I wish I had a thousand apologies,

for my brain and all its awkwardcies

for all the pain I see in my minds eye

Nobodies perfect, people make mistakes,

but I wish I could remain together

mind body and space,

I am not a saint, I am not a sinner,

I am just a manic, a confused individual

built up on principles,

from my parents, that lose weight

each winter,

hope I see sunshine and keep it.

lately I have been singing a thousand songs

and keeping just as many secrets

realizing that the world I write

this poetry book will never be finished

but to me its like a wish list

for all of your future happinesses

when you have a life of mine,

after a while you don’t even live it,

roll with the punches, and ask forgiveness

SO much shit I deal with on a normal basis

you see me, I see you

but I have a thousand different faces,

catch me in one look, and I look learned, deep in thought

look at me again, and I look stupid, or useless to y’all

or take me in again, and its like smoke from a pen,

it doesn’t make sense, like ink from a cigarette,

and now I cough, my bruised lungs in and out,

and I wish there was a happiness in all of this,

but I don’t see no roses and there is no happiness I know of,

of being two or three different people to the ones you love,

three or four more, to people who don’t understand you,

one or two to the face that you look at,

and a myriad of people when you listen inside,

to those voices in your mind, the lies spill like an hour glass.

and I feel like I am running out of time.

I wish I had a second chance, and as I write it, I hope for change,

Books will open and close just the same,

the doors will open and close just the same,

more people will go in and more people will come out,

just the same,

and no one will remember a goddamn thing.

like a doors melody, or a somber secret told,

I am just another face in the rain,

i am just another metaphor, for human nature,

I am just next to you on the train,

feverishly writing and keeping my stare the same.

fixed on my notebook

wishing I could just leave this place.

I wish I didn’t feel like this.

I wish I could be good with numbers

instead of words.

arithmetic instead of pathetic phonetics.

I think I will just listen to the Lizard King

and escape into the music,

if only or an instant, I feel a part of something.