Thirty Thousand Stories

I tell thirty thousand stories; on facebook, have three hundred friends.

I have a whole load of experience with less-than-ideal ends.

I've known that I can't stay here, and sometimes that knowledge burns,

But I sooth it knowing you're a friend worth leaving on good terms.

First I Was Angry, and Then I Was Hungry

I thought I would feel empty when you left me,

But first I was angry, and then I was hungry,

Which sure sounds like myself in my entirety.

There were no torrents of a downpour when you left me,

Not even a drop while I was in the library.

The skies stayed intact, and held their height, too.

The clouds parted a little, enough to see the moon,

and I known you'd someday leave me, though what could I do?

What hurt most, is why gloat without you?

In It From the Start

Whether you're in it from start

'Til death do you part

To watch a love story

Turn into shared misery,

Or if you've compromised your religion,

Or if you're in a living situation

That defies your learned conventions

Or if it's not really living, or life,

But just one little death on one little night,

Or if you're out of patience,

Up for anything but waiting...

I've found there's no morality in mating.

My Brand of Nostalgia

I rarely share the memories I'm celebrating.

My brand of nostalgia can at times be quite degrading,

Like the time my friends thought I broke my hand masturbating,

and what happened after that conversation went south.

Sarcasm's sweet blood still tastes in the back of my mouth.

So before you start throwing around buzzwords like “verbal violence”

Remember that I chose these friends, who'd be sooner wrong than silent.

Negative First Impressions

Sometimes, by happenstance
You might meet someone who never had a chance
To impress you
Because someone else told you something that distressed you.

Friends' evidence
Is an inevitable influence,
But meeting someone
Doesn't at least complicate your opinion,
You're a negligent human being.

700 Channels of Testimonials Can't Be Wrong!(?)

I have been freely offered a widescreen view

Into a thousand-watt world of distractions.

I have cast my eyes upon that blinding, ersatz god.

It's been hard work re-dirtying the vision it washed out.

I have peered into a world of plywood palaces,

A world of miniature magic

Where they tell the same stories about nothing

Over and over again.

I have seen millions crane their necks to watch

A world full of the same stories

The rest of live in our real lives,

Only full of useless, decorative people,

Though I suppose it might look pretty in the right light.

The Perfect Song

Tastes change, ever so slowly,

But not so with life, or minds.

I can never find the perfect song.

It's always just out of reach.

As a DJ, I'm always one moment behind.

I can never find the perfect song,

But I know that it's out there.

I've heard it before.

Pushed into this desire by the last,

I can never find the perfect song,

But even if it's not in my collection,

I have it in the back of my mind.

There Is No

The Universe is an extravagant indian-giver,

Taking half-measures to be generous,

Always giving hints,

But stingy with the secrets.

There is no match for love as a sharp and glinting thing,

Which inspires the most light-headed high-mindedness

From those who do not know

That it will soon cut them low.

There is no mood more dangerous than piety,

Which has the arrogance to wage war and famine

Upon the mostly-innocent.

It hardly seems heaven-sent.

There is no emotion more beautiful than dread,

Which causes me to treasure every moment,

Whatever my motive,

However painful their leaving.

There is nothing in this world more pervasive than irony,

Which seems never to go unremarked

Unless it goes unseen.

It will always and never simply be.

The Advice I Hope They Give Me Every Time I Graduate, Pt. 1

I miss the people I used to know,

But not enough to miss those present.

I miss the places I used to go,

But I will probably never go back.

I am sorry for the mistakes I made,

But not so sorry that I won't make twice as many more.

I do not want to dry up.

I do not want to die.

I just want to learn to live right.

In This Ironic World

Every youthful mistake I made in this ironic world,

Which I recognized and was unprepared for,

Was because I wanted too much and did not strive for more,

Because I was too focused on myself, and not introspective enough,

Because I was too focused on strength to be tough,

But someday, every old man's mistake that I will make

Will be because I was unwilling or unprepared to take

The risk of being youthful.

Pinwheel

You glisten in the summer sun,

But I kept you in the dark too much, for too long.

You go where the wind blows,

But you stayed while I held you.

To know you is multifaceted,

A simple pleasure.

You are my pinwheel,

An acquaintance of childhood

I had to become a man to appreciate.

One Apology, Sincere, Hold the Repentance

I'm sorry for what I did, whatever that might be.

I'm sorry for the way I talk, the way I made you feel.

I'm sorry for being me,

Though I'm glad as hell of it most of the time.

I'm sorry I rhyme,

and I admit that it's unlikely that I'll ever want to change,

But I am sorry just the same.

Of a Song Last Heard Ten Years Ago

It is an anthem for a life I'd hate to live,
Curmudgeon that I am.
It was never relevant to my life,
Divergent before I even chose a direction.

Its rhymes are slanted, stunted and cliched,
All at the same time.
It was an uninspired track,
Outmoded before it even dropped.

It has taken up residence in my head,
and I haven't a thought of evicting it.

I Was Born Without

It seems that I was born without a fear of being late.

I put my whole soul into it when I procrastinate.

I started waiting just in time, for I could take no more,

and just in time, I've been reminded what I'm working for.

Blue-Gray

It's too early tell the blue-gray clouds from the blue-gray sky,

Though I keep asking how, because I can't ask why.

To throw away this day, this life-crumb, would be rude

So I'll contain myself to saying it's too bad it fits my mood.

Punctuated

Deconstructionists reduce life to a matrix of routines,

But life's punctuated by events and things we've never seen.

Some deeds are rites of passage, spoken of in reverent tones,

While words of others are only hushed because they're dirty jokes.

There must be a trillion things to do that I have never tried,

Because I found a dozen things on which I've since relied.

Thank You

I've said “thank you” for life in so many ways

Over ten thousand, one hundred forty-six days.

I've said “thanks” with my fists and my feet

When I walk the earth, when I fight and compete.

I say “thanks” with my mouth and my head,

Turning out words enough to draw nods from the dead.

I've said “thanks” with my stomach and my knees

When I examine things closely, or make them part of me.

I say “thanks” with unquenchable eyes

When I run them aggressively over the skies.

I wonder why I can say “thanks” with all my parts

Except my heart.