Alumnus of Earth

Line Poetry, Party Poetry, Peace, Poetry, Questions, Thoughts

Pomp and Circumstance. 

On repeat for an hour, one of the most trying performances of high school. 

Dragging on and on forever for another to bask in. 

What if pomp and circumstance kept on going after our bodies decomposed? 

When the soul gets its diploma

And moves away from the little town they grew up with. 

Will it ever grow homesick of the solar system? 

Things do not die, but no graduation is the same. 

Sometimes we think they go too soon. 

But we don’t lose them after a funeral. 

They don’t become nonexistent, merely 

An Alumnus of Earth. 

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.

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.

Helter Skelter:

Internal Poetry, love, Nature, Questions, The World is Beautiful

Love. That beer-battered heart in a cage we vilify.

Lefty crushes helter-skelter, bouncing through the willows,

Through pillow talk and talking us down,

I’ve traded my treats for the hilltop bungalow,

Coated in amber, bleeding mauve through the cracks

Of a broken glass sunset.

It’s time to be grateful,

Give heed to the deeds of the lovers above us,

The hour is less than a full night’s sleep away.

The power in my chest is a dull plight’s steep decay.

The dour sung frets come full sky scenes to play.

Like yesterday,

I fummeled with redness

And pummeled my headrest,

So the only sleep night’s fair

Is a sleep’s nightmare.

My antagonists are into it,

They’re masochists, they go away.

The field is petals

Of rose and gunmetal,

The incubus Fahrenheit

Has me in its iron sight

It’s there and trite, they’re not welcome here today.

You’re Not Doing Half Bad

Internal Poetry, Peace, Problems, Questions, The World is Beautiful

I woke up today to the normally scheduled sleep pattern

But I got out from one hell of a dummy dream.

Every now and again, my subconscious likes to trick me into believing

I’ve wasted my time, it all flies before me,

And I can’t hold my own through a paper bag.

So sometimes, it takes the manifestations of my slumber

And injects truly nonsensical moments into the dream,

Where I completely fail at everything I do

And respond with a dumb “Oh well,” before

Moving on to fuck the next thing up.

Amusement park rides and pseudo band camps

Illustrate distant worries and fears that I’ve yet to fully tackle.

But they’re well on their way.

Accountability is on its way to becoming habitual.

My afterburner productivity mornings are on their way to the routine.

I want to make this and continue to be Fabulous,

But the road is long and daunting,

And even my own dreamscape has money against me.

So how In the world do you still love yourself like you’re the champ?

It’s been months since I picked up the “fake it till you make it” mentality

Gathering dust in the corner pile behind the high school prom memories

(I never went to prom)

Even if I am afraid of failure,

I’m nailing the majority of my grades.

I’m creating content left and right across all mediums.

I’ve got a surplus of $ in the bank from things I’ve started this semester.

I’ve turned the month of loose change time we’ve spent here

And turned it into unfathomable memories,

Celestial alignments,

Massive teachings,

Epiphanies, left and right

Friendship congregations

Struggles overcome with patience

Emotional support

And the accountability I was afraid of losing.

I’ve taken victory from the jaws of defeat

And had my cup overflow with merry.

I’ve certainly gotten my money’s worth with investor’s acumen,

And I don’t intend to stop.

So we’ll lace up,

Hit the track,

Hit the papers,

Grab the pen,

Roll the papers,

Roll my Rs,

Roll my steps,

Write the words,

Write to live

Write to love

Write to forgive.

Coldness Overtakes Duality

Internal Poetry, Joylessness, Poetry, Problems, Questions

I can hear the coldness in my eyes doing the speaking for me.

Usually takes so long for them to get in the conversation,

Red always stage dives right into the middle of matters.

But here I am, glowing shades of cerulean and indigo

Dot the highlights of the expectations I’ve left unmet.

I don’t know why, or where, or how,

But let’s just leave them.

Neglect is the icy blue fire that fuels my unamused acumen.

My hair drops shades of color,

Slime starts protruding from my pores,

And I sink.

And I write.

I’ve learned so well to cope and love in isolation.

Such an obnoxious extrovert and I’ve learned to love

The dark


Half-open eyes

Tickles in my left thumb,

“You’re not good enough”

Calculated response


I dance a sullen waltz across the floor,

Changing in triplet with lovers to be

Before motion sweeps me away from them.

I hope they all don’t think they’re not good enough.

But to be that kind of honest we’re afraid to get,

The kind that stings your eyes with painful contradictions to your wishes

I can’t be anywhere involved with someone whose company makes me feel empty.

But I’ll always love myself,

So I keep writing and forgetting,

Marking my memories in these sullen elegies,

So I don’t have to hold on.

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.

Clearer Canopies

Empowerment, Internal Poetry, Questions, Societal Poetry, Throwback

The expanse and canopy above

Have grown wider again.

I’m faced with a choice to ascend

On vines that smell like burning hair

In the likeness of golden metaphors

I’ve hoarded in my time.


I want to liberate like the heroes I’ve learned of.

It’s time to think about my own


Love Song.


It’s time to learn to pluck the places from my dreams

And project their impossibility into real life.

It’s time for my subconscious to find its

Partner in flesh, blood, and equal pace.

It’s time to sculpt the gems of who I want to be

To place in the crown throbbing in my veins.


Hiatus Kaiyote. Sergio Medina. Miyazaki and so many more.

To finally learn to wear the clothes revealing my true self.

I thought my journey had completed for now,

But an impass has formed itself.


At the end of a ragged and brutal 4 months,

I’ve helped bury my grandmother in deed and word.

My form has grown sleek, colder.

I’ve learned to withstand.


And now in this month, I will flourish.

It’s time to set myself into pace.

Objects higher than mortal pleasures await.

May I hang this poem on my eyelids

So my direction never becomes obscured.

Let’s start with the Celestine Prophecy.



The Answers Aren’t Mine

Questions, Societal Poetry

Have you ever felt the horror of losing a child in the supermarket?

Have you ever felt the despair of your creations burning before you?

What is the importance of an emergency banana to you?

Does running in a snowstorm sound like something you’d want?

What shoes would you wear?

How many gusts of subzero air would it take you to give up?

How many pages in a day is sufficient writing? How about meals?

Who loses their cool first you or your professor?

What would you do if you could start something up from the ground and call it yours?

Do you like to hear your voice in a silent room full of people?

How many meetings can you attend at once?

How many minutes of time to yourself is enough to survive?

How important, really, is food to you?

Is a hundred a big number?

Where do all the people you’ve promised your time go when they’ve realized you abandoned them?

Given the circumstances, is life still worth it?

How do you give the best dap to a buddy?

Have you ever felt afraid when a friend messages you?

How long do you think your patience string is?

How long until the next computer crash?

Where is the person who first told you to back up your data?

Do you miss them?

Do you love them?

Why are there so many questions in the first place?