|January 7, 2012
|Gotta friend who misses his ex.|
Gotta friend addicted to sex.
Gotta friend trying his best.
Gotta friend whoís a real mess.
Gotta lotta friends into art
Gotta lotta friends who drive fast cars.
Gotta lotta friends with a lotta problems.
Gotta lotta friends whoíll never solve them.
|January 6, 2012
|The last time I saw you,|
you were so afraid
of what was coming next.
I hope everything
is working out.
|The trains hums past|
and everyone covers their
or they ignore that itís there.
and exit it, and the train
forgets who was there to begin with.
State Street is busy with
the noise of the homeless shaking their change cups
and people talking too loud on
their cell-phones to ignore them.
A guy asks me if I smoke
weed and I deny the offer
because I couldnít afford it
even if I did smoke weed.
Thereís a sign on every street corner
ď3,000 people in Chicago get hit by cars every yearĒ
and some days
I wish I was one of them.
But most days
watching couples holding hands at
the ice-rink in Millennium Park
3,000 people will get
hit by cars in Chicago this year.
The train will still hum
and the homeless are still freezing.
|January 4, 2012
|The windchill drops|
outside of my apartment,
while everything inside of it shakes
because my upstairs neighbor
loves pop songs and what I assume
But tonight all sheís playing
are the sad songs from
I can hear her above my head
|January 3, 2012
|Itís weird where life takes you.|
Even now Iím in my living room
watch romantic comedies
and I know itís going to leave me
with that lonely sad-shit feeling
in my stomach,
like when I look at old pictures
of my friends and I.
It bums me out
because things arenít the same
The only thing thatís the same
is that everything will always change
day after day.
|A Poem for Dan II
|Thereís something fucking sad|
about a world where
Daniel Shular gets robbed,
and I canít ride the red-line
or walk anywhere alone.
|January 1, 2012
|This past year|
had a lot of bull-shit and bad weather,
So I slept past noon most days
and forgot about my GPA.
My friends and I were ghosts
and late-night diners.
I read a lot of Ginsburg
and watched a lot of Garden State.
The local Hardeeís burnt down,
and thereís a metaphor there, I think.
I found a bouquet at my doorstep.
Thereís a metaphor there, I think.
Iím not really sure what I think anymore.
|Do you ever get nervous|
and start to think to yourself
"What if I wake up and everyone who
ever loved me, doesn't love me
and you tell yourself
"Well, they won't do that
because they love me." but
I remember when I thought I
loved you. Then I didn't.
Then I left. Jesus Christ, I hope
that I'm the only person
like me in the world.
I don't think our hearts could take
it if someone else was
as anxious and moody as me.
I'm too afraid
to sleep anymore, because
I'm afraid I'll wake up
|I'm Gonna Be on MTV Mama
|I used to buy flowers for girls. |
then, theyíd sit on a window sill or next a bed for a week.
then theyíd die.
I used to paint pictures for girls.
then, theyíd hang on a wall or lean against a shelf
then, theyíd collect dust and fall.
I used to have a panic attack daily.
I used to believe in ghosts.
Now, I write things down
and the words still mean something.
Now, I sleep less and talk more
and I fall in love.
Now, I reach out and get burnt
but then I try again.
Iím a lot happier now.
I still get sad, but it comes and goes.
Iím learning to love people.
Even those who hate me (and I think thereís a lot.)
And it doesnít make a difference in the world.
|This morning, I looked out the window and saw death, death, and more death.|
I closed my blinds and went back to bed
|Special CIA Napkin.
|iím losing my mind piece|
by piece. everythingís
coming undone, everything is slipping
out of hand. i am tired, i am lonely,
i am afraid, and
i am nothing like my mother hoped.
i guess itís true.
some things just
catch up to
|Did you ever hear that if you put your ear to a sea shell|
youíd hear the ocean? Well, I put my ear to a conch my mom brought
home from her dozenth trip to Florida (God, I hope she moves there someday.)
and all I heard was the fluids in my ear and brain. I listened closer
and still heard nothing. Admittedly, I went in skeptically so maybe the faith wasnít there. i guess if you believe in something enough itíll come
true. maybe. Did you ever hear if you step on a crack youíll break your
motherís back? And when you were angry at your mother did you ever stomp
on a crack in hopes of snapping her spine? I hope I wasnít the only one. Iím glad I didnít believe in that enough for it to happen. And do you ever want something
so much that it hurts? Itís something you write in your notebooks every
day. Itís something you think about at night while you wait to sleep. Itís something youíd sell your left hand for.
but it never
Maybe the faith isnít there.
Maybe Iím not believing hard enough.
Then I remember Thomas.
He lived, traveled, and ate with Christ. Yet,
he still doubted the resurrection.
I am Thomas.
Show me the holes in the hands
and Iíll show you some faith.
Is this a test?
I was never good at these sorts of things.
|Itís dark too early this time of year.|
My fingers hurt too much to write anymore,
but if I donít write how I feel
I swear to God Iíll lose my mind
again (and itís something thatís really hard to find)
and that has never worked well for me.
Iím in the passenger seat of Ryanís car
listening to the ďonly good Milencolin songĒ
and itís not that good to begin with.
We start talking about how
some people I know werenít so good to me.
And they werenít so good to Jerry or Ryan.
Bukowski once said
ďPeople are not good to each other.
I donít ask them to be,
but sometimes I think about it.Ē
And right now,
Iím thinking about it.
My heart feels nervous.
And Iím unsure who to love