people still care

the wallflowers

we're just the wallflowers, the pretty ones that grow along the fence, the wild few embodying youthful confusion, not just representing it. all these complicated nights lit by the back porch lights must mean something. still, most kids dance anyway; too much time worrying about too many feelings or the too little time it takes to hurt them? we'd rather dance around our own heads to our own songs, the distorted wind sceaming. it keeps on blowing us around. can't see straight, touching hands; swaying. just let us be, come harvest, we'll be dancing.

or

we're just the wallflowers,
the pretty ones
that grow along the fence,
the wild few embodying youthful confusion,
not just
representing it.

all these complicated nights
lit by the back porch lights
must mean
something.
still, most kids dance anyway;
too much time worrying about too many feelings
or the too little time it takes to hurt them?

we'd rather dance around
our own heads
to our own songs,
the distorted wind screaming.
it keeps on blowing us around.
can't see straight,
touching hands;
swaying.

just let us be,
come harvest, we'll be dancing;
free.

antidote

college is not for everybody, and that's okay

"I'm currently working towards and English degree."

"where are all the punks at?"

The last hour and a half of the show was filled with two sets of poetry and an hour long onslaught of the heart sung by Madeline. Punks were getting drunk all night, they needed to let loose. One punk in particular walked into the kitchen where I, along with a handful of friends, was sitting. He asked for a glass for his Miller High Life and leaves the room. He returns minutes later and places it into the sink with several other dirty glassware, this time he sticks around, almost wishing to be invited to say the thing that was being pent up in his head all night. Noticing this, I indulge in some fun with a stranger, almost my way of saying hi. "You thinking about washing that glass?" I imagine the hair on the back of his neck standing tall. Fumbling around something to say, "Uh, I bet you live here or something?" he says with some sort of premeditated attitude. "Well, no one else is doing it?" I pick up on his poise and add "Well, you know, a bunch of wrongs do make a right, so..." He takes a look at me through his beer soaked eyes and walks up my seat. I expected no less than a punch in the jaw. He extends his hand as if he wants me to shake it. "I'm Alex," he so boldly states. "Oh hey man, my name is Ryan." It took me a moment to figure out he was probably getting my name so he could go on the porch and talk shit about me. I mean, he knows I live here. The meet and greet is soon brought to a halt when he struts out of the kitchen asking "Where are all the punks at?" It is then revealed to everyone that the well-mannered young man was sporting a finely stitched Circles Jerk back patch, whatever that means.

bike lock

walked outside [of Bat Chapters while the last band was still playing] and her bike was locked to his bike [which was locked next to my bike that didn't have any bike locked to it] so i left, biked home.

the stink house

"you're bathroom used to be my bedroom."

the, before i dream

yellow and white lights
that shine in my room
when the basketball court is lit,
keep me awake
plenty entertained
til the night falls silent.

it is three am
only stars emit
the distant faint glow
is irrelevant.

the swallowed by darkness,
while licking it's fingers.
i fill my head,
i let the black linger,
until i sense nothing.

guns at my school

spending this week listening to husker du and watching my so-called life.

everything you feel

everything you feel is true
everybody's looking through
black eyes, blue eyes,
black eyes, blue eyes,
can't see past the problem
when we're all a problem.

you can't fight the feeling if the feeling's never gonna stop.