Random Dread

Fear, Internal Poetry, Line Poetry, Poetry, Problems, Societal Poetry

Self-improvement can’t save us.

Living your dreams isn’t gonna save us from our demons.

Gucci watches won’t prevent migrant crises.

Trips to London won’t lower Earth’s temperature.

Writing and music can heal the heart,

But they aren’t going to break bipartisan gridlock,

Or save the world from the wealthy white man and his irrevocably similar friends.

I struggle to find peace in the wake of every moving part of global calamity I see.

I don’t have the stomach to discover what else plagues a global population.

My words aren’t enough to restore stability to Syria.

My enthusiasm won’t get big pharma to stop the opioid crisis,

It’s helping their bottom line too much.


So the wealthy white man convinces his friends and the people who wish to join the club

How to exchange human lives for profit.

My good intentions can’t un-teach that.


My verse can’t free us of our addiction to winning.

It can erase “cash crop” from our memory,

But it can’t erase slave labor from American history.

I struggle to find peace under every problematic stone I come across.


Guitar fingers can’t take Central Massachusetts out of me.

God save the souls of the folks whose ideologies are less developed

Than the rural denizens of Central Massachusetts.

Lord knows I can’t save them.


My existential dread can’t snap the country out of the thought

That these things aren’t normal.

The bubble would burst and my friends would all fill with an even worse existential dread.


I struggle to find peace in an inconceivably huge world whose heart has crusted over,

So I seek refuge in the small world of a large bowl,

And try to remind myself that tomorrow is a new day.


(Credit to K.C. Green for the most iconic meme portrayal of denial ever made)

It Doesn’t Have To Be Like This.

Family, Fear, Internal Poetry, Poetry, Questions, Societal Poetry

It doesn’t have to be like this.

Unpacking the car, this is one of the first things I say to myself.

My mind is too wrapped up to sort out the layers of how different the connection between here and there is.

I love my mother. I love my family. I love the life I’ve lived and the places I’ve been to.

I see my mother. I see my family. I fear to see the life I’ve lived.

My eyes strain themselves from looking through their eyes.

I wish for the peace of a home by the forest, connecting and creating ad infinitum.

The conifers to draw and the bird songs to learn.

A little bit of space to sink into, learn, and fall in love with.

I’ve been growing like a sapling in compost towards the sun I feel gracing my pores,

Constructing my layers and growing my frequency to achieve something beyond human.

The life of now isn’t anything the me of sixteen could have dreamed of.

But I’m back again, in the bedroom of the person I tried so hard to escape.

I’m sleeping with the shadows and memories of myself.

I’m falling into the same frustrating cycles with my loved ones,

Knee-jerk reactions of “fine, I know, and okay” come flooding back to my thoughtful head like accidental expletives. There is no accidental expletive, as with any normalized curse.

I can feel my form shrinking, I long for open fields and skies to meditate in an under.

I long to be away from fresh-reintroduced trauma of a past I never lived to know.

But in a matter of time, I’ll be back to forgetting.

A Good, Hard Day

Empowerment, Fear, Internal Poetry, Societal Poetry, Stuff to do

The door slams shut. 

I pace over my torn carpet, taking slow, deep breaths.

I know today is a stress volcano, 

But I’m charging myself through its brunt, welding anthem in my pocket, hands first. 

“I can do this. I can surmount this. I am strong.”

 I’m becoming my own leader, rather than my torturer. But don’t get me wrong, I I have to make it a conscious decision to cup my fist. 

 I will not hang weights on myself through this day. 

 Im gonna make the bed. I’m gonna fold the clothes, grab my phone, read those pages.. 

 No. After the clothes I put in the money to get my next little book. It’s been too long. 

 Denial creeps itself up into my list. I feel the need to take a second and worry. But that’s why I went here.

 Im gonna take my worry and put it in the lines. I’m gonna wrap it up with a pretty verbal bow and send it off to market, where it’s fangs and claws can’t touch me. 

 And then, I’m gonna change my shoes and leave for the rest of this. 

 I’m gonna remember to get some vitamins next winter,

 Because the sun came out today and it felt like the first time on months where I could breathe, and open my eyes. 

Pompeii could unravel again before my open eyes, but I can handle a pocket-sized catastrophe. 

Lobby Day

Empowerment, Fear, Internal Poetry, Peace, Poetry, Politics, Societal Poetry, Stuff to do

It was a regular Thursday. 

Wax oozed from the walls and the pores of our faces. 

We stepped through the marble edifices of political gods, 

Men and women like most of us. The wax was doctrine. 

The surface deflected every scent but superiority. 

Quiet howls shrieked, smothered by business casual. There are no people here. 

Only lobbyists. 

Pentacles carved into these wondrous halls can’t be a coincidence if nothing is coincidence. 

I am not coincidence. They are not coincidence. 

So why I’m the world do we feel so out of our own skin? 

Photo opps, flag halls. Pseudo strategy. Stop the anxiety. 

The wax drips from these Corinthian bullies, 

Bright eyes in white guise stand marbled with intimidating decorum. 

If only we could connect with this history. 

Of Sarah, and patriotism, Oliver Ames, Amen I say to you. To history. 

Timidness stands where reverence deserves, 

The wax coats these bodies fully

And I haven’t the chisel to break it. 

Hurry up and wait. 

Heat the wax, so it may set

And paralyze us all. 

Why must this be so on Lobby Day? 

A Prayer to the Still

Empowerment, Fear, Internal Poetry, Joylessness, Poetry, Problems

It’s time I stop giving anxiety a baseless poetic mouthpiece.

The pangs of wanderlust are beasts I haven’t been spared from.

Tides come in like levis breaking

And recede like retreating thieves,

Having pillaged their target for necessary moments.

I want to travel to spread the beauty and good I’ve done well to harness,

But I’m helpless without others’ wheels to spin for me.

My space is uneven

And the space in my room and head is tangling worse.

Every minute spent cleaning is a minute gone.

Every minute spent writing is a minute at risk of shikva.

A loss due to forgetting- of thoughts or devices.

I tangle myself deeper, unable to move and soon breathe.

Dysphoria becomes the parting between oceans in my heart.


But one wire untangles, and the choir of scribbles

Unstick themselves from me like sprites running under the floor.

The universe has funny ways of reassuring.


I envision myself sitting, suspended in a pool of bubbling balm contained in granite,

Swathes of flickering reds and blues, running over the basin I sit weightless atop.

“May you continue to let your love and emotion overflow, until we can’t help but overflow in return.”

May the nuances of the chord I strike, containing millions of notes in constellation memories

Whisper like they roar.

The basin cracks, and fluid gushes out to hold the rest steady.

I can sustain this.

My cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy

Shall fill the cracks of my neurosis

And I shall breathe life like a dragon,

Making peace with my insignificance.

Perpetual motion boy

Empowerment, Fear, Internal Poetry, Poetry, Questions, Stuff to do

The gears are oiled, 7AM slumps stirred soundly in the morning meditation.

Loneliness hibernates as the wheels spin across campus with a pal.

He talks on the balls of his feet, a spring in his mouth

Punches soft through his own plastic shell of professional indifference.

Fifteen minutes is all you need to make a difference.

Skate across the pond touching baubles of different colors,

I know I am enough.

I can glide and sway to and from the things I need,

Swaying like palm trees in a strong balm wind,

Until the air pressure whispers cause a fruit to drop.

A whole fruit, plump with the merit of time’s incubation.

Life goes little by little, peace by piece by piece.

To go, and do, and move to renew

An infinitesimal sense of the joy of motion.

A body in motion stays in motion, until it wants to rest.

But there’s so much life to be lived, you know?

So goes this overcast Tuesday,

Where the monsters behind expectations came off a little less scary.

But where do the monsters go after a satisfactory day?

Do they come back, stickier than before?

Like the crack of a soda can, pssssssh,

They come flying out of the space of an awkward silence.

Eventually you’ll acknowledge every day is a roller coaster

And learn to take joy in counting the loops.

Sometimes, even after a day of perpetual going,

Things are still scary without needing a reason.

Regression on a Dime

Fear, Internal Poetry, Joylessness, Poetry, Questions

Everyone travels their own path.

But don’t you just have moments where you wish,

That you could slap the fuck out of whatever calamity approaches,

Stop dead in your tracks,

And look backwards to what you knew was better?

What even is better?

Altruism and standards are beautiful practices, sure as hell,

But I miss my addictions.

Turning them down,

Turning her down.

It’s numbing.

I need to cry.

I can’t.

Part of me wants to pour myself into making this up.

Part of me needs to sleep for the leadership summit tomorrow.

I’m hard to turn the other cheek and roll with the punches.

It never gets easier, until you become unfortunate enough to have it become routine.

And by then, what’s the point?

I might as well fall back into my vices,

Self-destruction sings such a sweet etude,

Being failure’s next door neighbor entails flirtation as a constant.

But what if I want to take them home?

I can do bad all by myself,

But it feels better to do worse with others.

There are some depravities I think of often,

But I fear for my safety whenever they slip into my head.

Please, get this loathsome smudge out of my mouth.

Look at me go.

Look at me fall.

What if it was all for nothing?

I must be the coldest ghost.


Fear, Internal Poetry, Joylessness, Nature, Poetry, Uncategorized

The chains of my habit I’ve forged with love
Have been frozen in feet of snow and broken.

Change drives us all, but why does it have to drive now?

It’s hard again to tell the excuses in my head from my thinking voice,

But both nod in agreement after an 8am emergence from the corners of

“You did what??”

To calmly sit down, juxtapose a thousand,

And calmly return to bed. (It didn’t send.)

You can’t get hurt in the avatar state- you’re either master of the elements or dead, no in between.

And I’ve been seeing my weaknesses exposed to too many.

I’ve estranged sleep, like the friends I lost and loved.

My weathered body has perforated itself

Into the shapes of the things I want to create.

My flesh will not become catalyst.

The focal point on my pinky remains the same after the weekend’s wear

My hair hides humiliation under its treetop canopy,

I pray for birds of paradise to visit this troubled biome dome

And sing their replenishing song under the covers of my sunstruck mattress,

Hopefully taking their shit far away from my locks,

But nobody’s perfect.

I will decide to stay dormant and hibernate,

Let the problems I fear alone,


I’m asleep so I’m healing.

Logic wins over feeling.


Empowerment, Fear, Internal Poetry, Poetry

Precipitation Perpetuates.
I’m faced with a choice.

To keep sitting underneath this monolith,

Continuing life out of sight from what scares me, or

I scrape the roadside salt from my eyes
And see the forest of despair cursing my mind’s land
for every single tree,
Every spindle that seeks to undo me.

I hold a seance for these forlorn apparitions.
The RHS lobby becomes hazy in sage smoke as,
One by one in the midnight hour,
I begin reciting the names of those faceless beings.

They skitter and gurgle against the pale brick walls,
Roaring their loudest as they prepared, for death.

One by one, I will find them and realize my potential with their remains.

I will snip every string belonging to the puppet master
And float in singularity with the forces that have blessed me.

I will befriend gravity, and the talents I’ve found useless for so long
Will. Be. Validated.

The fear of that which bumps the night is cowardice,
Whose fear play is reversed to staggering nonexistence
When we remember to turn on the lights.

Peace After Pain

Fear, Internal Poetry, Peace, Poetry

Scraped shins and chagrin always shared their names.

To feel pain and peace never made any sense

Cause I’d never ignored at the other’s expense.

But I knew what I stepped into the moment I did know,

The bubbles of intent actualized Pro Quid Quo.

The identity scaffolding I’ve built has been crushed under lump snow,

The ritual had been broken by millions of teeming snowflakes

And a fresh pocketful of sunshine when there’s no sun to spread.

I need to continue meditating, breathing, loving, and healing,

But the systems against them are so damn appealing.

Here I am, starry-eyed and unable to tell you what today is

(Other than A Hell of a Day)

I’ve got homework to do, further writing to be demonstrated,

I’ve gotta read like a motherfucker and keep my aspirations close.

Cause it IS the last day of the weekend,

It’s in order to propel my creator self towards the sky

And continue to fight the fight and realize the glow up.

My psyche’s taken a vacation from the rigid structure of ambitious perfection,

But the breaths I’ve taken in between sprints have been pretty damn sweet.