You asked me to take a bullet for you
I will, but first I say:
why is it that my love of loves
cannot move out the way.

My life is worth no thing to me,
except for what it gives,
and so, I lose myself for good:
the good that you might live.

I've given up so much for others,
meals and school and clothes,
and now I'm asked to drop one more thing:
that rotten life I loathe.

But now I think, why does it stink?
There is but one lone reason.
I've given all my good away
to those who live in treason.

Thinking back now, for this time,
instead I've changed my mind.
You'd take my life and leave me dead?
Instead, fuck you; I'll stay alive.

A Free-form Sonnet on Freedom




"Never have I ever sought a boy for myself."
Though in my mind I die
as my finger falls pushing to the back of my mind's deep Hell,
I cant breathe but my heart beats to the cloven feet of cervidae.


I crusaded once in bygone days,
myself the hunt;
I'd storm the castle transcend the frays
but let's pass by Artemis all at once

'cuz  the gods don't damn care about this,
like Jesus's kiss from Judas
if they did, we'd be taken on Octavian's lists,
with everyone else whose life you call crudest.

Now, please, dear friends, leave our loves enclosed in secret sight
for never have we ever made harder your plights.

The Idiocy of Age, and Growing

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jG9LgibCiow&feature=channel_video_title

This is something I'd kind of been thinking about for myself. If I compare myself when I started at my school to how I am now, I'm fairly certain that these 4 years have not made me more intelligent. They have, however, helped me become a better adjusted and well rounded person. I read things I wrote then and think that they're so much more true than the things I write now. Yeah, my grammar is better, and yeah I know more math rules, and I actually know some Latin, but I've lost my insight. I can no longer feel confident in my grasp of things and ideas which had at that earlier time been my forte, mostly weightily, fun. I used to be able to have fun both by myself and groups of people, or if I was by myself and not having fun, I was content with that. I had an understanding that this was an acceptable and often necessary situation. Now, when I'm by myself, I'm unbearably bored, and when it goes on long enough, I often feel depressed.

I think the biggest thing is that I've lost a sense of perspective I used to have. I wouldn't call this quite "depression" but I'm feeling a more poignant break from the overall fitness of the World and the fitness of myself. As long as the World was by and large okay, it was fine if I was sad. I think I've lost that.

Or maybe I've just lost the belief that World is by-and-large alright.

I know this isn't a poem, though I might turn it into one, but for now, it's just sort of some thinking that's been weighing on my mind for quite some time now. So I decided to stop letting it weigh, and let it be known. Thank you to those who read this, it actually means a lot to me.

Where I am From

I am from a land of trees.

Though I was born in the city,

and lived and have lived there for years,

that is not where I am from.

My home, more accurately, my house,

is in a town in a city at a train.

My home, the one I'm proud of,

is in a forest, that's where I'm from.

I'm not from Patrick Lydon, or from Florida,

I am from Province Road, despite it being so remote.

It's a camp I've gone to since I was nine,

it's where I'm at home, that's where I'm from

When I'm in my apartment, I feel homesick.

And for this fact i do feel sick

It's like insulting my parents' work

but I can't feel too guilty; it's where I feel I'm from.

Waiting at the RMV

Sitting on a wooden bench,

I watch prime-time TV,

except that this degraded wretch

does not try to please.

There is no humorous slop

to pass my time away

all I watch is advert crap

and pray to God for days away.

This waiting in this waiting-room

is not what I'd call fun

the plain white walls and wooden trim

would weary anyone.

I wait for what? You clearly ask,

for that is what I say you do;

I wait so that my friends can bask

in glory of the car I drew

and draw, like horses pull a covered wagon

except instead of cloth-draped pine

I've a metal coated engine

which doth sputter, cough and whine

Last Will in Testament

This world in which we live is cold and dead,

thus leaving nothing for me to embrace.

And all to which I've held has likewise fled

away from me and, too, the human race.

I feel a pull away instead of toward

removing me from that in which I've care

and so there's some I've lost of my accord

and no thing that I saw served better fate.

The Word, the world and all upon it serve

and aid in generating a clean void

where some feel all life equally deserves

but I feel that all is equally devoid.

Just as we throw away a dead mouse corpse

the same should fare a human one's of course.

School

What is the point of a

hospital for people

where the people are less sick

than the guards?

There isn't one, you see,

but it's a strain on the people

to see those who seem different

out of bars.

So the sick and the twisted

get their jobs doling shots

to the people who are stressed

by their breaths,

and I'd like to give the people,

who are doling out the shots,

something stronger just to bring them

to their deaths.

If you didn't gather

this poem's about teachers

and the trials that they put their

children through.

Because of all this stress

the kids resent their teachers

and the death count you just counted

I saw grew.