A Good Great

Amherst, Peace, Poetry, Stuff to do

I glance across the monolith

To the boy chewing on his headphone cables

And wonder what he’ll end up becoming after his time passes.

Will he make it big in his corner of the world, like I hope and hope I will?

I don’t know him well enough to find that truth.

I don’t know myself well enough to know my fate.

So I agonize over these forces with an imaginary locus of control.

I think of the article I almost wrote. The novel I’ve been trying to finish.

Something clicks in my head, an invisible loudspeaker materializes

With veins bursting in their forehead

Among the obscenities and cuss-outs, I hear this.

“Take it day by day and just fucking do it.”

All of this existential future dread took up the space that my improvement needed,

So I fell off of my rails and succumbed.

No more.

It’s back to the poetry. An easy routine whose greatness becomes easier in time. A photo a day to complement.

In a life where time is the antagonist and greatness the ends,

I realize I have nothing but time and greatness is subjective.

Bad people can get what they want and win.

They’re called great without ever being good.

Why put time in energy to compare myself to these vastly differing goals?

I’ve got skills to develop and time

To make my path to a good great.


The reflection in the mirror after 4 years at UMass will not encase me in who I’ll be for the rest of my life.

All we can do is move forward.

What a beautiful gift of a “can” that is.

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. 

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.


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.

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.