On Hold

Is writing worth it? Do my poems matter?

Will publishing another failure make me sadder?

Why put time into something I love if it never becomes a real thing?

I can keep my head in the water above but my body’s still swimming upstream.

The life I have now is already enough. I won’t die if I give up my dreams.

Adding an accolade would only be fluff when I’m already stretched at the seams.  

Is it really giving up if I never commit?

Is my self published work way too much to omit?

Do you really climb a mountain if you never summit?

When every day life keeps you down; you submit?

At what point does desire transform into action?

You strive and aspire to grow beyond faction.

You’re looking for a buyer, spread of word, and some traction.

But lighting that fire is all but a fraction.

Passion is rarely all it’ll take

And effort can barely preserve what’s at stake.  

You need motivation to keep up the drive.

A little inspiration to keep it alive.

But nobody knows to ask you about You.

Your back burner still is kept hidden from view

Until someone wanders across what you do,

And asks you when they can get something new.

Can you really tell them how it’s all on hold?  

How you wish you were driven but you’ve never been bold.

How your last four projects were all but out sold

How you’re feeling your dream is just childish and old?…

Maybe their intrigue was all that you needed?

Your love for your work may not be conceded

Effort and energy may not be depleted

Take one hint of hope and be not defeated.

The World

I could show you the world.
But If I lose my legs,
Or don’t have the money,
Promise you won’t get bored..
Of me. 

Right now money’s a struggle.
I had two weeks off work,
But that last paycheck wasn’t double.
I can’t say I’m broke, but I’m fighting off injury.
‘Cus yesterday I woke, having slept through misery. 

It could always be worse,
But in cold days remorse,
I wish I had more money.

My brothers went skiing today.
I was invited along, my mom offered to pay,
But I’m trying to be a man, I can’t work that way.
Leave handouts for the needy, and food for the poor.
I don’t want to look greedy, but I ask God for more.

Because I could give you the world.
But if I lose my mind, and don’t have the money,
Promise you won’t get bored.

I dream so big, but doubt so much,
Like an old man’s wig, pulled out as such.
Do I work as hard as I should?
If the proverbial man could grow it again; he would.

But do I rely too much on faith?
Do I risk my dream just dying?
My future self is just a wraith.
To be him now, I’m trying.

Death to myself. My faith needs work.
I’ll buy breathe off the shelf, or just ask the clerk.
‘Cus some days it’s tough to breath.
It’s rough to think you might just leave.
Especially now that I let you believe…

I can show you the world.

If I’m a millionaire or hotter,
Or I pay my bills with air and water,
Know I need to know you’ll stay.
Stay here, the way fear lays near when you’re gone.
Now, don’t get me wrong.
I’ll give you my best and always put you first,
But laid down to rest when I’m dead at my worst…

…I long to show you the world.
But if I don’t have the money,
Promise you won’t get bored..
of Me. 


Let me in, I’ll close the door. I’ll pick your heart up off the floor. 

Show me your eyes, before everything dies, can we talk? Just a bit more?

The flowers on the porch have wilted, as the seams of your soul have split; like your heart did. 

Pour blood on the medicine. Dissolve it. Dissect our problem and solve it. 

You’re gaping with wounds but you’ve stitched up your lips.

Alcohol consumes what your mouth won’t slip. 

Please… Don’t make me leave you here.

You must believe… I understand your fear. 

I wrap your quilt around your shoulders, with my guilt on ash; it smolders. 

The flowers, wilted, lose their colors. Speak to me. 

I’m not afraid, of the reflection in your eyes, like you are. Let me see. 

I know you reflect on the lies that split us, far; you and me.

I’m sorry. 

Please… Don’t make me leave you here.

Believe… I never meant to be your fear. 

Kill me… I’ll shut my mouth so they won’t hear. 

Adrenaline Junky

I Dont Want to Be Afraid.

I’ve jumped off tall rocks and structures before. You stand on top with the water far below. A close friend, close beside.

The rock, the cliff, or bridge, the water… It’s daunting.

You both laugh, poke, pretend to shove one another over the edge like its all a big joke.

Oh, Don’t fall! 

You both know its not life or death, it’s only water. Nonetheless, its frightening.

Since neither of you wants to jump first, you both flirt. You flirt with the water. Sick to your stomach in anticipation. The sinking feeling as you fly with gravity. The flood waiting for you at the bottom. Fear.

Eventually the wind picks up, and it becomes apparent to you both; that you must either jump, or call it a day and go home.

On three, or one after the other, you both agree to take the fall.

Leaving the ground beneath you, only to have it soar over your head, is a panic. The air burns your skin, before the surface knocks the wind from you lungs, and the water is all too cold.

One of two things happens.



  • I look back up at the sky above me, only to realize, my friend has in fact; not jumped. They found another way down. I am alone.


  • Rising to the water’s surface, they are already swimming to shore. No remarks about the journey. My friend is gone. I am alone.



I bob up and down on the waves of impact, staring from a distance with confusion. The water feels so far up into my head, I can’t breath from my nose. I cough. The water is cold, my hands and feet are numb, swimming becomes difficult. I’m alone.

The trip back to shore is much longer than the jump, and the memory thereof aches longer than the climb.


I can only think to myself:

Why did I jump?

Why did I even climb up there in the first place?

Should I have known better?






To be clear; I don’t hate the fall, and the water is not always cold.

But that jump..

The jump will forever be the most difficult part, and hopefully, someday..

I will not be left drowning at the bottom, alone.

The Bleeding of My Babbling Heart


Never sent.


In the hand of my own worst enemy.


Don’t let her see them. Don’t let anyone see them. Please. 

With a smirk on his face, he holds them over the edge.

“I will drop them”. He says.

Rain upon the crowd, my thoughts, my emotions. Rain on the world my planned out speeches of romance and love, never to be heard. Never to be spoken.

Rain. The tears of my eyes. The storm in my heart.

Please, No. 

The world can’t even look up. Completely unaware. My entire mind, everything unspoken, written.


What if she finds them. Will she know they’re for her?


Still staring at me from the edge, His look hasn’t changed. He knows what is written. He has memorized every word. He has no way of knowing the passion behind them, but to him none of it makes any sense, anyways.

“I will drop them” He says once more.

The force inside me stops my breath short. The agony, the fire, the dread. The thought of trekking paths unknown.

Drop them. 

Go ahead. Let the world see. The core of my being. My soul cut open, served on a silver platter. Go ahead. Drop them.

Maybe she’ll understand. Maybe she’ll feel the same. Maybe she will be the first and only person to read the letters, and she will cherish them forever. Yes.

His face finally changes.

It is I.

Standing on the edge. Letters in hand. Sadistic smirk on my face. I look at myself, with a look of pleasure at my own discomfort, and  I once again cringe.

“I will drop them.”  I say.

No. Please no. 

My arms wrap around my head. Not far enough. This shell of a body covers, not enough of my being, as I long only for total seclusion.

Burry me alive.

Run my fingers through my hair. Turn in my sleep.


I have not written any letters.

But how dare I show her; whats written on my heart.

I stare myself down, standing on the edge, threatening myself.

“I’ll drop them”.

A sick joke.

Go ahead. Tell her. Spell it all out. Let the world know.


No human being ever understands.

Not her. Not you. Not me. Nobody.



If only it were all that easy.


I let them go.

Not an “about me” page.

When i awoke this morning, after the 9 hours of sleep which followed my Incredible Thanksgiving, I was depressed, and tired. My mind ached, and i was hungry (for more than just food).

I would explain what my Thanksgiving consisted of, and what all made it so spectacular, but that is irrelevant. All you need to know, is my Thanksgiving was an amazing day of great food and fellowship with my family and many friends. My thanksgiving ended with me in bed at 11:00pm feeling full of love and great food. I slept until 8:00am and woke up the the sun breaking through the curtains on my bedroom windows, with 3 more days free of work..

But, this morning I awoke to the sun, and my mind, to my surprise, went:

“…ggghhhaaaaaa…. why am i here?..”

And immediately I scolded myself like my mind was a spoiled child on the car ride home from Disneyland, on Christmas break. Like Yesterday was so amazing, and i have 3 days ahead of me with no homework, what could i possible be upset about?

To this hour, at 5:30pm, i have no idea what caused such discontentment.

I feel much better now though. Let me explain.

I woke depressed. I didn’t shower. I rolled downstairs and jumped on my computer. I grabbed a cookie from the day before, and I played videogames for 2 hours. Often times a bit of ‘relax and enjoy doing nothing’ is all i need to sorta lighten a bad mood, but this morning it didn’t help.

I shut my computer, and took a shower. I texted my mom about a pair of pants she wanted me to try on before she bought them, for me, for christmas. I put on my favorite pair of skinny jeans. I played my favorite music.

My mind went: “..ghhaaaa… why am i here?..”

I opted to visit my mom and sister, who took me out to lunch.

We stopped by the store. I tried on the clothes. I picked out the correct size. I watched my mom pay for them right then and there. We ate at cheap restaurant, and my mom bought me the most expensive meal on the menu. Her and my sister were all smiles. They were going shopping for the rest of the day, and had plans for a movie later in the evening.

I was welcome to come along.

My mind went: “…ghhaaaaaaaa……. why am i here?..”

I told them: “Im just really tired. Thanks, but no thanks”.

(Not a lie… not the full truth).

I left, to go home. I planned on sleeping the rest of the day away, and maybe playing some videogames again in the evening. So i drove away.


Here’s where my day began to turn around


I got half way home, playing some of my favorite somber songs.

One song in particular spoke to my soul..

*And I begin to envy the headlights driving south
I want to crack the door so I can just fall out
But then I remember when you packed my car
You reached in the back and buckled up your heart

For me to drive away with
I began to understand
Why God died

Following that verse, is a happy little drum beat, alongside a sad little melody..  my heart burned.

I bobbed my head, turned it up, and started the song over from the beginning.. because who am I, and how dare I?

Who am I to ask: “Why am I here”?

This day is not an ‘About Me’ Page. No day, is an ‘About Me’ Page.

The right turn was towards home, but I turned left.

I ran to the grocery store on a whim and spent a little money on some minor grocery items I was in need of. My laptop was in my car, so I made the conscious decision; after the grocery store I was going to stop by the library and write in my book. Today needed something productive. Today needed something more than just me.

As i left the grocery store.. i stopped my car in the middle of the lane, at the sight of a middle aged mexican man. He was obese, and struggled to walk. He was loading groceries in his tiny little ghetto car. There was an elderly woman riding shotgun, and an eight foot 2×4 sticking out the back window. This man had his calloused legs wrapped, and was apparently Ill beyond his obesity. Yet, somehow, all things considered, this man seemed entirely content with his life and well being.

So, stepping from my car, I approached this man. I handed him a twenty dollar bill. Shook his hand, wished him a great holiday season, and told him God Bless.

I got back in my car and drove away before he could say anything more than: “Thank you, you too”.

Driving away, I smiled.

You reached in the back and buckled up your heart
For me to drive away with
I began to understand
Why God died

Life is not an ‘About Me’ page.

I worked on my book for an hour and a half at the local library. I wrote the first two pages of chapter 11, and felt like i really accomplished something for the day.

As I walked toward the front door of the library, on my way out, I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a five dollar bill. It belonged in my man purse, not in my pocket. I would surely lose it.

I did not, for one second, hesitate.

Without stopping for a moment, I dropped the five dollars in the lap of an unsuspecting young man sitting in a chair on the edge of the hallway. I didn’t lock eye contact. I didn’t tell him my name. I didn’t look back. I had headphones in, so I didn’t listen.

I didn’t want to hear “thank you”. I didnt want to hear “come back”.

I walked out without a word, and this young man is now five dollars richer, and I’m glad.

Love is not an ‘About Me’ page.

Ultimately, this day has brought me here. I am home, 25 dollars short, and I couldn’t be more happy, with 25 dollars spent. 

Because what is life, if lived only for ones self?

It is certainly not a life, full.

It is certainly not love.

So to that, there is no About Me page.

This blog is about you.

**twenty øne piløts – A Car, A Torch, A Death