all the same, just different games… so maybe I am the one to blame…”

How else can I describe this without being redundant? My stomach is tied in knots, spilling out through the holes in my humanity, leaving an empty pit at my center of gravity. The room isn’t spinning, but nothing is stationary. It’s all subtle shifts; light reflecting off curved surfaces, my white wallpaper peeled back to reveal another shade of egg shell, and the soft humming from my dryer that’s slowing driving me insane…

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

“Etch these words into my skin so I may never forget; I steal my light as a paper moon, only glowing after sunset.”

He creeps into your mind

At the most inopportune times,

Stealing away precious brain cells

And holding in the CO2

That you’ve built up in your veins.


Whatever warmth you had

Seeps out through your open chest,

Replacing the justified anger

With docile tones

And heavy shakes.

You feel leaks, tiny pin pricks,

Along all the spots you kept secret,

The spots that he now owns.


Time erases nothing,

But diminishes

Everything.


His image hasn’t been there

To stroke your senses,

Yet a single glance

Betrays a tingle in your stomach,

And the world melts like chocolate

Left out in the afternoon Sun.


You want to run away,

But the sight of him is

As quick as summer lightning,

And his sound echoes

Like distant thunder,

And you’ve always been a fool

When it comes to storms.


“You will lose yourself in his winds and rain,

And you will claim a home inside that hurricane.

But that home will be nothing more than a dream,

A space where his violence will swallow your screams.”