Everything eventually turns grey
November 12, 2009
Normal, IL
Some things cut deeper than we expect them to.
I knew my love was deeper than she ever knew
And I etched it into my skin to prove
That some things cannot be forgotten
No matter how much we want them to
There are trails and tracks of broken pieces
That I have sifted through to find myself
Here at this moment
I can honestly say that I am no more good
Than I was then or ever thought I could be
But I am more blessed because I know
That some things are more than holy
And those are the things worth clinging to
I catch myself now and again
Ebbing and flowing like the night
I told my mother I wanted nothing more
Than to see the sun bouncing up off the water
Like a billion tiny beads of silver
I’m still stretching westward
I’m following her path toward the sunset
And I’m hoping that she will remember
That I am still here
And I’m still dreaming
And my wishing was not idle when I said
I will go with you
Some things are going to be
Like the beginning of my forgetting
And the constant trembling of my hands,
It is inevitable that I will
Always be longing for something
And constantly seeking something
Bigger than you or myself
12 November 2009
it's what i do... i dream
November 12, 2009
Normal, IL
To my mother,
Who pretends she is not dying
to my heart,
my pieces of skin
to the child I left behind
and the one I always dreamed of
to the love I always thought I lost
and the ones who lost me
to the one who shares my story
and my gift for telling all
to the one whose promises I kept
and whose heart I broke
the girl who always looks at me
open-eyed and open-hearted
like she can see straight through
to everything I’ve been hiding
from the boy who still calls me his
and the ones who never got the chance
to my friends who never made it
to my period of self-acknowledgement
to my family who never doubted
the fact that I could make it
to my dreams
that never stop coming
no matter how much I tell myself
they can never come true
to the truths I left hidden
and the lies I wrote to you
to the songs I keep writing
even when they don’t make sense
to the girls I keep remembering
even when they couldn’t recall my name
to the one who promised me everything
and the one who took it away
to my aunt who waited sixty years
to finally admit what we already knew
to my uncle who lived 83 years
to show me how to live graciously
to the singers who always know my heart
and the poets who always know my tragedies
this life is for you.
This life is your proclamation
That you were here
And breathing
And living
And loving
And this life is yours for the making
This heart is yours for the beating
And yours for the taking
And ours for the molding
Because this life is all about the mold
About using our hands and our song to
Break out of our mediocrity and
Believe everything true
This is your gospel
And you can tell your story
Any way you want to believe it
Because I believe in you and us
And the thoughts you left unwritten and
The ones you gave me to write for you
And this life is especially for you
It is yours
Normal, IL
To my mother,
Who pretends she is not dying
to my heart,
my pieces of skin
to the child I left behind
and the one I always dreamed of
to the love I always thought I lost
and the ones who lost me
to the one who shares my story
and my gift for telling all
to the one whose promises I kept
and whose heart I broke
the girl who always looks at me
open-eyed and open-hearted
like she can see straight through
to everything I’ve been hiding
from the boy who still calls me his
and the ones who never got the chance
to my friends who never made it
to my period of self-acknowledgement
to my family who never doubted
the fact that I could make it
to my dreams
that never stop coming
no matter how much I tell myself
they can never come true
to the truths I left hidden
and the lies I wrote to you
to the songs I keep writing
even when they don’t make sense
to the girls I keep remembering
even when they couldn’t recall my name
to the one who promised me everything
and the one who took it away
to my aunt who waited sixty years
to finally admit what we already knew
to my uncle who lived 83 years
to show me how to live graciously
to the singers who always know my heart
and the poets who always know my tragedies
this life is for you.
This life is your proclamation
That you were here
And breathing
And living
And loving
And this life is yours for the making
This heart is yours for the beating
And yours for the taking
And ours for the molding
Because this life is all about the mold
About using our hands and our song to
Break out of our mediocrity and
Believe everything true
This is your gospel
And you can tell your story
Any way you want to believe it
Because I believe in you and us
And the thoughts you left unwritten and
The ones you gave me to write for you
And this life is especially for you
It is yours
it's what i do... i dream
I’m all for believing if you can reveal the true colors within…
November 12, 2009
Normal, IL
My hands are always cold
And facing up
And pointing west
I haven’t done anything substantial
Or important
I haven’t sculpted a beautiful figure
Out of red, dirty clay
I haven’t shaken hands with POTUS
Or played thumb wars with Oprah
But I like to think that I’ve done more
Than let them sit there idle
These hands have made paper mache
World globes, complete with lumpy hills
And perfectly blue oceans
I’ve written on birthday and anniversary cakes
And made cards when my friends are having
Shitty days
I’ve written goodbye letters and
Held them safe
Until I felt I could smile and wave
For the last time
I have felt
I’m all for believing if you can reveal the true colors within…
November 12, 2009
Normal, IL
My hands are always cold
And facing up
And pointing west
I haven’t done anything substantial
Or important
I haven’t sculpted a beautiful figure
Out of red, dirty clay
I haven’t shaken hands with POTUS
Or played thumb wars with Oprah
But I like to think that I’ve done more
Than let them sit there idle
These hands have made paper mache
World globes, complete with lumpy hills
And perfectly blue oceans
I’ve written on birthday and anniversary cakes
And made cards when my friends are having
Shitty days
I’ve written goodbye letters and
Held them safe
Until I felt I could smile and wave
For the last time
I have felt
November 12, 2009
Normal, IL
My hands are always cold
And facing up
And pointing west
I haven’t done anything substantial
Or important
I haven’t sculpted a beautiful figure
Out of red, dirty clay
I haven’t shaken hands with POTUS
Or played thumb wars with Oprah
But I like to think that I’ve done more
Than let them sit there idle
These hands have made paper mache
World globes, complete with lumpy hills
And perfectly blue oceans
I’ve written on birthday and anniversary cakes
And made cards when my friends are having
Shitty days
I’ve written goodbye letters and
Held them safe
Until I felt I could smile and wave
For the last time
I have felt
I’m all for believing if you can reveal the true colors within…
November 12, 2009
Normal, IL
My hands are always cold
And facing up
And pointing west
I haven’t done anything substantial
Or important
I haven’t sculpted a beautiful figure
Out of red, dirty clay
I haven’t shaken hands with POTUS
Or played thumb wars with Oprah
But I like to think that I’ve done more
Than let them sit there idle
These hands have made paper mache
World globes, complete with lumpy hills
And perfectly blue oceans
I’ve written on birthday and anniversary cakes
And made cards when my friends are having
Shitty days
I’ve written goodbye letters and
Held them safe
Until I felt I could smile and wave
For the last time
I have felt
it's what i do... i dream
I want a lover I don’t have to love
November 12, 2009
Normal, IL
I am nothing more than numbers and figures
A matrix-like replication
Of something less than charming
And I’ve been adding up my
Handsome little failures
And hanging them so I could see
The ink-blot stains of everything
I once thought I could believe in
And I’ve been counting… down.
I told you I would come home again for you…
I didn’t always mean to be
A robotic production of false hopes
And unreached high expectations
I’ve got secrets too
I never told you that summer
That I have always had a knack for letting go
I’ve gotten it down to a scientific
Progression of perfect lies and saved faces
And I never think ahead
Before impulse takes control
You know more than anyone that
If there could have been some form of redemption
There is only one person who could save me
Save me
Before I forget that motions and
Emotions are the same thing
And drip from my soul into my hands
Into every letter I’ve ever written you
Lies or not,
I meant every word I said.
But I treat hope like trust and
When it’s broken it’s irreparable
So you can call me pieces
If it makes you feel as though
You can finally have something of me
To hold onto
I’ve cut myself more times than you can imagine
To see if there’s something in there of you.
I’m still searching
For something for you to remember me by
When I finally forget that I am breathing
For a reason
And hold myself and my breath
So tightly
I’m tired of escaping
I’m tired of dreaming of places
I’m destined to never see again
Like the inside of your palms
And the palms in the west.
My hands are always face up
If you still need to take hold.
Or grasp something besides
Impossibilities.
November 12, 2009
Normal, IL
I am nothing more than numbers and figures
A matrix-like replication
Of something less than charming
And I’ve been adding up my
Handsome little failures
And hanging them so I could see
The ink-blot stains of everything
I once thought I could believe in
And I’ve been counting… down.
I told you I would come home again for you…
I didn’t always mean to be
A robotic production of false hopes
And unreached high expectations
I’ve got secrets too
I never told you that summer
That I have always had a knack for letting go
I’ve gotten it down to a scientific
Progression of perfect lies and saved faces
And I never think ahead
Before impulse takes control
You know more than anyone that
If there could have been some form of redemption
There is only one person who could save me
Save me
Before I forget that motions and
Emotions are the same thing
And drip from my soul into my hands
Into every letter I’ve ever written you
Lies or not,
I meant every word I said.
But I treat hope like trust and
When it’s broken it’s irreparable
So you can call me pieces
If it makes you feel as though
You can finally have something of me
To hold onto
I’ve cut myself more times than you can imagine
To see if there’s something in there of you.
I’m still searching
For something for you to remember me by
When I finally forget that I am breathing
For a reason
And hold myself and my breath
So tightly
I’m tired of escaping
I’m tired of dreaming of places
I’m destined to never see again
Like the inside of your palms
And the palms in the west.
My hands are always face up
If you still need to take hold.
Or grasp something besides
Impossibilities.
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