Monthly Archives: August 2013

Silent Accents

They tell me different things at different times,

when I’m happy

they talk about sunlight and a universe of stars,

but when I’m sad

they describe the kind of things

that only nuns and mercenaries

have either seen or heard stories about.

Most of the time

I just wish they sang something indifferent,

something that didn’t matter

like the plastic cups that don’t break when they fall,

or the half-glances from stranger

who forget you the moment they pass you by.


Love always keeps things dirty,

the way grime grows between touches,

between fingertips that can barely reach out to each other anymore.

There was a time when I remembered how it felt,

remembered what it was like to feel hands

touching the hair on my chest

and nails down my back

and lips that part

to feel my own against hers.

The Last Olympics

I know more than I let on,

but I can’t stand the way people reply with arguments based solely on rhetoric, so

sometimes I keep quiet.

People argue even if they agree,

it always comes down to who

has the better reason to believe,

who has the stories that stand out in a world

where pain and struggle have become the last competition

and the only way we can prove ourselves

is to either have gone through more hurt, or

at least know someone else who’s done more.

Impossible Things to Say

I love being drunk,

it makes the voices accessible in conversation

while other people get to be happy

when all I ever do anymore is complain.

I think things will always get twisted in my mind,

reshaped like a substance

that can be molded into some perfect figure,

something left to collect only dust

until it breaks,

or chips away.

Being Punched in the Face

I’ve known the look of blood in my eyes,

it’s a sign of my own self worth

while I test this thing they call grit (that I don’t think even exists).

The way I see it

there will always be insecurities,

that flow of self-consciousness that leaks like sweat

as empty music repeats itself through different voices

and that last lingering feeling

keeps me awake, waiting for more.

Almost Made It

Almost Made It

Trying something a little more comedic. It went over well on stage so I thought I’d share it here.

The Bond Between

He cried so close to me

that it felt like he was in my arms,

it felt like I was hearing every breath,

every pause to breathe between every word

and the funny thing was this…

I have never been able to remember his name.