years ago

I stood there, only fifty feet above the ground, but on top of the world.  The sea salt danced with the air and the smell caused my childhood to come crashing down like waves - powerful, fleeting waves.  I gazed off towards the horizon and smiled as I watched the ocean hug a blushing sky; what a beautiful romance.  I envied it.  There wasn’t anyone else on that lighthouse and it made a circle as if it were searching for another soul, but found no one.  I had retreated down its spiral staircase, each step further from the top of the world, reminding myself that I was far from home.

smile: autumn

rain kisses the earth
puddles build their homes
leaves become sailboats
and we become giants
with hearts like sunshine
we warm worlds.

sigh: sorry

stop breaking hearts
with your heavy hands
she said.
stop breaking souls
with your lovely sounds
she said.
keep me,
she said,
from you,
I said.

sigh: thoughts

from a lack of words

are a million thoughts 

that bury deep

to bloom at season's new

that never passes
to never know.

smile: silhouette

the sunset gives you a silhouette
because it borrows your colors
to paint the sky so damn pretty

I believe that listening is powerful, even more powerful than talking.  Despite my inability to shut up, I believe listening is precious, and everyone deserves to be listened to.   Listening is the soul of understanding.  It is the catalyst of the humble.  And it is not without a silence that has the ability to grow your heart.  Listening doesn’t just happen with your ears, but with your entire body.  The senses – all of them are made for listening: to learn, to understand, and to grow.  And it is beauty that we are listening for, and beauty truly is everywhere.  The world is beautiful.  Its people are beautiful.  Sometimes, you might have to listen closely, but beauty blooms in all seasons, all weathers, and in all ridiculousness that is existence.  Because that is what existence is: ridiculous. 

So ridiculous that we are alive and have people we are madly in love with.  Our friends and family: more precious than diamonds, and easier to find too, but more difficult to love and admire, perhaps.  But oh, how that love is unique and more precious than anything you will ever find.  And to be with the people that you love – that is life’s greatest gift, so please do find yourself with the people you love.  Life, though, is ridiculous enough to have people live in mansions while the homeless man around the corner freezes in naught but rags; from madly in love to madness.

I believe that life is unfair – unfair in rags, but even in riches, too.  The world holds no vendettas, but people can.  And people have a right to be angry, but no one has the right to hurt another person, no.  But it happens, and it is sad.  Sorrow blooms in all seasons, all weathers, and even in the brightest of lives.  Accept it, listen to it, learn from it, and keep growing – please, please keep growing because that is the only way to stop it.  Mistakes happen, sorrow happens, but so too does beauty that shines brighter than all the darkness that might exist.

Family is that brightness for me; family is the most beautiful thing I have ever been a part of.  Love knows no boundaries in the family; it is crazy, but it is bliss.  And children should always try to make their parents happy.  To respect their wishes and hopes as much as possible.  And to realize that no matter how old we may become, we will always be their children.  If there is nothing in particular that you want to live for - live for your family.  The family you are already a part of, and the family that you will one day have.  

sigh: just words

I'm no more than a word.
him.
you free your mind,
let it slide across your tongue
grip onto your teeth,
roll off your lips,
into emptiness.
away from your thoughts
free, free, free.
only a definition, now.
with no meaning other than itself.
how lonely.

sigh: you are musical

you are:
the high note of my life
I could never hold
the song in my head
I could never forget
the melody they whistle
that was never my own
the silence at night
that falls me asleep
the song we hear
I could never play.

sigh: flower

I wish we were flowers

that hands could pick

and place us together

then our petals wane

so to forget our lives

with naught but each other

sigh: nothing names

there's a peace i'm seeking
that i can't seem to find.

I work all day
but for nothing.

I spend money til' i'm broke
but can't buy enough.

I smile at people
but can't look them in the eye.

faces.
naught but pretty faces.

a face I've finally forgotten.
a face I'll never know.
a face that means nothing to me.
names that mean nothing to me.
nothing names.
like tattoos on the soul.
they mean nothing.

sigh: finals

fuck you finals,
fuck you.

sigh: far away

there isn't anything more I would like
than to have you far away

to have no same wind touch our bodies
to have no same air chill our souls
to have no same thought ruin our hearts

there isn't anything more I would like
than to have you far away

sigh: keep

trying to keep still
but my hands keep shaking.
like i'm fucking two years old
counting numbers and losing track.
like i'm fucking fifteen years old
pressing keys like I give a shit.
like i'm fucking twenty years old
holding your hand.
and now.
hands keep shaking.
keep me.
from dying.

sigh: fuck

fuck.

sigh: cigarette

its dark.

the way our cigarettes light up the room.

its cold.

and snowy, the ashes that pile up.

Reminds me of the winter.

  

its love.

the way you hold on.

and wait til' the very end.

put it out.

sigh: a dove

shadows stuck against a crumbling wall
only because it was once so bright
to shine upon my feeble soul
burnt the stitches she had sewn every night

into shadows against my broken heart
I beg of you to ease your hand
to renounce your greatest work of art
to abandon what you cannot understand

that loves greatest weakness is my own
that your sealed lips speak no love
to leave its cage and to have flown
and to land in hell, a dove.

for peace reigns fair
in all that is good
for peace wouldn't dare
ruin what it should

sigh: effort

the silhouette of a mountain
like a drawing in the sky
with crayons the color of sunrise
from the seat of my bicycle
with the wind in my hair
and tears in my eyes
i move my legs
my body
my mind
and my soul
all for nothing.

smile: love is

love is:

to hope when we're together
and to dream when we're apart

to walk when we're close
and to run when we're far

to sing when we're sad
and to cry when we're happy

to forget when we give
and to remember when we take

to be honest when it hurts
and to care when it kills

to treasure when its given
and to give when its yours

to know when to ask
and to know when its love

smile: listen

Here I am, only fifty feet above the ground, but on top of the world.  The sea salt dances with the air and the smell causes my childhood to come crashing down on the shores of my memory.  I gaze off towards the horizon and smile as the ocean hugs a blushing sky.  What a beautiful romance.  A warm breeze that hums a melody finds my ears and whispers that spring is on the way.  And then there is George.

I wonder if George notices that he is standing right next to me; I can feel his body heat.  I am wearing my usual outfit – a wife beater with basketball shorts.  George is wearing his Sunday best.  His yellow checkered shirt is neatly tucked into his brown dress pants.  And his tie is a soft blue that seems like it was dipped into the ocean.

George knows he is standing next to someone because he begins to talk:

“I used to come here every day.”

“We would make bonfires right there on the beach”, he points to a spot on the shore beyond the no trespassing sign.

I wonder how long George is going to talk.  I watch his wrinkled face while he tells me stories and I notice that his eyes close whenever he smiles.  He must be remembering his childhood.  George is old, and he said this might be his last visits to the beach – to his childhood.

“Thank you for listening” George smiles, but this time he keeps his eyes open so he can look at my face.

An hour has gone by since we first started talking and I hear George’s footsteps slowly fade as he makes his way down the spiral staircase.  I’d like to imagine that his smiles today were the same smiles he wore as a child.  And it’s too late now, but I wanted to tell him about my own adventures.  The adventure I was on right then and there, but I never opened my mouth.  It was George’s turn to talk, and it was my turn to listen.

Thank you George.  To heal, to learn, and to love is to listen.  

sigh: resonate

sometimes i hate life.
what an erratic symphony.
its melody ambiguous.
its pauses unnecessary.
its harmony selfish.
the notes stumble off the page
the chords scream at my face.
it only knows how to hate.
how to take.
and yet I resonate.
this is my key.
this is my melody.
this is my love.