Words from my Heart

I'm standing in the cold. 

Holding this umbrella over your head. 

I guess these raindrops make me feel romantic. 

I could have started it saying...

I put my heart completely on my sleeve

Giving you everything I have. 

Physically, time, emotions, my faith. 

But that's mushy. Too romantic. 

But no matter how I say it, I still have no clue how to express being in love to the fullest. 

I believe no fairy tale love story completely embraces every aspect of love. 

No. Not even The Notebook. 

But I can. Not to you.

Not even to her.

But if my heart could for one minute spit the blood out of itself and talk.... It would tell it all. 

It would say it's necessary like air. It's an obsession. All consuming. 

It's free. Yet binding. 

Selfless. It's kind. Generous. 

It's real chemistry. A neurological condition such as hunger or thirst. 

It's intimate. Awakening. Almost overwhelming. 

It's forgiving. 

It's committed. 

It is everything you are willing to give. 

It's a process. A journey. 

It's vulnerable. Not ever a safe investment. 

But most of all it is two complete strangers finding whatever missing pieces they have of their soul in each other. 

So.....

I'm standing in the cold. 

Holding this umbrella over your head. 

I guess these raindrops make me feel romantic. 

I found the missing pieces. 

My soul is full. 

Sure of what I don't know

I've spent time in the bottle

And time in the bible. 

Nights all alone,

Fighting my mind, stoned. 

Others with a woman, saying she'll hold me,

Laying side by side, but feeling lonely. 

A roller coaster life full of highs and lows,

I've never been more sure, of what I don't know. 

Making things write

The pilot is mumbling in the usual smooth, raspy, cocky tone that he learned to do. Probably in pilot school. Something about our Elevation and turbulence.... Bullshit. I could teach that airplane steering prick a lesson about getting high. 

That's my life now, putting anyone who has anything down. It's sad. It makes me look pathetic. But not as pathetic as a pilot! Those douche bags walk around like heroes!! Can you believe that? You sit in a seat and fiddle a joystick...? Hero? Ha!! I feel more endangered in a New York City taxi. But those drivers aren't heroes.... They're assholes. "Hey boss you need taxi?" "I take you no problem". 20 minutes later, I'm forking 60 bucks out of my wallet and passing it with my sweaty, clammy hand to Aladdin's step brother. You took me 5 blocks!!!! No matter what, I'd take a egotistical pilot and terrorist raised taxi driver over any asian bus company. Never have I ever found peace with the idea of genocide than when I let those rice cakes take me on a 8 hour bus ride. Every employee speaks perfect English until you have a complaint.... Then they turn into these cynical, arrogant, Down syndrome Mr. Chows. Stop squinting. 

I'm still on this plane. There is a game I play every time I fly. I scope out the other passengers. I'm looking for 2 exact types of people....1...Those that look like they are planning a hi-jack after rushing the cock pit. I find them. And I plan my own attack on them. Usually a different finishing move for each of those kamikaze faggots. 2.... All the intelligent travelers. You know.... The ones that don't complicate every little thing!! Why crowd the damn aisle as soon as we stop the plane??? God I really hate people as a whole. Me, me, me, me, me. That's how people think. So I find the smart ones. Who don't stuff the overhead bin with a bag that clearly should have been checked. Me and the ones with common sense just form this bond. We look at each other when one of the half minded other travelers act retarded and smirk. Boom friendship. It's such a fake friendship tho. It last for a few hours without even saying a word to each other. 

Funny thing... Last time I was on a plane, it was with the girl I was sure I would marry. I carried that ring with me on the plane too. We went to New York then clear out to utah. Rode horses, went to my favorite "getaway" bear lake, even sat at the top of the tallest roller coaster in town. But none of those were the right place to pop down on a knee and ask that two timing devil to make me miserable the rest of my life. Guess I better thank god. 

Funny thing about the heart.... It controls the mind. It literally dictates your emotions. Determines your desire. And decides what you let in and keep out. My heart just hates. It's full of it. Full of hate, distrust, and hopelessness. And all this negativity burrows my good intentions. Shadows my deepest desires of happiness. 

So how do I release hatred? 

I stab her in the heart with a salty ice pick. 

Mail him a box of cancer. Bad cancer. 

Pray their kids are ugly. 

And crash this plane into their house. 

No. 

None of that. 

I write. 

My camp

This is a story about the heart. I was 12 years old and part of the Boy Scouts. We were at a campout with multiple scout troops from the area. I want to make one thing clear.... I didn't go to these camp outs to meet people, make friends, or even do Boy Scout things.... I went because I had to, I already had friends, and we stuck together. After a full day of games, Boy Scout bonding events, and setting up camp... We went to a park for fireworks. We played football under the bursts of lights. Then the craziest, most pathetic thing happened. Another kid, a stranger, obviously with some type of disability tried to play with us. No. Not happening. That's not fun. There's no competition in including him. So it turned into a game of keep away. From him. Remember, I didn't need new friends. I was cool. We were cool. We had to show him what it's like to to look cool. This lasted for a good 20 min. Hiding from him, teasing him, just boasting out dominance. By the end... He was in tears. The fireworks ended. We left. Nobody mentioned our actions that night. It was on to roasting marshmallows and playing cards. But I couldn't forget his face. 

The next day I told my mom what I had done. I wanted to contact that kid. I didn't even know who he was, but with the help of my scout master... I found him. I called him, through my tears... I apologized. It wasn't enough but it was all a 12 year old could do. 

This isn't a story about how good of a person I am, how I learned from being an ass, or even about how I did the right thing. This is a story about realizing my own heart. I went into that campout as a 12 year old who had everything. I never needed a friend. I never worried about fitting in. Then I realized sometime between the rockets red glare and camp fire stories... That I was weak. That I was the reason that kid had no friends. I realized how every single one of my choices affects someone else. I came to know how the heart works. No matter how much I rebel or how much I put on a bad boy persona.... I hated that I could hurt someone. My heart showed its depth. My heart never left that campout. It still hasn't. 

The Play

Love is not blind, rather blindeth the poor.

Weakens their heart to feel feelings no more. 

No. Never give thy heart outright. 

Brief, heavenly, kind of delight,

That is all love truly is....

Revealed only by the meaningless kiss. 

They all, those smooth parted lips can say,

Hath given their heart to the eternal play. 

And who could catch on to the play enough,

If deaf and dumb and blind with love?

Only he that never acted knows the cost

For he gave outright his heart and lost. 

Breaking the Chain

We live on thoughts formed by our demographics. School, family, religion, and regional politics form the very theories and judgments we own. A thought only becomes 'ours' when we choose to break away from the system. Whether right or wrong, this way or that way, one team over another... We live in blindness until we venture on our own. Religion is preached and acted upon from an early age, what's cool or popular is evident in the groups in school, political views cloud the media, education, and society based solely on the beliefs of those elected into those hypocritical positions. The brave are those who educate their minds with literature, history, and other forms of knowledge and in doing so.. Form their own beliefs of right and wrong, good and bad, cool or lame. However, society looks down upon those who choose to lead rather than follow the system. It encourages kids to get an education but limits the opportunities available to them. Society abides, according to its definition, to the declaration of Independence. Which declares the freedom of religion, to believe and worship however one so wishes.... Then it discriminates. It mocks those who choose Jesus. It tip toes around those who insist god doesn't belong in our pledge of allegiance. You see we as a people are more prone to judge than to serve. We are quick to point fingers at the problem but never lend a hand for the solution. Only those who truly think for themselves, the free, will ever understand the hurting heart of the oppressed, the self promoted lies of politics, and the disguised limits that are placed upon all of us. And in understanding, only they will have the real answers. The unbiased. For it may be the power and recognition hungry political figures that rule over the land, but it is those brave, wise, the ones who think on their own, that lead the people.

I Am Music

Sitting at his desk he tapped and he tapped,

His fingers mimicked the beat as they rapped, they rapped.

Slapping his books, In the back of the room,

As his feet hit the floor, kaboom… kaboom.

I am music, claimed the boy with headphones on,

That's not true, replied the teacher, insisting he was wrong.

For music is the guitars, the beats, the singing.

It's the drums, the jazz, the bells timely ringing.

Now take off your headphones and give a good ear,

Music is more than just the little ticks you hear.

Sure one can make music by tapping their thumbs,

clapping their hands, or even slapping the drums.

Not your rapping and flapping and all that clatter,

It's a song, a composed jingle for that matter.

No one can be music, that is a rather big lie,    

So quit daydreaming and get your head out of the sky.

With silly dreams like that you will never succeed,

Focus on real goals, ones you can achieve. 

The boy with the headphones sat and he thought,

When he spoke it went against all he had been taught.

Ma'am I hear what you're saying but I don't understand,

"In order to be music I need to be in a band…?"

No, that cant be right, in fact you are terribly wrong,

For I am music, and he put his headphones back on.

Think of the symphony and each instrument part,

My brain is the director and commands each start.

First go my feet, with the thunderous bass,

Thump thud thud thud keeping the pace.

Now bring in the tongue clicking my teeth,

It's the shakers to my song, rattling the beat.

Then comes the fingers crackling as the snare,

Pattering against my desk leaving an echo in the air.

Soon my head falls into a nod , perfectly in sync,

And the words come to my mouth, without having to think.

You see Ms. Teacher, I am Music, in fact we all are,

As all the other students tuned their vocals and air guitars.

Whether its in a microphone on stage or at home alone,

I am music, said the boy with the headphones on.