Pretty sure I wrote this one over the summer (I don't remember) when I was in a weird mood. I can't come up with much context, other than wanting to experiment in different styles.

---

The buzzing.
I can't stand it,
All of it.
Why the hell
Is she doing laundry
At this time of night?
My window,
An unyielding portal,
Beckons me to reflect.
A moth, burdened with the weight
Of a thousand forefathers
On its wings.
The course is set.
The aim is true.
The purpose infallible.
Light, the light, is life.

Buzzing, a cacophony,
A struggle to transcend
The earth below.
It pays no mind to
This orchestra.
There is only light.
A taste unknown, yet
Faith makes the mouth water.
Brighter, brighter,
Like they told us
Our lives would be.
Brighter, brighter,
The heat, the truth,
Radiates as it draws
Closer.

Buzzing. Who the
Hell needs my time?
Who even wants it?
I break my trance to
Conduct the search.
Nothing. No one.
Death, only, drawing nearer.
Give me life, it cries.
I wish I had life to give.
I surrendered my soul to
The light.
The light, everlasting
In the mind of the heart.
Disgusted, I cast it aside.

In my moment of
Breaking, the
Buzzing ceases.
The burden, lifted
And scattered into the
Moonlight.
Was it everything you
Wanted, my liege?
The wings of Icarus
Twitch their last,
Resigning themselves
To the cold abyss
Of time.

Be thankful, moth,
I breathe into the
Frame.
For your light is honest.
Swift, painless, and fulfilling.
Your light is your means,
Your end, your purity.
I touch the switch, and
Shadow takes its throne.
But the light still remains.

One of my few structured pieces, I'm pretty sure this one came early on when I was still at odds with/forming my main friend group. It's not as easy as it seems, but I'm thankful for those that I've been blessed with.

---

Hatred fuels a spirit unwise,

If fists speak the loudest then the heart speaks in lies.

Growing, growing, dead to all reason,

Hope is a concept that sings out as treason.


Justice is blind, yet never away,

Until rage has been vented, the night withholds day.

Must this senselessness still reign?

Powerless, are we, to rise against the grain?


Keep away from these hands, bro,

I just can’t contain my frustration, no,

Chained to a primitive outlook on pain,

Knowledge is power, but violence is gain.

Down by the river running right off of campus, I spent time in nature for once and reminisced on past crushes, and what elements of them drew them to me.

---

What’s the first thing you see in a person?


It’s what shocks you.


Her eyes, bluer than cobalt,

bring clarity to the haze.

I look up to the sky with her, I fly with her,

Without ever leaving her gaze.


A smile, radiant and everlasting,

echoes the clearest sound I ever heard.

I fall into a trance with her, I dance with her,

Without ever needing a word.


Like circuitry, her form, elegant and true,

Lifts purpose into the rusting years.

I stray from the beaten trail with her, I sail with her,

Through an ocean of joyful tears.


Energy, a current,

Running as a network of nuances under her skin.

I embrace the setting sun with her, I run with her,

Through the promises that wait within.


For now, she is apart. There is no light, only pieces of ideal.

But there will come a day when those pieces unite, and the light will become very real.



And we will shock you.

This is just straight-up realizing how cool my old best guy friends were. I always wrote about girls and love and crushes and stupid junk, I figured that the bros in my life deserved more credit than I gave them.

---

You know what
Keeps me grounded?
They told me the sky
Couldn't hold me back
But look, it doesn't
Have to.
You keep me here.
I feel myself age
As the grains of sand,
One by one,
Tear through my flesh
And smile.
I could never
Hope to be half
The ideal you are.
You are no machine,
No. You are no god.
Your mortal breath
Flows through my spirit,
In,
And out.
It calms me.
You are more than
A machine.
More than a god.
A god would tell me
To fly away,
Oh darling.
A machine would
Have me ascend
That rainbow.
Without a second
Thought I know
Why I stand
Scarred and beaten
By sand
Embracing the wrath
Of this forsaken land.
Because you cared
Enough to wait
For me to see
Things straight
And to come find you,
To reciprocate.
You don't have an arrow
To your name.
No direction, but
Still purpose.
Find it out there
Like you found me.
And you will bring life
To this dust.
You were forged
Through the rust
And in me
Sought the trust
It couldn't give you.
I hope I served you well.
Because you
Gave me more
Than I deserved.
It was a rush.

So my second semester, I had two pretty major crushes. In a 2AM burst of creativity I poured out what is probably my favorite thing that I've ever written. I'm super proud of this one, even though it's massively different from most other things I've written, in that it's not super abstract. It's just... Me.

---

I keep coming back to punk music.
Screaming, it's cathartic.
Especially when the silence is unbearable.
You can't hear your mind when you're
Screaming at the system.
Which is wrong, they're always wrong.
Even if you label it, you're proud.
Proud to stand against it.
The current.
I know you, I see you when you want me to.
A ballcap and a broken smile.
Small talk about nothing, or something.
A sunburn and a spiral.
Like a phoenix, ashes pending.
It's in the morning that holds meaning.
The morning that traps the light away.
You become illustrated.
More real than my mind can fathom.
It's accurate, in a way, to tell you
That you're right.
Time could come around again and I'd
Never have noticed your beacon.
On again, off again.
Calling for aid.
I can't help.
I can't even see it.
Maybe I never wanted to, maybe
I just wanted to see you.
You were different because I said so.
You didn't say so.
You didn't say you wielded
A thousand arrows.
You didn't say you rode
A thousand winds.
I did.
I gave you the power.
And did I love it.
I keep coming back to basketball.
Again, screaming.
Screaming at nothing of your own.
It's horribly cathartic.
You weren't supposed to let go.
You flow into it, and you flow out of it.
Just like me.
I'm here.
Still here, in the stands.
Wanting to go back to the smile.
Even when there wasn't a game.
They look happy.
They're crying.
Names are like frames because
They contain us.
You could live a world in between them.
And you do, you always do.
But you don't show it, you live it.
Not for them to see.
We see the letters.
The words.
And we compare.
We dance with our names.
The sunlight is ours to hide from.
How we hide is how we're found
Even if it means we're hopeless.
Even if you're in a bush off the main road
And no one believed in you that little
To accept such a fate.
A fate that worked out too well.
So well it destroyed you.
And I came to you because I like
How you hid.
The scores, the laughter.
Never got old, even when it did.
It just became new again.
There was no choice but to love it.
Because that didn't exist for you.
Even if it exists for me.
I keep coming back to the lake.
Water never screams to us.
It screams to them.
They hear it, and love it.
Water breaks machines.
Rust, unique and beautiful
Brings chaos to the order.
The order no one asked for.
The pain no one asked for.
The burden no one asked for.
The God I asked for.
Broken, rusted, but pure.
With the school shirt, the romper,
The Kelly Clarkson CDs, the handshake.
The stage crafted you.
Out of nothing, you became your own.
And you loved it.
My Deus Ex Makenzie.

Depression is pretty neato, isn't it

---

I looked down at the puddle
And gazed silently.
I took in the man I saw, and
What surrounded him.
A man is his surroundings.

The dorky, annoying, socially inept
Roommate who was too defensive
Of his best friend, his liege.
Her face looked like she was thirty, anyway.

The camaraderie of the vacuum
That falls apart at the table
But thrives riding in a shopping cart,
Wearing cuffed jeans and carelessness.

The promise of a new tomorrow,
A new ideal, something that we can
Learn together. Tomorrow, not tonight.
Sorry, I had plans. New plans.

The vessel of a hollow love, a heart
You can't help but never want to leave.
Even when it's in tears, grasping at
The Excel worksheet on the monitor.

The guillotine, hanging by a bleached
Thread. She handed me the knife,
Begging me not to save her with her eyes.
If only I didn't have morals. Stupid morals.

The facade of a smile, of passion
To help, when you'd rather let them suffer.
They made their choice, I shouldn't
Have to prevent the consequences.

The shattered remains of a legacy,
Dashed into the rocks below from
A careless spirit. Why the hell do we
Have to have caramel apples?

The weakness, it drains you of your
Warmth, your logic, your will to
Be a decent person. I invest everything
Just to end up not alone, but lonely.

The puddle told me who
I had become.
I am no longer a laugh,
A story, a weary smile.
I am a reflection.