Be who you are…

Why whisper when you can scream? When you live….live loud. Why sleep when you can dream? Never settle or compromise yourself for a world that is anything less then what you imagined it would be. There are so many people who change themselves or conform to the standards everyone else has set. What value is a person who is merely a duplicate?  

I’ve never cared about what people have thought of me, nor the expectations others has set for me.  I am who I am. What you see is what you get. Any alterations to the person I am have derived from within.

All the let downs….the relationships…the mistakes….the obstacles I’ve overcome…all the drama, the happiness, the craziness, the sadness…have formed the person I’ve become today. When all is said and done, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Champagne & Cigarettes

Champagne and cigarettes,

Bound by paper and pen,

Spinning in endless circles,

The thought dances in her head.

 To risk it all or play it safe?

 The question lingers in the air

As the smoke drifts up and the bubbles rise

Not knowing is the answer,

An answer that she hates.

Memories and fantasies take control.

And still the question bellows in the smoke.

A facade dances across her face

 As if it’s desperately trying to hold the truth.

 In the depths of her eyes you can see it all;

The longing to be loved surmounts the shimmer of the night.

 She dances as if no one is watching,

 Her moves are peaceful, flowing with the cadence of the music,

Yet the song within her is filled with effortless sorrow.

 As symphony concludes

She exits with a smile

and a tear.

Whiskey Remebers

In the seedy corner of the bar, he sits alone
With a grin on his face, yet he couldn’t look more forlorn
The cadence of the music slowly fills his body
Liquor in hand, he starts to tap his foot
Rocking back and forth, reclining to the beat
The smoke drifts slowly to the ceiling and he remembers her smile
Starring aimlessly off into the darkness of the room
He takes a sip of his whiskey
Wishing he was anywhere but here, anywhere with her
In a bar I once knew, there sits a man, stale as old dew
Drinks brought to him, timeless and vagrant, never vodka, never gin
Whiskey sings to him throughout the night
Women pass by; endless arrays of beauty catch his attention for a brief moment,
But their movements are but dark, silent shadows grazing the edges of his senses
His eyes begin to wander; he forgets all the smiles, all of them,
But one.



The ink...

The fear, anger, disappointment and anguish one keeps locked away pour out onto the paper. The ink becomes the soul. It is the blood, sweat, hopes and dreams of the poet. It’s exactly how that person is feeling at that exact moment. You cannot justify it nor attempt to understand the thoughts racing through one’s mind at that very moment when the pen hits the paper. It’s pointless to try. It’s in the unrestrained and un-premeditated moments that one can truly release emotion. It’s laughing and weeping all together molded as one. Imaginary walls collapse and the soul is free; if only for a brief moment.

It’s the broken-ness in one’s soul that draws the greatness to the words. I believe broken-ness is beauty. Those who live life with perfect, scarless porcelain skin don’t truly live. The scars prove that you have lived and have taken risks. Dont be ashamed of the scars and band-aids on your heart; they are proof that you exist and that you were…

It's like lighting fire to fake gold.

Red lipstick on a burning soul.

Laying still in a bed of gasoline

You left a match between the sheets.

Your ivory teeth sink into me,

just to taste whats underneath

If i ignite you, can I still put you out?

Scratching fingers down my luring spine.

I never meant to burn you down

but you looked so good against my mouth.

When the only light is just a heated dark,

not even sweat can soothe the spark.  

Someone Bring Me Here

Probably one of my all time favortie quotes about writing...

"I write poetry to talk back to Whitman.

I write poetry because my head contains 10,000 thoughts.

I write poetry because the English word 'inspiration' comes from the Latin word 'spiritus' (breath) and I want to breathe freely.

I write poetry because I suffer confusion not knowing what other people think.

I write poetry because it's the best way to say everything in my mind within 6 mintues to a lifetime..."

-Allen Ginsberg