Tugging Tears

Sometimes kindness is masking self hate.
Or, I suppose, sometimes unwarranted misery is a result of kindness, or a person who rarely finds anger but tugs tears from a desert. I become sad when I should be angry. Or sad when I'm done being nice.

April.

I want to strangle myself
want to dangle myself
want to pinch myself
want to drench myself

In something that sparks more than this fog
in something that remarks more than this smog
of a muddled feeling that sits in dread
of whispers of sadness of looks unsaid

I wish not to die but to live out this gloom
I wish not to purge but to swallow a spoon

of goodness found
of a feeling that's real
of poignancy undeniable
of a firm and truthful spiel

Divisions of greed for happiness

Late April.

Slivers Slivers Sliver of me
slice sections of me
into divisions of greed for happiness

Each not knowing how to deliver
each not knowing how to consider
what word
what look
to give

what plan
what step
to live

Ashes ashes ashes of me
ask questions of me
wondering what happened to me

each not knowing what it did wrong
each not knowing where to belong
in the mud
in the dirt
going dry

in the sun
in the heat
out to fry

Must Listen

"Free Translator" by the Books. 

Distillery

Distillery 

A Wild Flag wannabe, I lurk in my own distillery

A waiting room of dark walls lit, a holding cell to mark my bit

Of talent, of waste, of humor, of grace

Of tiny tokens bent to elicit good taste

I peek out often to watch myself sit

This leaning being, this walking manuscript

I judge her well and I act on her brows
I sign up here and I investigate her troughs

So I know when she's happy 
and where to take her course
I know what she wants 
and I deliver it with force. 

I ask

Where have I been and what did it mean

What is that noise?

Do I hear myself scream?

Black Specs of Mystery Seed

A poem I wrote after freshman year in high school.
I can still remember writing this in the absurdly hot sun of my backyard. It was written by me as a teenager, but it has saved my mind numerous times since:
You have to be strong in this world and like who you are if you aim to please anyone else. Be bold in your ideas and speak your mind, it's the only way to move on respectably. 

-Summer of 2007-

Black Specs of Mystery Seed
Black specs of mystery seed
On a colored towel abyss
Eraser crumbs and napkin stains
Distraught, displaced, amidst

A burning sun of silent rage
The fire that bleeds azul
Three months of days encased in glass,
Three months away from school

Fetters strong and life lay locked,
This simple path I ran
Of flowers plucked and curtsies pledged
No longer I take that stand

A peel of sweat is born anew
On flesh baked years with age
On a beating heart of reckless thought,
An animal leaving its cage

All the ideas that sharpies bled
And ivories who sang the chord
Of a mad little girl with a crooked spine
Yielding a dull, unused sword

But I've used my eyes and opened my ears
To the dissonant cries of life
And plain clean hands of germ-ex squirts
Are far too weak for strife

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Youth Lagoon's Year of Hibernation

Regret

I decided something, at least for today.

To claim to "regret nothing" is simply to excuse yourself from one of life's greatest punishments--guilt. It is to mask a burning pain.

To live without regret is to not hold yourself accountable. It is to avoid deserved pain, it is to not be honest with yourself.

Those who regret nothing because they always "learned something" are simply excusing themselves. Certainly, many times we need to error in actions to actually understand something. But many times, we do something we know we shouldn't do, and therein lies a weakness in character. Which is human. And so is regret.

And further, if we actually acknowledge error and feel badly about it, don't we better learn? Don't we more properly better ourselves? When we evade the feelings of guilt, aren't we more prone to repeating our mistakes?

So is deciding to not regret a product of self righteousness? Are we too great to have done something wrong enough to admit? Do we not deserve the pain of making a mistake? Are we too proud? Are we too scared to be a typical human, doing wrong and feeling the remorse?

Maybe at some point I'll decide that there is no such thing as "deserved pain." I'll probably disagree with all this completely. But for now, to learn from yourself and to grow and treat the world and yourself better, I think it is important to look at mistakes and have sorrow and remorse for them.