ReflectionsRemindMeOfMulan

I look at my reflection in broken mirrors.
And it’s exactly how I see myself.
But I’m trying. I swear I’m trying to piece myself together to the best of my ability like torn up photographs. But I keep putting pieces in the wrong places because I hate what I turned into.
And it turns out…
Walking through nightmares is the only time I’m content with my self.
With my eyes closed.
Waking blindly, hands outstretched.

Lost.
Because my sense of self has no sense of direction.
My charms are bibles in Atheist households.
My opinion is a hobo’s resume.
My self-esteem is a bottomless pit.
My insecurities are the deep end of the swimming pool.
And my words…seem to carry all the weight of balloons in lunar atmospheres.

So I’m back to searching for myself.
Looking for where my secrets lie, in the shadows where Dr. Jekyll hides.
With night vision goggles and a kaleidoscope, hoping I can turned these shapes into something and these words into anything.

But my broken mirror reflection keeps origami-ing my vision into folded page poems and apology letters I never sent.
Now I can see the person that I should be having fistfights with the person I turned into…and it doesn’t end well.

I’ve already Fight Clubbed my self-worth into submission every time I second-guessed myself. Venom in my veins from the cobras I could never get a hold of Because I always had trouble holding my tongue.
And these copy+pasted lies become musical notes. Charming words from their hiding place from what left inside my ribcage.

And I’m just left to wonder…if I’ll ever put myself together right.

Conscience

I think I’m going crazy.
(Just a little bit)
Then please tell me what I’m supposed to do.
(You know I’m getting tired of looking over you)
I know that I’ve done some things that bother you. But now you’re just seasoning an open wound.
(You’re 0 for 2)
When my friends didn’t care, see I really opened up to you. I trusted you!
(It was beneficial for the both of us; you know it’s true)
So you were using me.
(Only guiding you along for what’s the best for you)
I never asked you to…get away from me.
(You know I’ll never leave)

I don’t want to know what’s right and wrong.
Interrupting the resentment every time I’d try to write a song.
Because I don’t belong. It’s just a fact to me.
Failed to mass-produce my genes.
(You were an error in the factory)
It never added up so I put it into factoring.
(Good and bad.)
I’m a product of the two, not what I chose to be.
Now strangers glare like I’m ET out of Roswell.
But for real, I just want to bump some Caldwell.
(What about Justin Bieber?)
Yo, he’s kind of like my idol though.
I watch Never Say Never when the day is moving kind of slow.
(Really?)
Naw, FUCK HIM! I’ll cut Usher’s vocal chords for finding him. And Selena? She’ll be another lonely girl because of him. And then his little fans can build a monument…
(Simmer down a bit)
I’m sorry. I’ve just been kind of moody lately. And I don’t think a single thing can even fucking change it.

And you didn’t guide me though. It was mostly luck. So stop talking to me. I don’t give a fuck. Why are you even here? I just wish for once you’d up and fucking disappear. You were mostly here to be my therapist. If you stay, then you’ll never hear the end of this. So please leave. I don’t want to hear your voice again. I’ll gladly write your eulogy, with a poisoned pen.
Didn’t I kill you off a while ago?
(It’ll take more than that for me to really go.
You said you need to breathe. A little space to feel the open breeze. That’s what you need of me. But if you really want, I guess it’s time I leave)

(Do the right thing) That’s what my angel spoke. The last words out of his mouth before I slit his throat.
(Fuck everything) That’s what the devil on my shoulder said. Then he bungee jumped off, now my conscience’s dead.

But I’ll be honest with you. I was lying just a little when I said I didn’t give a fuck. And I know that you’ve pretty much have had enough. You helped me deal with little issues in my family. The only one to take the time to even try to understand me. But…I’ve realized now that I need you here to help me out.
Hello? Oh, okay. I get it now.

I guess my head’s my solitude from this moment on. The break from the voice that I’ve been hoping for. I’ve made some bad decisions to atone for. And now it feels odd to be alone though. No one to turn to…

Haiku: Goldfish

My dreams are goldfish

That die in the king's fishtank.

It's a royal flush.

TheseAreTheDaysWhenNostalgiaDidn'tExist

This is for every kid sitting in the back to look cool. Every boy wearing baggy hand-me-downs or brand new Dragon Ball Z shirts wishing they could do kamehamehas and throw spirit bombs on a whim. Every girl with their hair in tails and braids self-conscious of their braces, yet excited when they got to pick what color they were.

This is for every kid, that remembers what it feels like to be one. Or every adult seeking an escape for monotony and a discovery of nostalgia. Remembering the allure of Play-Doh and wondering what the color yellow could possibly taste like. And running around in Osh Kosh overalls and shoes that squeaked and lit up was mandatory.

You know…when the concept of nostalgia was foreign, because everything was brand new. And shiny meant awesome, and pain was only caused by rug burn and skinned knees. No floor was just a floor, because black tiles became safety and white tiles were lava on your way to whatever magical destination your mind could come up with because no kid wants to be in a mall.

Years of talking to television screens like it was our best friend. When we always beat Steve looking for Blue’s clues and we were watching football headed heroes before Stewie was even thought of. Television made us feel better because we could always guess what that outline formed and Pokemon taught us to be the very best that no one ever was! Even though we couldn’t leave our home at 10 to travel the world with a pet that could kill you if it wanted to yet still stayed cute. And even now, when we flip our caps back…we fucking mean business.

Our minds were laboratories with test tubes and our imagination gave birth to our friends and greatest enemies while our digits danced on joysticks and controllers. Days when getting down and dirty…meant getting down and dirty. Before we were too old for anything and before slutty was a costume.

Because too often I think…I don’t ever want to grow up.

TheRevolutionWillNotBeTelevised

The revolution will not be televised.
There will be no infomercial for salvation, available with the scan of a MasterCard. And you can’t cheat your way to the top, hiding tricks up your sleeves if you’ve mastered cards. Poker face set, hiding behind the facade of a mask. Hiding emotions through molded features because behind that second skin…you’re worried.

Because the revolution will not be televised.
No starter gun for the rage, and no signal for the riots. No redemption up for auction on programs programmed to give you the best bang for your buck as you bid on bullshit they force-feed you and shovel into your face like farmhands.

The revolution will not be televised.
All the media does is tell us lies that ride over broadbands and wireless networks. SOS’s surfing over airwaves like angels with no sense of direction just looking for emancipation, dodging kamikaze radio signals packed with propaganda. And there’s nothing we can do but wait.

Because the revolution will not be televised.

TheWayYouMakeMeFeel

The way you make me feel makes me want to run somebody over with a charcoal Hummer, kidnap you and hide you in a basement for four summers, and sprint towards you at a couple thousand miles an hour like the road runner, just to hit you with a Stone Cold Stunner, you…are a stone cold stunner.

Because the way you make me feel makes me want to levitate…write you a love note like we were back in second grade, take you on more than just a second date. Pause time when I look into your eyes and make nanoseconds wait, because compared to you every girl is second rate, personality’s refreshing like a tall glass of lemonade.

And I hate that you make me feel this way.

Haiku: Onions

Fairy tale onions

Never turn into pumpkins.

Because tears don't change.

IfItWasn'tForTheInternetI'dBeABetterPerson

My mind’s always intertwined with the internet. Falling prey to the bait, so I’m swimming right into nets. Drowning in its streams because I can’t swallow the live feed as the live feed on satellite signals for entertainment, rioting when it lags or the server’s busy. Because we’re stuck there…like restaurants waiting to order when the server’s busy so sit there…lack of patience evident because we want everything at the click of a mouse. And for free.

Because iTunes is holding our music captive under oppression when we want it free. The sad truth is that, music…is like a rape charge. Hardly anyone pays for it. Now we all download on the down low, and take it all in so we down loads like megabytes were necessary hydration, then take mega bites out of computer chips for nutrition.

Finding escape within the confines of motherboards, like social networking is a ship we wouldn’t let our mothers board because we share our problems with strangers, thinking they understand when they’re sitting in front of computer screens doing the same.

Haiku: Memories

Rock hard memories.

You handcuffed yourself to me.

Now I can't forget.

Haiku: Words

I hide behind words.

Hoping they explain it all.

Poetic refuge.