Phantoms

Phantoms 

I think it's ironic 

But probably fitting 

That our best time together 

Our little secret date to the zoo 

Introduced me to the planet of mists 

And the phantoms that lurked 

On that alien world. 

You smiled at me 

So beautifully as I was so intensely 

Interested in this tale

Of a world of mystery and magic 

That sadly in a universe of 

Non-believers 

Has it's mystical truth 

Evolve to a hallowed 

And sad truth 

That ghost stories 

Are simply ghost stories. 

And the sadder truth 

The truth that you and his face 

Say to me as I gaze in the cold 

At an iPhone screen....

Is I am to you a ghost story 

A haunting chill that sometimes 

Flutters in your chest 

and his touch makes you safe. 

I don't like feeling like a Spector 

But I think to a lot 

I am this ghost 

Simply a black and white photo 

Dulled to a faded grey 

Because of a dusty attic. 

Because that story told me 

That when you are a phantom 

That haunts but inspires. 

But as I think about the drive back 

From the zoo 

And the love that was blurring 

I realize that the feeling we felt 

Didn't truly exists. 

And it like the alien phantoms 

Ended up debunked 

And forgotten 

To all but the ones that remember 

That wants to believe 

In the impossible. 

Maybe some day 

My story will be told 

As if I was alive 

But till I can figure out a way to tell it 

I will live in this windowed limbo 

And watch you and him 

Simply forget 

The phantom that you onced believed 

The Difference of Joy

The Diference of Joy 

Features two concepts 

That the brain can release 

To relieve the worst of emotions. 

Fear, hatred, and loneliness fade 

As the good feelings pour into your 

Husk of a body 

And allow one to bloom.

Happy though 

Is an emotion brought by the self 

Where only your being 

Your mind

Creates the emotional drug 

Of good feelings that 

Hold or neutralize 

The self hating wounds 

One can give them self. 

Being glad though 

I feel is a more human 

More special feeling. 

For the emotion that haunts humanity 

Is the fear 

The emotion 

Of loneliness. 

Our social DNA needs 

Craves the thought 

Of being glad 

Because being glad 

Means that someone is 

Dosing you with happiness 

That can last longer 

Help you find your own happiness 

And if it reflects 

That is double the joy. 

I mean

This is what I tell myself 

Since honestly meeting you 

Has been something 

That makes me feel both 

As you try not to show that way 

You smile at me. 

Right Now

Right Now 

I sit in cold 

In the shadow of a building 

That shows the finer things of life 

Reflecting about what has happened 

What is happening

And what could happen. 

I smile to the beat 

Of being hooked on a feeling

And hope things go well. 

I miss her. 

I am falling for another her. 

I think of that one. 

I realize here on this block 

I am so young 

As well as old. 

I am this fluxing present 

An egnima to the worlds around me. 

I keep having dreams of your blonde hair and coral lips. 

Nothing that is sexual 

Just being happy with you 

As I learn to accept 

The ghosts of the others 

That dwell in my heart. 

Everyday seems to be another day 

That a part of me peels off 

To reveal some new side of me 

That I try to live with. 

Right now

I think things are changing 

And soon 

Very soon

I will be the one that will be given the 

Choice 

The burden 

The responsibility 

Of making a few choices 

Life altering choices 

A reality. 

With a smile 

And a shiver in the cold 

I look at the starless 

Polluted skies of Korea 

Knowing that above the haze 

There are stars aligning 

Just for me. 

Icicles

Icicles

.....are like heartbreak. 
They can happen over night 
usually in the coldest of winds 
but in the daylight they can shimmer 
and shine like diamonds. 

But over time the can melt away 
or worse fall straight down 
and pierce you through. 

And by the time spring nestles down next to you 
the sharp and cold pain 
has melted away, 
leaving only the hole
of where your heart 
once was. 

Seat

Seat 

Even though you've stated 
you don't want to sit next to me 
a few dozen times
I like that you do 
when we are in the room
watching things on screens 
and laughing. 

I find it difficult though
to come up with a reason 
to try and look at you, 
just so I can see you smile
at your favorite things
because having you around 
makes me see better. 

Smirk

Smirk

I find it a bit problematic 
that she inspires me, 
whenever the quiver of that smirk 
stirs in my body 
I reach for the keyboard 
and wish to try and write
a masterpiece poem 
that captures the swirl of emotions 
I feel for her. 

But like all things 
that whisper the muse of creation 
the feelings of reserving myself 
do tend to drive me into madness
as I stand in front of her 
in the borders of wanting to take a step back 
or a few steps closer 
and get a proper look 
at that god damn smirk. 

Smudges on Glass

Smudges on Glass

Behind the cracks
and the smudges 
left by a broken heart 
I can see you. 

Well, 
I think I see you. 
I like to say 
that I can see you. 
But even when one goes to look 
at something wild and beautiful 
behind glass 
you don't know what she is really thinking. 

Quite literally I came through the door
and into your life 
as you welcomed yourself
into mine. 

We had people 
we still have people 
more or less 
but I can't get you out of my mind. 

I don't know what it is, 
and why I have so much compassion 
for the soul behind the glass. 

You drift in and out of view 
and always seemed to be running
trying to break free 
the shackles of your past. 

I sit in my quite bed
and think you are just up those stairs
alone in your room 
with only the light of a screened window 
to comfort you 
with homely faces 
and past dreams. 

I wish I knew 
if I simply have a crush 
because I can only touch the glass 
and not the true beauty that lies 
on the other side. 

A longing for those coral lips, 
eyes of a vast and starry sky 
and tangles of hair that 
weave your delicate features 
into honest and true beauty. 

I try 
I try and keep cool
but when I do slip in 
behind the glass 
and hold you close 

I get lost in you 
its an interesting sensation 
as I feel with each blind 
but passionate kiss 
the decade that is behind you 
and the decade that is still ahead for me. 

I mean 
I wasn't lying 
that it wasn't the physical beauty 
that you have been perfected with, 
but its your almost unbearable personality. 

But I like it. 
I like the worst and best of you. 
Because isn't that what being a human, 
being real, 
having your struggles
your god-awful thoughts 
your laugh 
your smile, 
is all about? 

I think its the way you look at me 
before we lean in 
and it makes me feel 
well 
giddy? 

I have no clue how you are really looking at me 
you say its nothing 
but I've seen you look 
at others and I don't see those 
happy but weary sorrowed eyes
just the dash of intoxication 
and looking for the quick fix 
to the daylight troubles.

Maybe I just look for it 
and mistake my own reflection of longing 
from the glass walls 
you stay behind. 

I look at the days now with slight dread
because I can see things packing up 
and you moving away 
from display
and most likely for me 
to never see you again. 

It makes my heart ache. 
Is it the fear of having a friend go away 
when it is in a sense 
partially my fault 
for having my heart in the right place?

Because the I think 
the happiest moment 
from the other night 
was cleaning your lipstick smudges 
and finding your smile under them. 

That wonderful smile 
that for the briefest of moments 
let us break through the glass wall
and touch the feelings 
we know in the sobering light of day  
we can not feel. 

Little Black Bird

Little Black Bird 

Little black bird 
little black bird
why did you have to fly over me? 

Little black bird 
little black bird 
why do you follow me so? 

Little black bird 
little black bird 
why must you let your black feathers 
fall onto my already troubled heart 

little black bird 
why do you peck at the good 
that tries to worm its way out 
and with those doll eyes 

remind me of all the pain 
all the hurt 
that I have caused to myself 
that I have caused to others

Why does your caw 
remind me that you,
little black bird, 
make me feel regret? 

Why do you make me feel 
that even though I am alive 
you and your flock 
have turned to be vultures 

as I struggle to fill my thirst 
with thrown away empty bottles 
hoping that some message of hope 
will quench the thirst 
that I'll be okay 

Temptation

Temptation 

Your choice of choosing 
the easy way 
makes my wires 
send the wrong signals 
that if I write it 
I will be inspired 
to find my easy way too. 

But unlike you 
who gave into temptation 
I will fight 
because others matter to me
and there is still 
so much to do. 

I Think Its Love -A Dark Comedy-

I Think Its Love -A Dark Comedy-

I think its love
or at least some kind of love

because honestly 
half the time I don't know 
to either hold you
and whisper sweet nothings 

or to just throw you into on going traffic. 

The Vivid Red Line

The Vivid Red Line 

I had 
for the oddest of reasons 
a most vivid dreamscape 
that was all about 
you
and 
I. 

How long has it been 
that your grace, 
those wild fire eyes, 
and the laugh that 
is in the borders 
of merriment and struggle; 
echo deep into my 
dormant and cold veins. 

It wasn't a dream 
that rode on a brief 
but sensual desire 
for the primal flesh 
of what two becoming one. 

It was a re-meeting 
after all these years. 
A rekindling to a flame that 
was believed to have been extinguished long ago 
from the pale moonlight 
of a now distant beach 
all those memories ago. 

You were as stubborn as always
being the damn cat that you are
as you and I ventured 
in our ethereal bodies. 
We talked about the trails 
of life as we kindred warning label children 
try and accept our shocking anxieties 
and almost limiting depressions. 

Your parents suddenly made a scene 
where they smiled at me 
and winked at you 
which made you freak 
and you stole my hat. 

Of all the things 
a dream could turn to be 
it had to mirror our first true meeting 
and how you stole my hat 
which lead me to share my heart. 

As morning started to stir my body to motion 
the world started to end as the vision began to turn 
that you and I were going out into the world beyond 
that lucid house, 
but first we watched a movie 
of science fiction fancy 
sneaking our bodies 
to find each other
 like long lost lovers, 
tracing the scars that have seared into our souls 
since our last kiss. 

Your last words 
as we prepared to meet up with our friends 
was simply holding my hand and smiling 
"The cat wishes to play, and hopes that her dinosaur will join." 

The dreamy words echoed in my head 
as I hurried to be dress 
for another day's labor 
as a teacher of youth 
in a land so far away from her. 

The phrase pleasantly haunted me 
as memories of our time slowly came back 
and I totally couldn't believe 
I honestly forgot 
about that image of a cat and dinosaur 
that is forever entombed in a senior yearbook. 

Should I take this dream as prophecy? 
That maybe this showing that vivid red line 
that is unknowingly tied to the one that matters most 
and eventually will bring you in close? 

Or am I simply have 
pleasant nightmares 
that remind me that my reality 
is colder and lonelier 
than ever 
and all the love and warmth I can find 
is hidden deep 
in the tombs of my memories. 

Past or Present Tensions

Past or Present Tensions 

I sit here 
in my office 
feeling like I am a man 
stuck on an island where 
all the ships past
and my S.O.S 
is only greeted 
with ignoring looks 
and little goodbyes. 

The tempest of tears 
floods me internally 
as I come to the conclusion 
I seem unable 
to forgive myself 
for the selfish action 
that put me on this isolated island 
in the first place. 

I sit on the shores of sanity 
and look at the turbulent seas of madness 
to question the minds of far off lands 
if I am spoken in the past 
or the present tense. 

Why does it seem that as the storms break 
everyone went for cover 
and barred their doors 
and left me out to face 
the drowning rain 
and booming voice 
that stings the lighting thoughts
 of those memories 
of words of bonds 
that fractured 
the good memories that kept me going
when all seemed lost. 

I wish I could translate 
the feeling to people 
that only a few I personally know 
understand 
when one leaves a blank bed 
in an even blanker and sterilized room 
into the every racing game of life. 

Sometimes I forget that I am still 
in a physical form 
because I feel like my presence 
is just of a specter 
that haunts the graveyard memories 
of others. 

I see things 
and hear things
and I wonder if I'm the first thing they think
because it was something that my passions would grab. 

But it seems like its all own their own 
and I'm just left for dead. 
And its an awful feeling 
because I know that feeling all to well. 

I have all this light around in the distant 
calls that tell me the good things 
but the distance leaves it 
to be tarnished by the tempest 
and distorts the feeling 
into yet another memory
a Sunday memory 
that to me 
was the ultimate disrespect
and maybe that explains why 
those that matter to me 
find someone so easily 
because I'm a faulty expense 
and exchanges should be made
before I break down
and forever pass 
into the past tensions
of that phantom memory.  

I Wonder....

I Wonder....

if all the power that is in my shadow 
would still poison me 
the way it does 
as I fall asleep into silence 
if 
and only if
I knew the whole story 
from start to finish. 
But I think 
no matter how much I tell myself 
I'm okay with not knowing 
the insanity of always questioning 
and seeking answers to those that are unanswerable 
will continue to inspire 
and haunt me 
for the rest of my life. 

*The Not Poem About My Life

*The Not Poem About My Life 

I'm twenty two years old 
and so far I've had only twenty two lines. 
I was born smiling 
I grew up fine 
I seen the many faces of humanity  
and I made friends with some of the worst and best of them. 
I have walked on the Earth 
and seen the greatest of sights
from Mt. Fuji to the origins of humanity. 
I have been wandering and wandering 
finding love and happiness 
as well as despair and grief 
with the fading of childhood
and the reality of the horror 
that such an active imagination 
and love for all people 
to write, to sing, to dance, to create 
can do as I am an inventor of out-of-body angels 
and the father of internal nightmares that want nothing better than my eternal silence.
I sit on the never ending quest for balance 
between starlight and blackholes 
unknowing of where line twenty two will end......

To be Happy....

To be Happy.... 

.....one realizes that the definition 
is only a chimerical one.

For sadly 
I only seem 
in these days 
to have doses of it as the sun is out 
but its when I wish for sweet dreams
I only get the phantom pains
of thoughts that only bury me deeper 
in a restless dark. 

I know there is light out there still 
I just hope I haven't fallen so far 
that I can't find it again. 

Auto-Pilot

Auto-Pilot 

means that one is 
go blank 
so he can stay in control. 

Not feeling anything 
to the point that 
you forget that 
you need to feel your way 
in the dark 
and not crash. 

Stepping Stone

Stepping Stone 

As the laughter of youthful children 
echo in an otherwise empty
place of play 
I jump from space to space 
like stepping stones 
in a game where you can't cross
unless you 
are blue. 

And this innocent act 
allowed my auto-pilot 
to encounter more haunting specters
that my anxiety 
and depression 
that god awful silence that stains 
my memory 
where it took not just the story 
that recently unfolded
but all of them 
from that damn cat, 
to the one that brought balance
to the impossible girl that brought me down from the cloud. 
Even the one that I spent a year with 
and the one that turned on me when it was she 
that was the key that unlocked the true monsters
that were lurking in the darker places of my soul. 

It makes me question 
am I simply a stepping stone? 
As I hold someone close, 
I fail to realize how weak my foundations truly are 
and the pressure of feeling underfoot 
as I see that my own world, 
my world of storms 
simply propels people away 
into greener pastures. 

Its not like there is any time for me to recover 
its the same story every time, 
as I am a sinking ship 
trying to stay afloat in a ocean that is unforgiving 
of my adventurous spirit
as I see the people that I viewed as a crew 
leave

There are some that stay
but I fear they will drown 
if I don't figure a way to keep afloat. 

Sometimes I wonder if that is my true purpose? 
To simply be the stepping stone for people who were in a bad place
and I help them find better places 
while I stay stuck in the limbo 
of the worst that a soul can sink 
and the best that a soul can bloom 

Haunted

Haunted

It is in this witching hour 
between the twilight of this reality
and the vast void that I would call
"the land of dreams" 
where my brain 
that is so active in its rumblings in the day 
draws a blank 
and smothers all thoughts
 feelings 
and desire 
all in the name of a good night's rest 
from a wild imagination 
that is my burden 
and blessing. 

But I get haunted by the memories 
from days long past 
of conversations that I captured 
to give me strength. 

Now they have turn to heavy chains 
pulling me down 
as the feelings that I have been so easily replaced 
yet again by someone 
who was right there 
at the right time 
to protect you 
from my madness 
and disdain. 

Now it is I 
who wished to keep your promises 
when really it was your promise to me
on a note I saved 
while I was out working in the garden 
tending to clearing the vines
that wrapped tightly around 
my heart. 

Holidays gone past 
and its my fault. 
This thing that is in me 
is a cold fire 
as I can never feel warm 
but all I can see 
is the burn marks 
from the inferno that only I seem to create. 

Tumble

Tumble

My soul is like a little tumbleweed 
rolling along a long 
and winding road 
full of ash of memories long gone 
and embers of the ones that still burn. 

Tumble tumble 
down the way 
tumble tumble 

My soul like a little tumble weed 
rolling along 
with thorny branches shielding 
the most hollow of centers.