day one hundred ninety-seven: smells like home.

that smell
for sale
it's not stale
but not new
slightly worn
slightly torn
maybe a little
abused
that smell
it's love
actually, it's just a smell that
i love
it smells like home
it smells like
mom
and me
and you
and him
and anyone else
depending on which day of the week it is.

i'm fickle.

day one hundred ninety-six: sa[tired].

sa[tire][d]
[of] feeling [lone]some
w[he]n surrounded
by tho[u(nder)s(t)ands]
[me] most of the time
[but] the rest of the t[im]e
no one does
so it's [okay]

day one hundred ninety-five: i wonder where poetry comes from.

where do these words
molded from nothing inside a mind
spring forth
onto a page
or into a blog
and make so much sense
because i don't remember
actually taking note
of any thoughts or feelings
one moment i'm staring
staring
staring
staring
staring
staring
sighing at an empty screen
or page or napkin or notebook
and the next the screen is covered
in black characters for the reading
the page is blotted with ink
for the feeling
the napkin is stained with poetic thoughts
use it on your mouth and i might lose my mind
and the notebook is filled
with silly words
that come from nowhere
but make plenty of
sense?

day one hundred ninety-four: close the window.

bumps along my skin
along my body
along my bones

raised skin below
my hairs
below the air

close the window.

day one hundred ninety-three: affix.

rectangular squares
upon a shelf
tangle and tumble
affix themselves
to one another
through the simple act
of coexisting
i'd like to be a book
and affix myself to
the book beside me
shelved for a while
with you.

day one hundred ninety-two: lost my muse again.

someone please.
hear these.
whispered pleas.
missing muse.
cannot reuse.
yesterday's words.

day one hundred ninety-one: i never plan on failing you.

you lack
motivation
you say
"i stopped trying"
so what now,
my friend?
where will this end?
probably sooner
than later
because you've let it fall
and let's say it's not your fault
but it is all along
because you said it
"i stopped trying"
and i could feel it
thanks, for that,
for being the coward that crawled away
and left the rest of us to compost away
deteriorate
oh, happy day!
what if i told you tomorrow
that i quit too
the only difference is
i'm younger and my dreams might still come true
but you would be sad
upset
distraught
and angry
that i would throw away
a life so amazing
but what you fail to realize
is that by not trying
you've failed me
and i don't plain on failing you.

day one hundred ninety: some periods of time, of feeling, of hurt, of happiness, of pain, of gladness:

cannot be expressed
and simply addressed
in written language.

day one hundred eighty-nine: just another heartbroken morning.

"funny, i thought after spilling it all out
then sleeping it all out
i'd wake up today
and it would all have gone away,
but no, i was wrong-- so wrong--
it still hurts today."

"it will for a while."

"okay."

what more is there to say?
be strong?
carry on?
smile away the hurt?
why care so much what others feel?
care for yourself for once?
maybe, i'm afraid to feel.

day one hundred eighty-eight: lies.

lay down the truth
foundation beneath the structure
winds blow
and it stands still

place a post upright
atop the desert sand
winds blow
it stands not a chance

take a leap of faith
make a choice that may end in misery
winds blow
and i feel warm

drop a bombshell
let it be released
let it rain acid and pain on me
winds blow
the rain still falls.

day one hundred eighty-seven: this is a timeline.

there are some days
i fall behind
some days i write in notebooks
(those days are fewer now,
i've yet to figure out why...)
and some days
the dates cannot be changed
that hide the words that i feel
because some day i will look back
and read what i've written here,
read when it was written
and be confused by my own memory
because it didn't happen like that:
on the date at the bottom of a poem.
the timeline of my life.
events spastic and unpredictable,
like schedules and inspiration
heartbreaks and depression,
they sometimes need a number
so i can remember
why i felt like i did
i wont have the problem
of traveling back in time
i can do it on a dime
with a number at the bottom
of a silly "meaningless" rhyme.

day one hundred eighty-six: [post]secrets.

i want to go
to a secret fest
where secrets are shared
and aired
and shown
and thrown into the huge space that is the universe
and set free for everyone to smile at and see
and when the secrets are released i imagine a beautiful birth
like a child from the womb
a free secret-keeper is released from the constrictions
of silence.

day one hundred eighty-five: so so so.

so so so
many overwhelming
emotions
not all of them
are compiled of words

so so so
many things to think
to worry
to cry about
not all of them
can contain words

so so so
much sadness
and hurt
and pain and tears
not all of them
worth the breath i would use
to express them in
words.

day one hundred eighty-four: euphoria.

high
on euphoric hormones
an
elevated heart rate
burning
muscles with
fire
from somewhere beyond
the
marrow of my bones

somewhere
inside a clock ticks
ticking-tocking
squeezing
life blood out
making
its rounds to the
farthest
reaches of my insides
this
is running
this
is pushing
this
is letting it all roll off
behind
your ever-moving
body

there it goes
wave goodbye
enjoy the natural
euphoric high

day one hundred eighty-three: quiz.

over/under
whelm me
inside/outside
judge me
create/destroy
my senses
set free/control
my dreams
yes/no
circle all that apply
and don't say neither
cause that's a lie

day one hundred eighty-two: all the lovely cliches.

not exactly what i had in
mindset is
everything that can go wrong
will something
give up, get out
let your soul
deteriorate beneath the piles
of muddled cliches and
compost of the "real world"
welcome,
where the freaks are stupid
and so are the stupid people

day one hundred eighty-one: a[lone].

that one feeling
that everyone knows
whether they know they know
or remain unaware:
alone

day one hundred eighty: [running]

[running]

out of things to say;

out of hours in a day;

a mile and a half;

on a treadmill three times a week;

forward into the future; dreams and plans in hand;

[running]

day one hundred seventy-nine: mathematical nonsense.

addition

to the equation

equals subtracting

from society

the things that you dislike

about the common condition

of the average homo-sapien 

so add what you'd like

subtract the rest

divide by me

dont multiply too soon

but for some reason they always say

"do that multiplying first"

why?

because it'll just give you a bigger mess 

to clean up later

thanks algebra teachers

you suck at life. 

day one hundred seventy-eight: when it doesn't happen or if it never did.

act out
just once
do something
totally wrong
but still right
just not
for you
or what's
expected of you
and that once
will leave everyone
shocked and wondering
when it will
happen again

but when it doesn't
or if it never did

follow the "rules"
laid down by superiors
and fogies
of yesteryear
and be considered lame
and be told
"take chances;
one life;
live it big"
but do that
just once
and you're condemned
never to be seen
as "good"
in the eyes of certain
people
ever
ever again.

day one hundred seventy-seven: ten feet tall and bullet proof.

i wonder what it's like
to feel ten feet tall
bullet proof
to take on the world
with a wink and a laugh
and actually win for once

i've never felt ten feet tall
or bullet proof
more like ten inches short
and full of holes
vulnerable

i don't know if i'll ever want
to feel ten feet tall
and bullet proof
because i might break a few hearts
maybe even my own
a few rules
just to say i did
but who knows?
i probably never will.

day one hundred seventy-six: unchanging.

overwhelming fear
of beginning again
of starting anything
new
this rut
cut through the synapses
of my stimulated, juicy brain
waiting for a bridge
to be built
communication to begin again
there's a paralyzing fear of the new
and a sad nostalgic longing for the old
too bad i'll get neither
tied to this chair.

day one hundred seventy-five: the river of humanity.

some people
some people
some human beings
regardless of race
face, label, or sexual disposition,
were meant to do
great and amazing things
some have souls from decades before now
when times were different
these diamonds in the rough
just pop up
these people
rarely achieve
that for which they were meant
because they settle for less
than their very best
(whether afraid of success
or failing miserably
it is only their choice to reveal)
but instead they conform
fall into the rushing river
instead of running up it
because they're afraid
of getting to close to the waterfall
and being able to bathe in it
and all its pure glory

day one hundred seventy-four: lack of inspiration.

failing
falling
to find
behind
the pages
of a book
the inspiration
that i need
to finish something
that has already
begun

day one hundred seventy-three: there are.

wind chimes
outside my window
tinkling with their
metal friends
making me wish
i could be the wind
not beneath your wings
but between your chimes
because i think we'd make
such a beautiful noise
pure and resonating
and lovely

day one hundred seventy-two: if you know.

if you know what it is
to trust someone
who trusts someone
who you don't feel like you can trust
and you cant help but doubt trusting anyone
ever again
if you know what it is
to trust someone
who trusts someone that you don't trust
because they hurt someone you love
someone who didn't deserve to hurt
because they treated you like dirt
when you know dirt is only what you're made of
not what you truly are
when you know
if you know
when you understand
what this means
then you can talk to me
about trusting them
ever again.

day one hundred seventy-one: dreams.

betrayal
you taste familiar
like a bitter old friend
who decides to say hello
but you know it's just o be polite

jealousy
you sting like the taunting words
shouted across a the local playground
where children learn to swing and run
to cuss and lie

disappointment
you blindside us every time
life is going smoothly then suddenly
BOOM there's a failed plan or a bad grade
or a secret that's been spread amongst your friends
that just makes the world fall on you

what's the point in dreaming anymore?
where do unsuccessful dreams go?
are dreams ever unsuccessful or simply never are removed
from that holy alter of "dream" that we all have for ourselves
dream, come down from that pedestal, and let me have you
before all the evil things in this life
take over
and i forget how i came up with you
in the first place.

day one hundred seventy: the word waste.

such waste
squandered space
shrinking breaths
wilting dreams
fading days
atrophied muscles
shrivel and die

this is me.

day one hundred sixty-nine: side effects of life.

circles into oblivion
the monotonous life
keeps barreling down
through the oceans of silly baubles
that really are meaningless
sentimental, but meaningless
there's loss of appetite
lost of interests
watch out, there went moodiness
and now there's a sudden change in sleep
too much, too much, too much,
and deeper we delve into the infinity of dark
because everyone else just jumped off the sane bridge
why not just join them?
we'll all die anyway.

day one hundred sixty-eight: new years resolutions.

perspective
it's what i need

a year passed
without a second glance

digging tooth and nail
to hold on to the past

because it's comfortable
and it's warm

it's where i'm from
and it'll always be there

but the future?
i may not have one.

a resolution?
overrated

but i think i get the point
because on that new years eve night

when you're with your friends
and that countdown begins

you're scared out of your wits
and you just need something to aim for

because a new beginning
is what we all need

but sometimes
that new beginning

happens faster than we
had originally planned

and so as cheesy as it is
to resolve to do something

i think it's like a home-cooked meal
it's a comfort, not always necessary

but it'll make you feel more comfortable
more at home

just knowing that you can reach
for something

like that plate of fresh out of the oven corn bread
or the idea to be better than you were last year.

day one hundred sixty-seven: a new year.

a new dawn
new year
new day
new fears
there's a list
a mile long
of "what if"s
"why"s and "how"s
head up
smile big
and hope
the crowds
will part your way
and don't let them see you sweat
because this is only a new day.