If I talk about my 6 qualities,

they're not really much of an ability.


One of them might be that I obsess over everything,

but that's only because I am very settling.

Second could be that I am good at math and science,

but never could I ever seem to hold an appliance.

Now third comes next, the fact that I cheer people up,

and now that I think of it, it's probably because I'm such a crackup.


Those were my best traits,

including that I am very good with dates;

Yes, the one on the calendar,

I don't need to say the worse ones any louder.


My next 3 include me being annoying, 

because everything I do or touch, I seem to be destroying.

I also want to stop being so insecure,

or that I'm mean to my brother because I want a sister.

I always hate it when my family make fun of me,

so I always seem to be crying, unfree.


Those are all my traits from myself,

the lesson to be learning is to just be yourself!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I wrote this poem back in 6th grade so I decided to post it here haha :)





Sunny spacious green pasture

Cattle graze, downward gaze


Bound by firm barbed fences

A rancher ready to cash in


Another gaze at the chattel

As one turns to look at me


Kindred faces of captivity

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He had not asked to be made

as who he was, nor had he

volunteered to be the bearer

of such a tremendous duty.

Nearly every waking moment,

he spends escorting fallen souls

to their self-determined finality.

In addition, he’d had no say

in the choosing of his names,

of which he had many.

Death, if he wished, could easily

shrug the weight from his shoulders.

Yet, knowledge of the consequences

of such an action, held him back.

Once, he had set his duty aside.

What followed, could only be

classified as a calamity.

He realized, that without him,

Life could not carry out her duty.

For, in his ancient ceremony,

he’d always left behind the body,

and only taken the ephemeral.

It was Life’s, not his, responsibility

to reclaim and recycle the bodies.

Yet, this knowledge is not what

tortured his being most.

No, that rank belonged to the idea

that no one would come to claim him.  












Author's Notes/Comments: 

A personification of death.

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One day it dawned upon him,

with an almost rude suddenness,

that his reality is his own and his own only.

Ignited within him, a passion arose.

He desired most to explore,

so that he may experience

reality from a vast multitude

of perspectives on the world. 

Perhaps, he thought,

this was the basis for curiosity. 

Then, he wondered if language, art,

and literature were the attempts 

to bridge the gap between realities. 

After all, what else could communicate

the complex thoughts formulated

within each of those minds?

Yet, another thought occurred.

Perhaps this, realized loneliness, 

was the foundation for love. 

For don't we seek to find

the one who sees

reality in a similar light?

And then, a staggering epiphany,

gripped his consciousness.

Could this, isolation of the mind,

not be the meaning of life?

He decided, in that single shocking moment,

that the utter beauty of the world,

with its mammoth array of microcosms,

and the fantastic complexity of the universe,

was too precious not to be witnessed 

by an intelligent being, like himself.

Even, if he was alone in the experience.


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Favorite Song

Dusk's Rule

Hearing the rumbling beats, sweet melody, 

To rescue from now into past remedy, 

Favorite song of ages gone, play again,

Inspiring words back into the pen.


Your song may sound different to old ears,

Hearing more than before other years,

It is a sweet embrace of memories,

To sweep away current daily worries.


Never is there a song loved by all,

No such mark that everyone is enthralled, 

There is the meaning and irony now, 

For such work, brilliance, take a graceful bow,


But know the importance of what follows,

Step out of the distorted, dark, shadows,

And know that there is no such ideal song,

To be anything else than you is wrong,


Free yourself from the false advertisements,

Impossibly great goals are punishments, 

To songs so beautiful that only need, 

To be their own favorite songs, please heed:


Matters not if you are a favorite song,

Only that you are your own favorite song. 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

It's nice to be loved by others, to have others believe you are attractive, smart, strong, whatever positive comments that come your way, but unless you can be comfortable with yourself, happy with yourself, then it is much harder to love yourself.  Not everyone is going to notice your traits---you are you own art, you can change yourself, but be happy with yourself.  

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A Breeze of Memory

A graveyard of dead trees

Fallen leaves of vast red and orange seas

Squirrels scurry before winter strikes

As children play while others pass on bikes


harmony of the trees an the wind come together and sing

As a bird chirps then stops to clean it's wing

Children shrieking and screaming as they play

Angry armies of cars roar past, then fly away


Memories start of when I was a kid

Only broken away by time an what it did

Sitting still only in question

Of who I am and to what is my impression


I laughed . . . I played here

I was happy unknown of fear

But then reality again breaks memory's connection

Only to be lost again, still unknown of my reflection


Author's Notes/Comments: 

annnd, here you have yet another class assignment that I did way back.


The Trip

Lets go! They cannot keep us
From what we own!
Were lost for days
Treading a thousand thoughts!
Wait! Stop!
Everyplace is a house we then realize
Stop worrying, please come take a seat! 
Theres thousands!
Follow me through all of these doors!
This place is strange, this place is gray, miserable chain!
We need to get away!
where are we? We've been out here all damn day!
Well never find the secret!
Dont you miss us?
That girl, she knew where I was.
She located me because of my eyes.
I got you something you never even wanted
You were so thankful to the gesture and I saw
The intention went right through you
Please! Its only us!
None of it is real!
We exist to keep eachother real for now.
Maybe even later.
Lost ones found. 

Cathartic Liberation

Here comes the downer,
The falling from my pedestal,
Smashing my knees on the impact of the fall.
Thought I was so high and untouchable,
Now I’m a worm crawling across the floor.

Chewing at my skin to find the feeling,
Self-preservation in a tightly-wound cocoon.
Hollow on the inside,
The scream is nothing but a sigh,
Trying to hide the pain,
But this heart is shared and isn’t all mine to have.

A face painted with beauty that has no ego,
Is a watercolour that blurs in my mind.
I reach out and touch perfection,
It dissolves in ripples by my own hand.

Here comes the upper,
The muscle tightens as I run on scarred limbs.
High on my cathartic liberation,
For the first time my reflection meets my gaze.
Burning the pedestal,
There’s more to myself than my selfish needs,
So much to live for,
Time has an infinite story.

I search to find the limit to my own evolution,
Hindsight comes with the regret of being too slow.

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The Sleepless Nights- Anxiety

It is in the late hours of a sleepless night.
At first the night was sleepless due to an over-abundance of this yearned for sleep from just last night. It is not over-abundance which has kept me from my desire to rest this hour. That over-abundance simply set the start of a journey, a journey deep into my mind. I have found that in the late hours of night a man finds his soul, or lack there of. It is only in these tired hours he can find who he really is, what he believes, what he wishes he believed, and what he loses faith in. In these hours he loses himself in thought, more often worry than otherwise. Worry, so it seems is the death of man. It is the eighth deadly sin. Worry is what holds mankind back, its what harnesses the reigns of life. A man can only be measured by his accomplishments, but what accomplishments can be found if blocked by impossibility? Man finds late at night his largest worries. Worries he didn't know or chose not to think of in the day, they become inescapable at night. They choke the sleep from the dreamer who dreams of but to dream. This worry will seize you without warning. It cannot be dispelled but by the greatest of efforts. Worry and faith aren't all found in these hours though, their near cousin is as well; Strength. Strength is found. It may be found to combat worry, it may be found because of faith, but strength is what will lull the restless to sleep. Strength in oneself is a beautiful thing. But as so it seems, most men's strength leaves them in their time of most need. Strength of the average man seems to all too easily evaporate with the first rays of morning. No matter what feelings or thoughts are aroused or provoked, in the morning we are all the man we laid down as, none the wiser until the next moments of restless fit.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Wrote this one the night before a very difficult day in which I would have to face one of my greatest fears. Wrote it around 3:30 am