All Right

Sweating profusely
Beaded lip
Leisurely work it out like
Pink saltwater taffy
You are incomprehensible to me
And intriguing
I think
As I lean across the divide
That we
As I wait to seize my time
Could be
You don't like me, then that's fine
Something
Or at least the start to it
All right?

Shapes

What lies behind lidded eyes?
What fantasy,
What dream?
What lies waiting to be discovered?
What's invisible,
What's unseen?
Dreams, like rivers,
Flow freely, undeterred,
Splashing against the banks,
The sides of my subconscious.
***

Who said a madman is a man who has lost everything
But his reason? Chesterton, I think, writing
In one of his theological works; anyway this portrays
My last patient so deftly that I can only say
It was a most prophetic vision. This man, I swear,
Was a loquacious creature, making it a habit to declare
The most inane ramblings. “Does this,” he once asked,
“Really look like a lamp-post?” And I thought it my task
To persuade him it really was; nothing would deter him.
“It appears, in my mind, like tangerines stacked ad infinitum,

Dark and emotional
Loyal and blue
Screaming out truths
I'm devoted to you

Black and rebellious
Inspiring and true
Keeping my head up
I'm a part of the crew

Leather and metal
The rules we break through
You've given me hope
I don't want to redo

Reddish and papery
We've finally come to
Pick up the pieces
We now say adieu

Empty and lonesome
A light to look to
The tears come down quickly
Whisper "I miss you"

I would miss Warren's eyes most of all, I decided.
There was something about the way they changed colors, depending on his mood. They were ice blue when he was a protector, a soldier, fending off whatever evils there were. They were warm brown when he was a peacemaker, a witty diplomat whose quips could save the day. And they were green when he was a best friend, a childish daydreamer who drank tea in the summer and watched the stars.

As the rose colored glasses come off
I realize that perhaps things aren't as comfy-cozy as they could be
I'm trying, perhaps too hard,
And though we both act as if everything's fine
I'm slowly dying

As the rose colored glasses come off
Would your eyes widen in realization, a sudden flood of emotion rushing
Or would you shout, calling me selfish?
And though we both act as if everything's fine
I'm silently crying

How do you find
The hands of time,
The rest of fate,
The meaning in rhyme?

How do you ask
The questions you know,
The reasons you need,
The right way to go?

Wish,
And hope,
And dream,
And live.

Never stop seeking,
Always find your dream,
Always.

You know no boundaries
And that's your last undoing
Your final, last-straw trumpeting
Faded obsolete

Do you really expect to keep ties
With the people I love
After severing them
To me

How convoluted
No really, how
I just roll my eyes and
Breathe

Just step back and move on
Go away now, it's done
You lack what keeps me responding with grace
And that is boundaries

HAVE you ever heard of sluggard being famous? Probably not. Have you heard of someone who didn’t like to read but still became famous? Yes. Did a story cross you ear of someone who people thought nothing good could come out of? Of course! People such as Martin Luther King Jr., John Jay, Theodore Roosevelt, James Madison all became important milestones in the history of America. And all because of a book.

Chad Jones: the Bad

I sit on the porch swing, my back, as curved as a boomerang. I can watch the road and everything that past my home if you can even call it a home.

The cold November wind flies past me, cutting my cheeks with its claws of ice, and so I quickly zip up my hoodie. I hate wearing my hoodie, I hate having to leave my room because Mom and her boyfriend are arguing on the phone.

I hate life.

My phone buzzes, which I take out and unlock the screen. It’s Becca.