Relentlessly Crafted

I thought I saw something,

Something that sparkled.

A special spectacular sight on the hill

That for some reason-

Seemed solemn.

-

I chased after it with

Feet blistered and eyes blurred.

I did not care if it seemed absurd.

I just wanted my life to make the world turn.

-

Then I was atop the hill

I saw no sparkle

So I gently began to weep

Until a voice in my head screamed:

” Just cause you ain’t see

 What your vision chose to bleed

 Doesn’t mean you oughta lay down your-

 Teeth. Bite at it,

 Boy! “

From that moment on

She reminded me of a-

Butterfly. Hair which

Fluttered against the crisp wind;

Elegance that seamlessly pinched.

I know this isn’t well written

And I know this is going to be

Awfully long, a few pokes of grammatical error

Here or there.

So just accept it. Or ignore it.

Or if you’re ambitious,

Eat it whole.

-

Dear my Freshman year,

You were sweet and took just a short peek

To get to know me, leaving a thrilling-

Memory to keep.

-

Period Two, Intro to Business.

In the most clear way possible

I must simply state-

Fuck that class.

With a dash of luck I was able to transfer within

A week or three. With me came one of my best of buddios, Daniel,

To the class that would become my favorite;

Choir. In it, we sang and sang and became

A happy group of lads. Happy mornings and happy dreams of talent made us

Fat.

-

Period Three, English.

This class was boring

With root trees to boot my workload,

But the teacher, although considered-

Strange, lazy, odd, creepy,

Unfair, ignorant, irrational, and

Blind, took a liking to me after I

Told her of my acceptance from my publisher.

Natural response from an English teacher.

Yet still, it was a pain.

-

Period Four, Physical Education.

A friendly group of folk left me with

Not too much to say. Running cougars

Was certainly not too much of a chore-

Just a bore. Wolverton’s tattoo’s were ugly.

-

Period Five, Spanish.

I am laughing like a fool as I think

Of what words to say here. This class

Was a terrible joke. 36%. Speaks for

Itself. I will have no foreign language next year,

And no Spanish in Junior year.

You never did me well and I never did you well.

We don’t get along.

Peace out, Spanish.

-

Period Six, Geometry

The people in this class were friendly,

With an ever so small dash of irritation.

I had good times in this class, along with-

A chill teacher. I’m grateful for the potluck we had,

And I will be honest, I’ll miss this class,

For being an extended lunch.

-

Period Seven, Physics

Mister Miller, you made me cringe

From time to time. But you were-

Solid. A well rounded teacher with

Your heart in the right place.

I enjoyed your teachings, and I grew fond

Of the genuinely kind & interesting individuals

That this class was flushed with.

—-

So enough of the classes

And in with the jumbled timeline of events.

I’m bound to miss things that mattered to me.

It’s okay.

—-

The school year began with me being absolutely-

Hung up over a girl for a few months. My attempts

Were honest, but my chances were petty. I have

Come to the bitter but sweet conclusion

That it simply was not meant to be,

And that’s okay with me.

The whole ordeal is valued a lot greater in emotional-

Deficit then I let on with these pieces of verse,

But at this point in time it is a tattered page in my lifetime’s

Book that continues to grow rich with fresh print.

I learned a lot from it, mostly that I have a most lovely

Group of cherished friends. Thanks, you know who you are.

-

Being hung up over this girl made me realize

That writing was my passion, not just a

Child’s game. I wrote-

And wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote-

And wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote-

And wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote-

And wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote-

And wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote-

And I was accepted by The Circus of the Damned.

I cried, though this is the first time I have

Mentioned that to anyone. Even my best of friends.

I cried for a while, actually. Maybe more than a while.

It was the reassurance I needed to know that

I wasn’t complete rubbish at this craft

I hope to take this-

Not to the sky

Not to the stars above

Not to the heavens

But to the absolute tip of where my pen can touch.

I must.

The scary part is that I have not a clue

Where that is. I’ll find out upon my last breath;

How thrilling.

-

I made the club Quiz Bowl with

My dear cousin, who I consider a brother.

My friend, who I knew would funnel in intelligent club members.

My other friend, who at the time I was not close to;

But now depend on to a reasonable extent. I have never seen her

Energy and wit spent in places that needn’t matter. She is

A wonderful person. No doubt that the club would-

Have charm that crumbled, had it not been for her involvement.

Thanks, Chia-Ry.

Our club adviser, Lubbs, became a family of sorts with us-

We all love him and he respects our decisions to

Make Quiz Bowl big.

80 active members and an exciting tournament-

I must have done something right.

Right?

-

I helped a bit with decorating for

Battle. A school event run by passion and well rounded-

Leadership. Though the leadership was arguably

Jagged around the circle’s roundness. So I got to know

Some people better. The ones in charge. I learned that they

Were most delightful,

That their inevitable blind-spots were amplified by the majority. That’s not-

Fair. I acknowledged their ability to perform. In turn,

I decided to run for

Class of 2015 Vice President.

-

My campaign was simple. Truly.

My character spoke for itself.

I go hard

I want for people to be comfortable,

And I never forget to concept of fun.

That’s all that was needed,

Then I won.

Now I owe hundreds of people mashed potatoes.

I’ll hold a mashed potato party some time in the

Summer. No worries.

-

I ended the year on a truly bright note.

A letter from the:

Academy of American Poets.

They wanted me.

They fucking wanted me.

MY WRITING WAS SEEN AND THESE PEOPLE-

THEY FUCKING LIKED IT.

I am inclined to to use the word fucking because

No other word implies my conscious belief that

My writing is not valued.

Yet, here I am now: An associate member of the Academy of American Poets.

Scholarship opportunities, publishing help, private poetry readings,

Discounts, first editions of books, and connections to the

Core of American Poetry. I’ve gotten somewhere.

And I’m so excited.

They fucking wanted me. I’m crying as I type this.

Yeah, maybe I’m sensitive but I’ve been touched

By my passion bouncing against the wall and into my face.

No one has any idea how doubtful I was of my

Scribbled words actually meaning something.

THEY FUCKING WANTED ME!!!!!

-

Now, I am left with the joy of looking forward to Summer.

Bonding with Class Officers, and I must plan

For Quiz Bowl hang outs. It is much needed,

As I replace Brian with Winston for my officer team.

Winston, if you are reading this- you’re a good man.

A good fucking man. You know how much the word

‘Fuck’ means to me by my usage of it in the past set of verse.

So, consider yourself honored, you good fucking man.

-

What else am I looking forward to?

Refining my craft with extensive hours in the

Wordsmith. Finishing up my first prose & poetry collection.

That’s it, really. Bonding & getting literature done.

-

I am so very excited for working as a Class Officer

Next school year. There is nothing to doubt here.

I go hard,

I will never betray that shout at hustling.

Ricky ironed in the core of my capacity to lead,

I will demonstrate it this year.

I want the officers to know I’m something

I want my class to know I’m something

I want myself to reach that something.

-

Class officers, you have no idea

How privileged I feel to be part of ya.

I have no intentions of sparing effort,

My sight is only looking towards the

Highest amount of quality work that we as a group

Are able to pump out.

It’s the rush of knowing that we’re going to be a family

That makes me generate energy.

I can’t wait to go hard as an officer.

Let’s do it.

—-

Lastly, I am eternally grateful for those I have met this school year,

Those who have touched me mentally, and those who-

Though I sometimes believe it with lingering disbelief;

Touched emotionally myself. I learned that there is a new

Level of trust, honesty, raw thoughts, that comes with-

Friendship.

I love my friends to no end.

I treasure my chaps.

-

Some may say that I live a good life,

Considering my ambition and progress with

My craft, and accomplishments school-wise.

But really,

I am nothing-

Fucking nothing (Here we go again with ‘fucking’, right?)

If it were not for the ones that care for me as much as I-

Will forever care for them.

——————-

Stay sweet,

Stay cozy.

——————-

kidandeh asked: Can you write me a poem, Justin?

Some things, some people too-

Simply live to drift

Drift along the wind and cease

To truly exist. Perhaps this is torture and-

Disgrace to the art of emotion. Or it can just be

That it is as it is and an accepted way to live.

But you, Andy,

You exist to lift as you live

To elevate your existence as an-

Individual destined to decide when the clock ticks.

There once was a kid next door

My age, high school & borderline poor.

But he wore a persona that was terribly-

Different

Than my own. He had a smile and a stride

Something that covered his sad side.

There was charm and a face that without words, spoke:

“I mean no harm.”

-

I wondered what it was that allowed him to dance

With feelings that could last.

My joy fit me like an old jacket

Where as his bliss seemed immaculate.

He was buttery and sweet-

Perhaps he hid a secret beneath his feet?

-

So I went to his house one morning,

When the sky was forlorn and the clouds were bored.

His parents answered the door with-

Eyes cradled by saggy bags that were moist from

Tears. That which drips without giving you a choice.

-

“May I talk to your son?” I asked

“I’m afraid that he has-

Died.” Said the father. I heard the silent resonance that

Cruelty and bittersweet agony effortlessly amplifies.

“My apologies, but your son was an awfully joyful kid.

I want to know why.”

“He knew that his demise was in due time,

That there was something wrong with his lungs

But something warm that his soul enjoyed to chug.

They call it-

Love.”

“Your son was in love?”

“Yes, he was. In love with what takes no more than a glance

To say that this is a love that will last.

In love with-

Life.”

-

“Is that all there is to it?”

“That’s all there ever is, child

Just you

Just life

Just basking in time.”

-

I was never quite satisfied with that answer

Until I heard the rhythm and beat

Of the grim reaper’s feet.

I awoke at 4 A.M. and found it difficult to bleed any more droplets of sleep. So I didn’t. I broke into the rain tainted night and rode my bicycle just a few miles away to see my therapist. My hands trembled as I knocked at the hardwood of her door. She opened and stared blankly with baggy eyes.

“I couldn’t find sleep, Alice.”

“It’s pitch black outside, you’re soaked, practically naked aside from the boxers, and you decide to come to my house?”

“It seems that way.”

“You are terribly stubborn, Owen. Come in, please.”

After drying off with a towel and being given a set of clothes, I took a seat on Alice’s sleek black sofa that I grew an emotional attachment to over time. She lived in her house alone.

“You just couldn’t get to sleep?” She asked while taking a sip of water on the couch across from me.

“I was asleep, dreaming, but I woke up. I think my heart was beating fast.”

“Why do you think it was beating fast?”

“I’m not a doctor, Alice.” I made a pause but I suppose that after being my therapist for thirteen years she knew I was bound to continue. “If I had to guess, it’s probably because my heart was beating fast in the dream.”

“Did your dream excite you? Or maybe it frightened you?”

I wondered which one it was. Perhaps neither. Yet, I knew very well that Alice could read me better than I could ever try to see. My own emotions are something I could hardly recognize myself.

“It was exciting. I was chasing something down a street that went on and on. It just wouldn’t end. The sun kept bothering my neck with heat. I wanted to kill that sun,” I laid on my back and mustered a few more words before dissolving back into sleep, “I still do.”

Sometimes it feels as if my distance from you

Can be measured in quantities that surpass my-

Fascination for the northern lights,

Desire for my mood to persuade the passage of time,

Temptations that I believe will lead to an untimely demise.

But it doesn’t matter when my longing for you-

Shouts and screams and sinks silent teeth into my sleep

Which transforms melancholy dreams into something serene;

Reflections of your warmth blanketed with undisturbed peace.

Away with the pull of chains

Away with the tug of fate

I’m no longer awake.

Why must you sit back and relax?

You should much rather-

Jump forth with an attack;

Strike passion and hold it by the throat

Tighten your grip until it chokes.

Make it weep and seep something you believe.

Take the days without sleep

And use it for something that makes you much more

Than that which you are most afraid of-

Being weak.

“Do you feel real?”

“I’m not sure.

There are times when I can speak words that leave my mouth but slither through slits of nothingness; something that rides not even along the sweet breeze that spring hisses with heated teeth.

There are times when I can walk on solid ground yet I feel as if the world is moving two steps further. It’s as if I’m in an endless race with my own emotions and dreams; taunted by the concept of progress which seems destined to never greet me.

There are times when I can see the truth but only feel the lies. I’ve fallen in a bitter pit of dishonesty plenty of times before, and I feel pressured to disguise myself as someone that I am not. The only way to escape the state of sinking in thick lies is to reach for yet another lie. Truth seems to not get you very far these days.”

“So why do you continue to live?”

“The biggest lie is to say that life is not a thrill. I’m on an adventure, and that is an undeniable truth.”

Anonymous asked: did you one day decide that you wanted to write? Or was it someone who inspired you to keep going?

Writing was a hobby up to the deeper months of 2011. I had feelings for someone and that gave a certain story a special emotional drive. Within writing that short-lived piece, I realized that writing was my passion; that it didn’t require me to be driven by my feelings for someone (Though it certainly helps, my lovely anon). So I started submitting to publishers and boom- I am loving life more than I ever have.

It’s more like I must write these days.

Because, well, I must.

Marble blue skies drape over lakes of grey

Anchors touched by emotional rust sink further than you can see

Yell into the heart of tragedy to ignite the birth of calamity.