remember

Do you remember? I do.A day in November when my world crashed

When my world erupted in a ball of furious chaos

And you became my knight in shining armour

My family exploded in a hail of yelling voices

My mother was the cause yet again

I couldn’t breathe

And you saved me

We weren’t yet together

We hadn’t yet said “I love you”

But I knew you did

You loved me

I can’t remember the movie we saw

I can’t remember the people who passed or spoke

But I remember you

How you saved me

How you were there when it seemed darkest

Do you remember?

I do.

And I will for as long as time turns

Why?

“He did it because he was angry.” I had if he had the pressure too, the pressure to exceed their high expectations. I scream because I am angry, though my screams do not breech the limits of my mind. Limits. Yes, I have limits. Everyone does. Can’t my admittance of failure be enough? Enough. No, I’m never enough. The pressure keeps building within me, without me. One day, the two will meet and there will be nothing left of me. Nothing. Such a negative word. Well, it is in most cases, but right now, nothing is better than anything. Right now. What am I thinking right now? Do you know? Do I? Probably not. I try not to most of the time. Time. They say time is of the essence. Why? Is time everything? I don’t know. Does anyone? “He did it because he was angry.” I wonder if he had the pressure too, the pressure to exceed their high expectations.

Just me, my music, and my trumpet

It’s just me, my music, and my trumpet
The people my tap on my door
Or yell to catch my attention
but I don’t hear a sound
The music flows through me
I close my eyes
My cares and daily stresses
fade
lines, rhythms, notes
they flow from the bell of my horn
they encompass my soul, my mind
nothing else matters
not the research project due in may
not the present I’ve yet to buy for my brother
as this song plays
I am free
it’s just me, my music, and my trumpet

My work is never finished…

My work is never finished. I write until no more words come to mind. I scribble numbers for hours on end, but still my work is never finished. My thoughts still race. My mind still aches. My dreams spill out into the night because there’s no more empty space inside my head. I write volumes of words that go nowhere. I have pages of numbers that mean nothing except to me. But still my work is never finished. My thoughts are ever busy and my mind is in a constant state of motion. Sleep? Not for me. My mind just gains momentum is the hours i lay tossing and turning, thinking of new formulas, equations and designs of things i know are impossible but endeavors i will enbark upon tomorrow. My words fade on old paper. My ideas are lost but for my memory. But still my work is never finished, and, in truth, I hope it never is. I hope that my mind keeps creating and my thoughts keep racing and my dreams shoot ever-higher. I hope my work is never finished.

Recipe for Heartache

Ingredients:
One boy with a wandering eye
One girl with the softest heart
One galaxy full of opposition
Several nights spent alone
Five years of one-sided love

Directions:
Place one boy with a wandering eye in a sauce pan with one girl with the softest heart
Turn up heat until steaming
Quickly pour in one galaxy of opposition until boy and girl begin to part
Add in several nights spent alone
Simmer until girl begins to crumble
Mix in five years of one-sided love and let stand until cold

6:30 p.m.

Sunset is
A swing
Alone

The hills are ablaze with autumn orange
The crisp scent of fresh leaves and apples is carried on a chilly breeze
I take in the sweet air as i glide back and forth
The light from the setting sun is gentle and warm on my face
All is calm within me and without
The one time, the one place I am truly at ease

An ant crawls along the white swing’s back
My dog stirs silently in reverence to the beauty
Golden rays dance upon freshly fallen leaves
Brushstroke clouds like rosy delight drift sluggishly by

October has arrived with the gift of autumn sunsets
My favorite place to be.

I am from

I am from grandparents who live to protect
from fast cars and starry summer nights
from love in October and heartbreak in May

I am from three houses with only one home
from estranged parents and new ones who love
from a crazy younger brother I’d give my life for
from late nights awake thinking in circles

I am from fried chicken on Sunday afternoons
and Grandfather’s comforting mashed potatoes
from stubborn old men and God-loving old women
from ups and downs and all-arounds
from huge green recliners and teddy bears galore

I am from this message will self-destruct
from Porkchop and Patty Mayonaise
from The Sandlot and ruby red slippers
from Saturday morning carttons with my dad

I am from red hair and green eyes
from drinking songs and intoxicated tales
from the pub to the spuds
from emerald hills of home

I am from family, so big and bright

I am not brave

I am not brave. I’ve never been strong. I let people break me and take what they want. One day, my biggest goal, I hope to say I’m unafraid and mean it. My parents sought to inspire fear. It worked. My peers sought to break me down. It worked. My life sought to crush me beneath the pressure. It worked. But, one day, I hope to say I’m unafraid and mean it. I hope to pick up another’s weight and carry it like I could never carry myself. After all, they need me more than I’ll ever admit that I need myself. My soul sought to destroy me. It worked. My mind sought to plague me. It worked. The world sought to bury me. It worked. But, one day, I hope to say I’m unafraid and mean it. That’s all I ever wanted, to say I’m unafraid for just one moment. Until then, I am not brave. Until then, I am not strong. Until then, I will cower with my hope as my only shelter against the monsters I try to fight, the monsters I created so long ago, the monsters that have been my companions for far too long. One day, I hope to say I’m unafraid and mean it, but as of this moment, this instant, this ever-lasting second, I am not brave.