Be The Poem

If you can't be the poet, then be the poem
So, I guess I'll just pick and strum
I'll pretend to be living that poem
While dancing to an endless drum

So, I'll cut my wrists to kill this pain, or you can
Sing me to sleep, yes, sing to me, love
You can lead me up the latter to
Somewhere beautiful that's high above

The heavens, the moon, the hell beneath
Or even the stars in the sky

A Poem Of Another Dream (Bring Me The Ocean)

I'm going to bathe in the water of a thousand tides
Breathe the ocean and look inside
Whatever I see and where ever I go,
Under the stars, we cross right through
We dance into eternity - just me and you

I wrote you a letter, but it didn't say much
Just something that you could touch
Knowing I had given it, that's what it meant
This is how I feel, no matter how much time I've spent
With another, with myself, alone in the

It stings and it burns,
we but manage to get through,
because I know that I can
always count on you

You Can Never Go Home Again

Hello, world!

Some people say it's when they go off to college. It's when they come home to visit for the first time and they realize that everything is different. Things and people have changed. The home they grew up in is no longer their home but just a house. Just walls and things. Things and memories. Memories of a long time ago. Even if it was last year, it feels like ten years ago. Others have said they felt it when they hit puberty, or when they got their first serious relationship. But, at some point, almost all of us have a single day when we know, there will never be a place to go home to ever again.

My day has come. No matter what happens for the rest of my life, my home, the one of my parents, the one that is familiar, the one with the memories, the one that has marks of how tall the kids grew outlined on the threshold of the door... The walls of this metaphoric home crumbled today.

My mom told me a story once. It went like this.

I was three or four years old. My brother, Jimmy, who was an infant at the time, dad, mom, and I were riding in the car. My dad, who is well-known for having a violent temper, was screaming at mom about something -- no one remembers what. And it could have been anything. So, dad was screaming at mom. I, even at three or four years old, knew that this was not okay. I stood up on the back seat of our four-door wagon, hugged my mom, and said, "Don't worry, Mommy. It'll be okay".

This, my mom has told me a thousand times, is one of her most proud moments. The first time I defended her against my abusive dad.

Well, she's now turned her back on me, our family, and everything she swore to love. Mom and dad are getting divorced. And she actually had the gall to call me at work, blame me for their divorce and failure.

My dad is moving to Houston, TX and my mom is moving to Lake Charles, LA. I will probably never see my mom again. The final straw was, she and I were sitting in my car, my mom was drugged out (as usual), lost control of herself, and starting punching me as hard as she could. A couple of them even connected on my face. So, I leaned over, opened the passenger side door, and pushed her out of my car.

She later called Brytni, who already knew the full story, and told Bryt that I threw her out of the car. Oh, she failed to mention that she was punching me, of course. Bryt didn't correct her so as to not start a fight. But that's where we all stand now.

My mom and dad are getting a divorce after almost 30 years. My mom and grandmother blame it on me. My dad doesn't give a fuck about any of us.

And, although I do feel pretty horrible about all of this, I can't help but feel absolute contempt for her.

May lightening strike me for saying this, but maybe... just maybe... maybe my dad was the good guy... that is, when he wasn't beating me.