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2009-11-12T07:09:00.000-08:00

Chex Mix Life

So many different peices
make you up.
Like me
your a mix.
your pretzels,
hard,
and tough.
but once bitten-
soft and vulnerable.
The salt imtimidates
the rest
making it look mean,
but its not.
Its sweet and should be loved.
Your ceral peices,
always the best,
trying to be the most
popular.
and exclude the rest
who arent like them.
Then you have your unknown
peices.Like your little squiggly cracker.
No one ever takes notice to it
and it will only show up rarly.
But when it does,
it's a joy.
Then-
Theres a random
round brown cracker?
What is IT?
It's hard,
gross,
and hideous.
No one wants them
It seems like everytime
i chuck it,
it comes back.
It shouldnt be in a bag
that has so much good.
But thats life

Broken Glass

2009-10-20T07:20:00.000-07:00

I am infinite arguments,

creeping towards the ceilings,

into the sky for all world to hear.

I am broken glass,

pleading to be put back together-

being put back on the comfort of the self,

but the peices. . .

they don't seem to fit the same.

I am the translucent window

peircing out only to see

the father of two

leaving to never step foot in that house again.

I'm the unpaid bills.

shoved to the side

in hopes to disappear

and never return.

I am gas miles.

driving only to see your dad,

in the arms of another women.

With a happy family around him,

that you will never be apart of.

I am the happy ending that never happened.

the lost hoped and dreams.

I am. . .

Children's Cries

Parents Pain

Love Lost

I am Divorce,

I'll split you in two.

I am for Living!

2009-09-22T07:06:00.000-07:00

I am for the excitement clay brings to ones mind.
The endless possibilities you can do with it,
The slimy goop stuck in between your fingers
Soon turning turning into brown crusted over hands.

I am for the head banging loud rock music,
AS it overwhelms the house.
And thw sound of thumping,
As everyone dances along to it.

I'm for little toddlers feet,
Attempting to fill their adirmable dad's shoes.

I am agaisnst the spitefulness of taking a mother's only son away,
Only so he can be put into a death match called war.

For the look on a teenage girls face,
as her eyes glisten with happiness,
When she steps into that perfectly fit prom dress.

I am for the countless bumps and bruises.
For each can tell a story,
And that story can tell a memory.

I am against suspenders,
Hanging from an old mans chest,
Attemoting to hoist up his already armpit level pants.

Most importantly,
I am for failures.
A world without failures,
Is like a world without fire alarms,
Always needed.