What I Miss

What I Miss 

Its an odd thing 
to miss 
but I miss flying down
from my travels 
and have that exhilarating rush 
in my heart. 

I am a lucky one. 

I am young to this world 
but I've already done so much. 

I've gone to the bottom of the ocean 
swimming among pirate ships 
and encountering creatures 
that will never taste 
the fresh taste of air. 

I've gone to the rim of Lost Worlds 
and see animals unknown to our world problems 
live their lives in herds 
in prides 
and play in the circle of life. 

I've gone to isolated stretches 
of deep rain forests 
and lived in the brief shoes 
tribes men that until recently 
learned what English even sounded like. 

I've met celebrities on whims 
and talented souls 
that continue to inspire me 
to pursue my own passions.  

I have dug into the Earth 
and pulled out the remains 
of titans and beings 
that nothing existing has seen. 

I've created worlds and creatures
and some of them 
achieve life amongst the very things
that inspired them. 

I've battled my own demons 
in ways that some can relate 
while many 
many can not. 

With all of that.

With all I've done in a measly 
twenty three years. 

I miss those flights on planes 
when I was touching down somewhere 
knowing it to be "home" 
and that at the terminal. 

There was someone there. 

Someone with big eyes. 
Someone with a smile. 

Someone with an embrace for me. 

Just for me. 

And it is then that I am humbled. 

Because despite all that I've done. 
She would remind me 
that there will always be more to the world 
for us to explore. 

I miss that feeling.

A Wall

A Wall 

Sometimes it feels like a wall 
or a missing line that I do not know. 


The worst thing is that its starting to act up 
quite monstrously again. 

The more I feel like I'm behind a wall 
the more the wall becomes a prison 
and I know I am the one that put me there 
but not becomes I'm a villain. 

But if I stay behind that wall enough 
I start to think I am. 

While on the other side of the wall
I can feel free and ready to fly 
but then I notice my feathers aren't as pretty 
as the other fliers. 

My isolation behind the wall 
makes it harder for me to connect 
and then I wish I was behind the comfort of the wall 
and I desperately try and get behind it. 

And when I do 
the cycle begins all over again. 

And in my age, I now just wish 
for a life of in-between 

and not one that is so white and black. 

Hurricane

Hurricane 

Its odd to think how long ago that was 
but really it was just a blink of an eye. 

The memories of that week 
only come to me when someone 
says "Hurricane" 

I read about it in a comic 
and it made me laugh. 

Honestly, my memories of our love 
are starting to fade from feelings 
to just well
memories. 

I still remember the bad ones, 
but I do my best to remember the good ones. 

The drives around the City of Music 
the lazy afternoons in your room studying 
the cold nights on the beach when a new year would toll. 

Most of all, 
I remember that weekend 
when we tried to fix what we lost. 

If only I had known the truth 
and wasn't so focused on how much it hurt 
I sometimes wonder if you would still be 
that small but big thing in my life. 

Our love was like a hurricane, 
the farther apart we were 
the most destructive we got. 

But in the center of that chaos, 
it was always peaceful with a chance of rain. 

But like most hurricanes, 
these memories are seasonal and eventually fade. 

Their presence only remembered in stories 
and old dusty pictures 
hidden away. 

Sometimes....

Sometimes...

I wish it was caused by substance. 

I wish it caused by the drink. 
Or the music. 
Or all the pleasurable things 
that a man can do 
to cause him his erratics.  

But in truth 
I am not like most men. 

Some call it a gift, 
I know I do at times 
but at other times its a curse 
to know for sure 
that it is your faults at play. 

Triggered by the simplest things. 

A messaged unanswered. 

A voice not spoken. 

Distant faces in a crowd. 

The feeling that a wall that everyone but I 
can penetrate. 

A word or a memory 
that carries the scares 
that were at the cause of self-discovery. 

People say they can listen 
but I can tell its hard. 

No one really wants to hear internal suffering, 
to see the monsters and open scares of the mind 
hidden at first behind warm smiles,  
for it is the hardest to relate. 

And at our age 
no one can handle the truth 
that this world is a lot darker 
than I like to say it is.