Turning Towards the Sun

It's so hard for us
to say,
we're proud of you.

It's so hard for us
to say,
We love you.

It's so hard for us
to say,
thanks
or sorry
sincerely.

Why?

We don't need
to hide.

We don't need
to be proud.

What we need
is to
speak up.

We need
to show
our appreciation.

For each other.

For our lives.

For ourselves.

This family needs
to wake up
from this gloomy slumber.

This family needs
to step out
into the light
and forever
turn our backs
from this darkness.

We Need Nothing Else

We don't know how to love.

We were never taught.

Our parents were never taught.

No one they every knew
were ever taught.

It's all a travesty.

We need to begin
to study
and read
and experience
and apply
and give
into LOVE.

No more hating women
because of their
insane mood swings
or men
because of their
sheer stupidity.

No.

Love them unconditionally.

Love their mistakes,
their flaws,
their lies,
their everything,
till is feels as though
that is all
you are doing.

Just love.

Love the person
that just cut you off,
love the eyes
of a murder,
love the rude customer
you just helped,
love the butterfly
that just kissed your balls.

Love,
it's the greatest gift,
feeling,
treasure
in the world.

We need nothing else.

True Potential

It starts
when we begin
to understand.

We are limited.

Even among
the tiniest
of pleasures.

Stop that.
Don't do that.
Cut that out.
Shut up.
Quit it.

Yes, at first,
we put up a fight,
but eventually,
we give in.

We listen.
We obey.
We follow.
We stop
being ourselves.

We continue this
obedience
until we have
a stroke.

It's a stroke
of luck.

It's our chance
to start over.

Yet, once again,
they try and stop us.

We begin to understand
again.

We lose our ourselves
again.

We pass it on
to our children.

We are all to blame
for this
mistake.

But it's not too late.

We can begin
again
to understand,
there's a different way.

Only then
can we accept
our true
potential.

The Dying Flower

She knows
she is wrong.

She knows
all these thoughts are
killing herself.

She's stabbing
her own heart
with her own words.

She's doing it everyday.

She sees
her blood,
she touches it,
plays with it,
drinks it.

Yet keeps on.

There is no stopping her.

She's grown to love
her torture.

Like a flower
needs sunshine,
she needs
her twisted thoughts.

She'll keep the blood
flowing
till she's dry,
then one bright day
she'll wither away.

Her once beautiful life
brittle
and being swept away
by a gentle wind.

This Dream is Real

They were inanimate.

They'd just lay around the house
and were only useful
when we'd physically
touch them.

I decided
they were
boring.

They needed life.

They needed a personality.

I could give it to them.

The cheese in the fridge
had mold.

I ordered it
to cut the mold
out.

It woke up
and did exactly that.

I focused on my stereo.

It came on
and played some soft
metal music.

It smiled
as the tunes
grew louder.

Before I knew it,
the whole house was
alive.

It was breathing
and dancing
and following my every
order.

This was,
of course,
my dream.

But this could be
our reality.

Our minds
possess
this power.

We are too dumb
to believe
this.

Not me.

Just look at my pen.

It wrote this
entire poem
without me
lifting
a finger.

Believe me.

This dream is real.

Childhood Dreams

I've been dreaming
of her
since I was a boy.

I'd imagine her
cooking me food,
naked.

I'd create fantasies of her
licking my balls
and massaging my back
after a hard day's work.

When I would get up,
I'd cry
and listen to
sad songs because
some young slut
broke my heart.

I'd wipe the tears away
and listen for hours
and wait.

She was getting closer.

I could feel her
on my back
and balls.

Every step of my life.

I knew
I was with her
this past weekend.

We've been together now
for three years.

We've gone through
many, many
sad times
and bad times
and some of the best moments
of our lives.

Together.

This time,
we were in
San Francisco,
staying in a cheap
motel room,
right above a cheap
strip club.

She cried,
just like I dreamed
when I was a boy.

I put my arms around her
exactly
like I remembered I would.

She was the woman
of my dreams.

I smiled
and it seemed like
an odd time to do so.

She just didn't know.

I knew.

I could see
the future
just like
when I was young.

We fought again,
but I didn't seem to mind
as much as I
used to.

I knew that every fight
we've fought,
has brought us closer
to our dream:

Our marriage.

It's all I've ever
dreamed about
since I was listening to those
sad, sad songs.

A Jolt of Terror

You know
it's funny when
looking out
of a window
of a plane
and the jet moves
violently
and without warning.

A jolt of terror
runs throughout
my body.

Only
for a brief moment.

Then,
the laughter comes.

A myriad
of giggles
and snorts.

If the planes
does
go down,
that's all there is.

Goodnight.

This doesn't necessarily
have
to happen
on a plane
either.

This
crash and burn
could happen
anywhere.

Anytime.

I would still
have the same
response.

What else could I do?

Pit of Cancer

Our generation is
deteriorating.

We are
consumed
with others.

We are
obsessed
with their
lives.

Well our lives
are spiraling
out of control.

It makes no sense.

We can't even
focus
on ourselves
without
comparing
to another.

Who cares about them?

They've never helped
you
in any way,
shape, or
form.

They've done
the exact
opposite.

For once
in your precious life
put down your phone,
turn off your tv,
unplug everything.

Enjoy yourself.

Enjoy your surroundings.

You are so
very goddamn
blessed
in every way
imaginable.

Figure it out.

The way
you are
living
is awful.

You are giving
yourself
cancer.

Get it?

Cancer, disease, illness,
insanity.

You
are doing
this
all
to yourself.

Stop.

Just stop.

Have I lost you
again?

Are you distracted
by another
advertisement?

She's not even real
and that pill
won't save you.

Know Failure

Know failure.

Get it
deep
down
in your heart
and be
comfortable
with the idea
that you're going
to lose
big time.

It's ok.

There's two sides
to a coin.

You're also
going to
win
big.

In anything
you want.

Don't let
anybody
tell you
otherwise.

They, yes,
they
want you
to not only
fail,
but lose all.

They want you
to be buried
with regrets
and broken dreams.

They
want you
crying
in your grave.

Don't
let it
happen.

You
have the choice.

YOU.

It's your decision
and only yours.

Take a damn chance
for once
in your life.

Fail.

A million times.

But,
for fuck's sake
keep going.

Enjoy the failure
and enjoy the lessons
each one
gives you.

I want you
to smile,
not only
in your casket,
but on your
bed each night.

You don't deserve
the life
you are
forced
to live.

It's time.

Time to create
your life
full of failures,
full of victories,
free of fears,
and filled with bliss.

The only reason
why
we were put
on this earth.

So,
the only question
remains is
why are you sitting
here?

Be gone
with your bad
self!

Jehovah's Bug

Persistence.

Some of us have it,
most of us
don't.

Jehovah Witnesses do.

We can all
take a page
from their book.

Most of us are
lazy
and give up
way too easily.

Sure,
their conversion rate
is not impressive,
but how many times
have you invited
a complete stranger
into your home
because of this?

I'm going to be
as persistent
as they are.

Except,
with my writing, drawing,
health,
endurance,
sexual stamina,
prosperity,
and even
becoming a
better person.

Yes,
me.

Or maybe,
I'm setting myself up
to become a
Jehovah's Witness.

It's fine.

I sure do
love
to bug
the shit
out of everyone.

May I come in?

Laughing Hair

My great grandpa
never
smiled much.

He was burdened.

He knew adversity.

That would give these
new kids
nightmares
till their own mind
destroyed
their own body.

He
lived on.

Expressionless.

Doesn't mean
he didn't know how
to make others
smile,
even after he's been dead
for 10 years.

He made me laugh
today.

My grandpa
was giving me a haircut
and he told me
when his father
would cut his hair.

He'd ask him
how he wanted it,
long or short?

And my grandpa would tell him.

He'd cut it
his own way.

Took his time too.

Made sure it was nice and short
when my grandpa wanted
the exact opposite.

We both laughed.

A good memory
passed on
from one generation
to the next.

Now, it's my turn
to fuck
with someone.

Except,
I'll laugh
with them
while I'm
alive
and blowing their beautiful hair
off of their shoulders.

Poop Nips

Saved by the bell
is not a
tv show.

It's how they used
to tell
if a person
was dead.

The doctors
would tie
a piece of string
to the patients's toes
and the other end
to a bell.

If the bell
stopped
ringing,
and they did not
feel a
pulse,
the patient
was pronounced dead.

Very primitive.

As a result,
a few
were buried
alive.

This
will not happen
to me.

Everyone
will know
when I'm dead.

First,
I will let out
a huge
wet fart.

Then,
I'll shit out
a nipple.

The doctor
will hold the nipple
up
and my family
will start crying.

They'll eventually
bronze it
and hand it over
to my grandchildren,
to remind them
that life
is fucking strange,
especially their grandfather's.