Driven Mad

Driving me mad

These words I’m given

The heartbeats I fathom

The depths I’ve written

Death comes to me on swift wings

On the sweats of nightmares

And between the lips of my beloved

Fantasy she is, reality we may be

A million dreams till we see that day

All sorts of emotions wrung from the daylight

Anger at the mass media circus

Repulsion at those who follow them

Sadness at being autistic and helpless

To ever discovering how the world sees me

I’m always thinking, and then overthinking

Wondering how to solve these problems

The answer is there, if only we looked

Sometimes I can find them

Other times I can’t

But every time I write it

These words give weight to my breath

Color to my blood

And wings to my wishes

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What Does It Mean

I want to be friends

But I’m a terrible friend

I reply

But what does it mean to reply?

Is it simply agreeing

Or following the hints at a greater point?

I don’t know

I want to be loved

But I’m a terrible lover

I love

But I honestly can’t explain the feeling

And I dunno if anyone’s ever loved me back

Is it actions? Is it words? Both? None?

I don’t know

Feeling Human Again

Police lights flash in my windows

Rain bears down on freshly cut grass

Paved streets glisten on this Sunday night

Sunday night

Where I play air soft for for hours with friends

Getting shot for fun is fun

Only it’s hella serious

And once you enter you can’t leave

At least that’s how I approach it

Caution mixed with reckless abandon

I’m the man of the arena, and I light it up

(Okay. I don’t. I get shot. A lot)

But quickening reflexes and endurance

Sweat stirs the insides of men

And I embrace the passion and persistence

It gets my mind off my failures for a little

Being too this, too shy to make true friends

Too introverted to become memorable

Too autistic to know if people really care

I can’t read anyone anywhere

But every pull of the trigger, I make it feel pain

The pain it brings me

And I let it loose

Even for a few hours

I feel like I’m human again

Back To The Drawing Board

Back to the drawing board

‘Ol drawing board

Where I pour out all my issues and emotions

One of the few things to which I show devotion

One line, two lines, ten lines, it’s quite a potion

Next moment I’ve lost track of three hours

They’re screaming at me three times louder

I can hear them from the basement shower

And echo from the hilltop tower

I can hear the raining in my head, and my eyes

Are like windows left open in the summer

The tears pour from the inside, paper not dry

Every single drop is a little wish of goodbye

Every single ruined page is another lie

That you discover

I’m not unlike any other

Fuck!

It hurts, the cyclones, hurricanes in my head

Beating the inside till I’m speechless and numb

But the fatal flaws are hardly awake but livid

And they seek out my innocence, want it dead

These words are a plea for help from it all

I can’t catch myself, so I just might fall

Suicide Missions

I travel through the darkness

To find the orphan child

The ones who don’t know they’re alive

Zombies they might be, but I know

What they can be

I used to be dead, just doing enough to get by

Just doing whatever they told me

I wanted to get it done, so I rushed through it

I dreamt of a perfect imperfection

Imperfect practice molded perfect pretending

Until I decided I wasn’t going to ride the wave

But be the catalyst

Now I don’t write but am written

No longer just reading but being read

Not a lover but being loved

There is a solemn liberation in silence

You have to be okay with being secluded

But once you let the whispers guide you

And the night terrors heighten your tolerance

You can see everything you need to know

Now the shouting doesn’t scare me

And I can run into the burning buildings

Save the ones I was meant to support

I’m coming for you

And then

I’m coming home

Scars From History We Don’t Teach

Razors are annoying

Cutting too much

Too little

Scarring the face, lost in the race

To achieve something

Four ugly scars on one side

Two on the other

It’s quite shameful

What could they say? Nothing?

Or everything?

The in between is the disaster

Politics are annoying

Cutting out too much of the poor

Cutting in too many rich

Scarring the face of the nation

Lost in the race for supremacy

We’ve become supremely decadent

Scars for the aborted, scars for the forgotten

Scars from the history we don’t teach

Song of the Year

The song of the year

Would be tears

Would be what could’ve been

And wasn’t done

The record of the year

Was that we care

Was that we’re equal

Even though some want walls

The artist of the year

Was everyone

Played for fools

Paying premium prices

For what the previous seller sold at half price

You know who I mean

He inspired many

A people

Now that’s gone

And the season of senseless silencing of black lives

Rolls on

Neither Writing Nor Rioting

Stop

I’m talking to you

Yes, the one who hasn’t said a word

Who hasn’t raised his hand

Hardly given the teacher a glance

No, he’s not here. Not ever.

He’s writing to a girl he hopes to meet

From Ohio. Wisconsin. Or Massachusetts.

Dreaming of a wonderful life together.

Frolicking in the snow, and the passion

Between keeps them warm

He’s rioting on the steps of City Hall

Tears in his eyes he asks for justice

True justice, a calling not for more action

But in silence

Hear the angels in still whispers

And in heaven’s lights take back the night

He wants to see his people free

He’s neither writing nor rioting

Sitting nor standing

Just being himself

Just being

A little loud at times

Too shy for others

But the goal is real

And the passion unlike another

Good Job, Humanity

Who thought cranes were a good idea?

I mean, seriously

Putting one guy

On the top of a thin tower of metal

Taller than some buildings often times

To battle storms

Wind or rain

This isn’t progress, it’s lunacy

But hey, what about highways?

Oh yeah, it’s so cool that so many

Go over large bodies of water

And they’re made out of concrete

Suspended by ropes or wires

Yes, ropes or wires

I’m laughing so hard my stomach muscles

Just announced retirement

Speaking of that, how about football players

Since when did humans have thick skulls

To protect our brains from vicious collisions

Like rhinos or species of dinosaur

CTE just might rhyme with money

But increases in retirees does not

I Don’t Like Listening

I don’t like listening

At least not to you

The same ‘ok news, the same ‘ol

Breaking, boring news

It’s excruciating to bear

Pretending I care about celebrities

I couldn’t care less, whether they gained

Or lost

But their lives are pushed on me as real

Images barraged upon souls as if they were gods

They are mortals, no greater or less than I

So why aren’t people mimicking my wardrobe

Or getting tattoos of my name?

I haven’t sold out yet? No mixtape?

No record breaking single about gold chains?

No leaked sex tapes? No album cover

Adorned with spread legs and whiskey bottles?

I don’t have a crew of white fuckboys

Posting daily cringe videos on YouTube

There’s a lot of things I’m not

And a conformist is one of them

Standing on the outside of your inside

Is a life goal of mine

And might be the only thing I’ve ever done

That I was proud of