They say the eyes are the gateways to the soul. |
Look deeply into mine. Whatever you see, that is me.
role modelsSo there was this guy. He and my dad were best friends for like twenty years. They went to high school together and didn’t drift apart like most high school friends do. He was at our house constantly, drinking beers, watching games, talking politics. I showed him my drawings. I only did that when I was comfortable, when I trusted a person. And he told me I was a damn good artist and I sat there grinning like an idiot until my cheeks were sore. I started calling him uncle and he liked that. He liked that a lot. Said it warmed his heart.role models by TheEmptyChest
So this guy, he was a fire fighter. He’d run into burning buildings that were about to collapse and pull people out. Everybody loved him. Everybody. He even got an award once—an excellent citizen award or something like that from the mayor. People clapped him on the back, shook his hand, wiped tears from their eyes... women asked him to hold their babies and take pictures, the whole shebang. He was everyone’s hero, you know? Littl
If I Could Send Post-It Notes Back in Timei.If I Could Send Post-It Notes Back in Time by TheEmptyChest
No matter how many times the world
says to “be yourself”
it will never accept you
when you are.
You’re on your own. Always.
Admit to yourself that you lie.
You don’t have to make it
a point of conversation with others
because most will not understand
nor love you regardless,
even though they do it too,
but admitting it to yourself
opens the door for growth and that
is very important.
There will be a boy who you find
sitting next to you in a library one day
and he’ll eventually ask you to do something.
The road to hell may be paved with good intentions
it’s better to do the wrong thing
than to do the right thing with your heart
not in the right place.
Learn to laugh more.
Life is much more bearable.
Don’t blame society for all your problems.
Don’t blame yourself for all your problems.
Don’t apologize for everything.
This is neither attractive nor healthy;
it makes you
Why I Slammed My DoorWhen my parents came homeWhy I Slammed My Door by TheEmptyChest
and told me my grandmother had passed on
I remember slamming my bedroom door
and sitting on my bed with my face
towards my window.
“Are you alright?” my dad asked
as he peaked in. I didn’t answer.
He said something about death—
I can’t recall what
but it was his way of comforting me
because he thought, as anyone would,
that I was in pain.
But the truth is, I wasn’t.
I slammed my door because it was
an acceptable reaction
and the only one I felt I could perform
with any sincerity—without the need
for mental urges: Once more, with feeling!
I kept my face turned so
no one could see its indifference.
On my bed, I tried to coerce the tears
because they were expected—
anticipated like the hugs and I’m sorry’s
that would follow at the funeral.
I conjured up memories,
mentally berated myself,
to act the way I was supposed
to act goddamnit.
I can’t say why
Popularity ContestI thinkPopularity Contest by TheEmptyChest
fame is an unworthy dream
like a candle
it only lasts until the wind blows
and then it’s off
for quieter pastures
for younger and more desperate hearts
and you’re left in the cold
wondering what you did wrong
and if you should have
seen it coming
VirginiaRobert E. Lee lives just miles from my door,Virginia by melodysnow
bending at the right. On the corner, is a white church
housing brown skin in the Virginia spring. My best
friend’s father has a Confederate flag hanging in his
living room. A white military man married to a Filipino
woman because her skin is a few shades lighter, more
tan than true brown, light enough to speak
love to, on occasion.
The Civil War grounds up by Todd’s Tavern are fenced
off, but momma swears she hit a ghost on the bridge
one night, eyes blooming in refracted headlights—
allowing the past to slip into consciousness
—fingers curling like the flowering dogwoods, singed
at the tips, like fire ants threading their clay houses,
hidden under soft mounds in the earth.
And the bees are building up in my throat, as I watch
the fruit in my neighbor’s yard begin to rot.
I can’t touch the roots. But the bees are trembling like
some cracked bell, a revolution, a crying.
you have been warned.i fall in love fromyou have been warned. by ohsostarryeyed
my head to my feet, and i
take no prisoners.
the certainty of imminencei.the certainty of imminence by Lissomer
tomorrow spills over
inevitability-rapt and enveloping,
as wakefulness startles,
i'm caught up in past-time
i forge(t) myself in oblivion
midnight so hollow,
we all stop
with the clocks.
nothing looks the way it did
and i guess it seems
i'm blinkered, brevity-bound
in century footsteps forever stumbling,
always being blindsided
by the passing