When they were high, I was done

I've created for you an illusion. so clear to me and sureal enough to make you cry. I've cleared it up for you, babe. Added a secret, to paint it romantic. I didnt bother to sign my name. How was it you said you could relate? you'll never understand this. You'll never comprehend my fucking meaning. this is MY story, my vanity, you'll never understand that, that day was the last day. I'm done, and only once since. ok maybe twice, and I've been looking for them every since. I gave up on the lifestyle, it wasnt giving me answers, went off to find them in a different group of smoke, or clouds, or where ever else they might be. Exhaled and bruised. He swore he'd give it up soon, she swore she'd never go home. I've got a head so full of worry, and nothing else, no smoke, no anger, no toast to freedom. How the fuck do i prove this to you? you can never relate to what I felt then, printed, labeled, permanately branded, the dirty brand. I offended something I worshiped with something I had to get out. So, now I'm left here, still looking, head down skin burning. Im writing the most important thoughts of my life. and YOU want rymes with no sense, you want pure, straight meaning. Im stuck...

Woke up in the middle of the night and wrote this 6 days before the hurricane hit. Michelle was in Florida & the dream was about water, creepy...

I don’t want the feeling in my mouth any different then now. And im afraid of tall and dark. And somethings wrong with noah. And im dreaming strange dreams about michelle and all of it. Im scared of what I always forget when I wake up. And it feels like morning. 12:41 am. I like james here. And the taste in my mouth has never been so perfect. But im scared of something.

packing paradise in used boxes

I realized today- While cataloging all my old shit- How powerful punctuation can make shit words sound- How loud each sentence sounded in my head as I read back the poetry that I had taken the time to punctuate- Opening a screen door I realized it isn’t everyone else’s fault- And I want to hate Alicia so damn bad- And I’m probably not crazy- Because I think I am- I’m thinking twice about my plans- While I’m tearing down and sorting through art I call beautiful- Probably because I made most of it and I’m to proud to title myself anything short of an artist- Uncovering shit walls I have to pay for later- And clean up myself- And there’s so many metaphors in that- That is something I’d like to put into real words- I’m thinking about how I’m not as brilliant as I thought I was- When my knowledge is in the art of the English language- And even though I can sing in Spanish and German- I cant put my words into any other language- Outside of English composition about all I can do is rhyme- I realized a long time ago I cant rhyme for shit anyway- And in so many ways my knowledge is only skin deep- If I translated everything I’ve already written it would be backwards- It wouldn’t make any sense- Because I’m only responsive to one language- And I make it shit anyways- So what makes me think it’ll be beautiful to anyone worldly? When literally translated my words are just a bunch of transition and curse words thrown together - and the nouns are left out because I spell strange for effect or the words only exist in my mind- I guess it’s alright for my temporary state of mind- But I want more- I want culture- I want to be heard but not completely understood- I want it to stay mysterious but still sound beautiful when read out loud in every romance language- Maybe even Japanese someday- But I’m to sparatic for a haiku that could possibly mean anything to anyone,- even me

ALICIA

Pulling back the lines and layers. Of everyone else’s insecurities. I’ve been waiting to tell you this… About all our awkwardness. A philosophy worth remembering. It makes me sick to not think when I’m alone. I’m telling you… So now I’m talking to myself. An alternate ego. Or more imitation ego. Maybe. About something I forgot to remember. Lying in bed. Thinking about everyone but me who needs fixed. Even if its just to fix me. Im only talking to myself. You laying there. Thinking back to me and through me. Im stuck on whats around us. More outside than in. Then I think, at least I made a note of that. But its not what I need. -Make some ignorance. maybe a stiff drink and some clippers. A blue pen and a post it note. To remind myself. At least, I made a note of that…