Completely full, yet I stare blankly…
Paralyzed with thoughts that seem cemented to the inner linings of my brain. 

Thoughts that are wild and colorful,

Just waiting to be unleashed into sprints of action,

Yet there is a hesitation. 

There is a sudden panic of fear. 

Passion can be seen as silliness, or worse insanity…

That cripples me. 

I shouldn’t care, but I do. 

I need confidence. 

I need drive. 

I need the carelessness of a drunk, with a sober-mind still intact. 

Words speak volumes, but they are so hard to form,

So I stare blankly.


The Umbrella 

Lightning isn’t all that violent,

When you have experienced the strike of a word.

Silence can be just as destructive,

I learned that when you slammed the door.

The door of your heart has been locked,

And the flood washed away the key.

Now I am left wondering, with all these questions, 

In a panic of finding security.

Where’s my umbrella?

Where’s my umbrella?

I need my umbrella,

To cover all that’s left of me.

The Hurricane

There is a hurricane blowing. 
It’s wild and uncontrollable. 

Completely reckless and destructive.

It has piercing winds that blow,

And relentless rains that flood.

The eye, being the steady calm, before more waves of troubled tantrums occur.
But as time passes,

It grows tired…

With each violent episode,

It surrenders. 

I am like the hurricane,

Though my winds are gusts of sharp words.

From frustration and irritability of misunderstandings,

And wrongfully expressing the inner parts of my soul… 

And for the rains that fall, 

Mine are more like teardrops, 

Escaping confused eyes, searching for mercy. 

Unlike the eye, mine is off balance and seemingly unsteady,

This being the opposite of still, leaves my mind a cluttered mess,

Leaving me on a mission to find an answer to end this disaster.

But as time passes,

I grow tired…

With each violent episode,

I surrender. 


Remember when we took that walk, 

and our pup and your fishing pole tagged along…

I snapped pictures to find new inspiration, while you casted for food to fill our bellies. 

I left with more thoughts to cloud my mind, while you left with empty hands.

The whole point was to fill our hearts with simple memories of time spent together,

But no matter what you say, even if you say every word I’d like to hear, it wouldn’t matter. 

I wouldn’t believe you. 

Part of me feels guilty for this, and feeling guilty builds resentment.  

You see, I shouldn’t always have to be the one to ask to take that walk…

One day, maybe, you’ll ask me instead. 

Then, you might catch a smile sneak on my face for no reason, other than in that moment,

 I’ll finally start to believe again…

The Dirt that Lingers 

I search for inspiration in the chaos,

but the room is dark.

I search for the light switch, 

but I’m stumbling. 

I clumsily walk in circles, 

with the blind fold of guilt.

It cripples me.

I long for passion,

for the faith that never falters.

And when I’m lacking just the slightest bit…

I feel dirty. 

I feel the opposite of what I long to be,

Even when there is only but a smudge of dirt.