My search for wisdom

Hello

0 notes

5 cents an ounce

i sit alone in a coffee shop
its not really a coffee shop
more like a place where they sell coffee
t shirts, mugs, and silver spoons
ok so its a truck stop,
i sit at the place where trucker hats are cool
not that they art cool, post ashton kutcher
drinking coffee by myself,
thinking about life and stuff
when all of a sudden i drift into a stream
like a subconscious disconnection
an empty space between yo-yo up
and yo-yo down, the hand time of life
here in lets say the quiet time
i find a memento of something like a memory id left behind
a though about a girl i assumed i forgot,
today was her bday, i lived in this moment
wondering to myself, letting the feelings
create and dissolve… the moment passes

and oh and i snap back into reality
realizing i’ve been making an obnoxious
sipping sound… time to pay mycheck
and  write a poem to someone
who was born today  

 

Filed under poetry spilled ink

1 note

go to where the stars know your name
then change your name and be an enigma

this is the kind of thing that makes mystery
out of everyday things, become a secret
and be a thing to be discovered,
there will always be people who want to
discover who you are.

Filed under poetry

4 notes

bluesish hair

she will tell me the color is blue
i will believe her because i want to
in all honesty i do not know
i can say that her hair reminds me of rain
and the feelings that come when the sky is grey

not in a  sense of melancholy sadness
more like shutten in and spiritual
like an ocean locked in a tide pool
her hair is blue and thats cool

 

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2 notes

when i was 16 
i burned a hole in my favorite shirt
that was the first and last time
i smoke a black and mild
i still have that shirt
the whole is still there
and i still talk to the girl
who gave it to me,
thats what i get for trying to be cool

Filed under poetry spilled ink

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it kinda sucks to be a boy growing up
because where words are weapons
little boys hit with there hands and feet
and hurl insults because they need to
to keep from being trampled by
the guys who got there chemicals first
the jerks who hit them hard enough

that attacks hurt, on top of that
girl get to be smarter and pretty
for like 3 more years than us,
its just not fair

Filed under poetry spilled ink

4 notes


a lust for life
or a lust for love
losing my mind
in the muddy realm of romance
to sit next to someone
who kinda likes my stuff
and i kinda like what they’re about
that kinda worth
40 or 50 years
of bad movies
and happy moments

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the down side of tradition
it does not like to be dabbled with
like when you make finn a girl
it seems weird
but when you make princess bubblegum
a really buff dude it kind of makes senses
so why not make thor a girl
or iron man interesting
its ok to dabble in the fictional realm of cartoons
there cartoons… just don’t make the hulk a girl
thats why we have she hulk,
there can’t be two girl hulks
i can’t take all that spandex and  smashing

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5 notes

sojern

a little lost sometimes
and all that jive
this is who i get to be
so i don’t mind
wandering the streets
letting the rain own me
and the road keep me
i’ll be lost for a while
then i will find myself
this is just how it goes
cosmos and destiny
the purpose or lack there of
chaos and creation
ill be me in where place
life might take me

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2 notes

like goku
in every movie
episode
and story
dragon ball z ever made
i want you to know
that when i’m knocked unconscious
i’m gonna be smiling
because ill get to see you
in my head,
or unless im dead,
then ill just watch you with king kai
and his monkey, man i love that monkey

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1 note

generalizations on gender
and body fixation
is a 15 hour time share
in vegas, pointless
and made to make you buy
you’re already what you are
get into yourself
and care nothing about description
life is already short why shorten it
by objectifying yourself

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3 notes

original concepts
are like finding a lasting lover
its an impossibility wrapped in chance

and/or public opinion, you more apt
to rehash a classic idea
or rare concept, than to stumble across
some new thing, try not to harp on the cliche
of what ever your doing, just do it
and hope enough people don’t recognise it
as the million other things it might have been
remember we are all made of dust
from trillions of other things

Filed under poetry spilled ink turtles the language is flawed so who cares

4 notes

recycled fiber coffee cups
collect in the corner of my room
a styrofoam cup soup mountain has been created
at the foot of my bed,
empty pill bottles mass
in varied shaped and dosages
in the drawer of my desk
comic books make up the difference
for all the other places
i can keep possessions
collage is an interesting time
and a very spartan way of life

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