I will leave
today.
I can’t tell the difference between being
inside
out
side, my lungs
move
so easily between
conversations
between
the sun, fleeting eyes wrapped in
paper thin conversations
I tear them apart
I hear a scream or a song
I will leave
today
I’m starting to think that
all light originated from the same
place. The energy,
the fire that can’t be exclusive to sky,
intrepid wind
We must believe we have tamed it.
We must believe
we can drink it.
We must believe.
Even when it is frightening.
We must, even when it is terrifying
nothing
is more feared
than the alternative
I will leave
today.
is it
The afternoon
That sinks into me
heavily, chaining me to
dense drinks
and deposits
I can’t
swim
in
a shore lost on the outside of
fervent and hungry
yearning
clawing at the door
aching in waves,
lapping in desire and
pure
adoration.
yet morning comes again
sopping
waiting
splendid
with razor sharp patience and
gleaming twilight
‘hello’
it says,
transparent,
and lifts me
cement
hangs
on the back
of your tired sigh,
your heavy exhale,
tightening
pulling,
drawing out that
old, dried
exasperated,
demeanor
desperate to live,
ragged with rugged fingers
and callouses
from gripping
the jaded edges
of what could be.
I can’t listen to you anymore.
I can not be
haunted
anymore
the palms of my face
were
red and swimming
with rum
I think I could talk
to myself and maybe
if I’m lucky
truly mean what I say
but we laugh because these are words
and letters are mirrors
and mirrors are
oxymorons.
how can I trust
that I am
here
that I am
there
that I
am. I smile,
even he is red and
swimming
everything is something by TheStoyTeller, literature
Literature
everything is something
a pair of eyes roll down the sidewalk,
a snowy gait and huddled shoulders
by fires smoldering and becoming smoke, becoming air,
a child with too much to play with,
a mother running a fool’s errand,
is she God or is she Santa?
her wrinkles will never tell.
The pharmacy sits well
in its place at the dinner table,
uncle John hasn’t been the same.
still those headlights slick and slide toward the gates and we expect his hat and ignorance again. Please take off your shoes,
hang up that orange glow
the grey walls of the din aren’t dim yet.
Your mother still blinks,
she still worries till midnight but you’re out t
listening to your favorite song by TheStoyTeller, literature
Literature
listening to your favorite song
casually walking down the street
like the potential to evolve or implode
isn’t resident and resting on my shoulders.
think
about me.
me!
your head boppin’ molecular babe
I asked the heavens for advice by TheStoyTeller, literature
Literature
I asked the heavens for advice
the sun says do something brave but rational.
the moon says let your passions and inner light
guide you.
the stars say they don’t care
as long as it looks good.
personhood,
should be an inner gravity.
not something set out on display.
I don’t want to be intrigued by visibility
and I
won’t.
I dislike actors,
but love
the characters they portray.
you run a business but you mostly run.
I’ve seen you in sea faring dreams, dressed in water and transparency,
only in dreams.
an afterthought
occurring just before the action,
the air
suspended between lips, the weak glue saliva makes, the solvent lip gloss can be, the separation, the anxiety, the bill,
your hands, your hair, the car ride,
the mountain top
the city side’s glimmering lights like
tiny yellow angels
cradling their own
microscopic solar systems, guiding
the way to a lonely room, a parked car,
a few unfinished assignments
that you know you will complete
someday.
I wonder if you’ll complete me
so
I have littered my soul
on the highway
of entrancing conversations,
fast tracked to tremendous feasting,
indulgences that leave me hanging,
the arm that is numb but brave
enough to
venture
from the fire of coddling blankets and into cold space, the frigid afterlife at the edge
of the bed,
suspended in carpeted space or arctic steel mattress frames.
I don’t know
what things look like
out there but I’m glad
you found me.
I’m glad you listened.
I’m glad you caught my little spirit,
let it roam a while before hitting it head on with trucks made of spiders legs
with webs and wheels made of time moving so fast
I will leave
today.
I can’t tell the difference between being
inside
out
side, my lungs
move
so easily between
conversations
between
the sun, fleeting eyes wrapped in
paper thin conversations
I tear them apart
I hear a scream or a song
I will leave
today
I’m starting to think that
all light originated from the same
place. The energy,
the fire that can’t be exclusive to sky,
intrepid wind
We must believe we have tamed it.
We must believe
we can drink it.
We must believe.
Even when it is frightening.
We must, even when it is terrifying
nothing
is more feared
than the alternative
I will leave
today.
is it
The afternoon
That sinks into me
heavily, chaining me to
dense drinks
and deposits
I can’t
swim
in
a shore lost on the outside of
fervent and hungry
yearning
clawing at the door
aching in waves,
lapping in desire and
pure
adoration.
yet morning comes again
sopping
waiting
splendid
with razor sharp patience and
gleaming twilight
‘hello’
it says,
transparent,
and lifts me
cement
hangs
on the back
of your tired sigh,
your heavy exhale,
tightening
pulling,
drawing out that
old, dried
exasperated,
demeanor
desperate to live,
ragged with rugged fingers
and callouses
from gripping
the jaded edges
of what could be.
I can’t listen to you anymore.
I can not be
haunted
anymore
the palms of my face
were
red and swimming
with rum
I think I could talk
to myself and maybe
if I’m lucky
truly mean what I say
but we laugh because these are words
and letters are mirrors
and mirrors are
oxymorons.
how can I trust
that I am
here
that I am
there
that I
am. I smile,
even he is red and
swimming
everything is something by TheStoyTeller, literature
Literature
everything is something
a pair of eyes roll down the sidewalk,
a snowy gait and huddled shoulders
by fires smoldering and becoming smoke, becoming air,
a child with too much to play with,
a mother running a fool’s errand,
is she God or is she Santa?
her wrinkles will never tell.
The pharmacy sits well
in its place at the dinner table,
uncle John hasn’t been the same.
still those headlights slick and slide toward the gates and we expect his hat and ignorance again. Please take off your shoes,
hang up that orange glow
the grey walls of the din aren’t dim yet.
Your mother still blinks,
she still worries till midnight but you’re out t
listening to your favorite song by TheStoyTeller, literature
Literature
listening to your favorite song
casually walking down the street
like the potential to evolve or implode
isn’t resident and resting on my shoulders.
think
about me.
me!
your head boppin’ molecular babe
I asked the heavens for advice by TheStoyTeller, literature
Literature
I asked the heavens for advice
the sun says do something brave but rational.
the moon says let your passions and inner light
guide you.
the stars say they don’t care
as long as it looks good.
personhood,
should be an inner gravity.
not something set out on display.
I don’t want to be intrigued by visibility
and I
won’t.
I dislike actors,
but love
the characters they portray.
you run a business but you mostly run.
I’ve seen you in sea faring dreams, dressed in water and transparency,
only in dreams.
an afterthought
occurring just before the action,
the air
suspended between lips, the weak glue saliva makes, the solvent lip gloss can be, the separation, the anxiety, the bill,
your hands, your hair, the car ride,
the mountain top
the city side’s glimmering lights like
tiny yellow angels
cradling their own
microscopic solar systems, guiding
the way to a lonely room, a parked car,
a few unfinished assignments
that you know you will complete
someday.
I wonder if you’ll complete me
so
I have littered my soul
on the highway
of entrancing conversations,
fast tracked to tremendous feasting,
indulgences that leave me hanging,
the arm that is numb but brave
enough to
venture
from the fire of coddling blankets and into cold space, the frigid afterlife at the edge
of the bed,
suspended in carpeted space or arctic steel mattress frames.
I don’t know
what things look like
out there but I’m glad
you found me.
I’m glad you listened.
I’m glad you caught my little spirit,
let it roam a while before hitting it head on with trucks made of spiders legs
with webs and wheels made of time moving so fast
I'm an escapist. 90% of the things I do, I do them for the purpose of mentally escaping certain thoughts, situations and emotions. And realizing this sucks.
Not that i don't do the things the I do for the fun of it anymore, but now I'm just always asking myself "Are you escaping? Are you escaping?" now nothing is really a true escape anymore.
maybe this is right though. "escape" is just another word for running away
I've fallen in love with the idea of infinite, multiple universes. A world created for every decision made and every decision not made. If this is true, i don't have to wish anymore, or hope or dream or want for anything. While I suffer here, somewhere else I am okay. Somewhere I am who I want to be, I have what i want to have, and I am whole. somewhere 
Anywhere but here
Hello There! I have been quietly following your poetry for a while now, and I have just recently started a poetry course at university. I need to analyse a favourite poem, and would love to use one of yours! I was just wondering if you were published anywhere.?
Hey! First off thank you so much for your support. I am so very grateful that you have been reading my work. It means the world to me really. It is further humbling that you would choose one of my pieces for this project in your poetry class. I regret to tell you that I actually am not published anywhere at the moment, but hopefully someday soon I will be! Thank you again for your support. <3