Shake the Dust.

 Song of the Day: 'Damnation' - Baths

This poem is for the Hipsters.

This is for the kids who think like their mothers.

This is for the boys who think like their brothers.

This, this is for the kids who take water bottles to school and clutch them like it's the last water they'll ever see.

This is for the recess guards and the high school janitors.

Shake the Dust.

Rid yourself of staleness, and dream a little.

This is for the kids down the street who never stop playing basketball, 

Shake the Dust. 

There's plenty of world out there and life's too short to play basketball your whole life.

This is for the girls who love a manic-depressive writer with a huge imagination.

This is for the tattoo artists who don't have tattoos, congrats, you're makin' it.

This is for the girl with the dirt under her rosebushes, I'll miss you forever, but it's winter here and I can't see you, so I'm not thinking about you because it's hard to think about something that doesn't even want to be seen.

This is for the old men still in boy scouts. 

Shake the Dust.

You think these boys love scouting as much as you do, but they don't. 

*This is for the children who speak half English, half God.

Shake the Dust. 

Don't EVER put away your toys

This is for the kids without lovers and don't mind being lonely, it's gunna be alright, I know because *like me, the day burns at both ends, and spring always manages to step forward after every single winter.

Dance like no one is watching and blink like you don't wear contacts.

Shake the Dust.

Love, Alex

*idea for this poem from 'Shake the Dust' by Anis Mojgani.

*indicates, Stolen line.

Dear whoever is reading this...

You're young, you're beautiful and someone out there is crazy about you.

So smile because life is too short to be unhappy...

Lovers Eyes

Song of the Day: 7/4 Shoreline - Broken Social Scene

 

He has stupid freckles that aren't always there when he needs them to be. He's got this ring on his finger that's silver, and it helps him remember. He always wanted to be a firefighter. 

He has a face that's bald, a crooked smile and worn out eyelids, He stares to long sometimes. 

His mouth is the sea, frothy and dark. It could swallow you whole. His eyes are wandering like the clouds under gray skies. He walks like he's got Michigan in the rear view mirror. He'll cuss every now and then, and it bugs the shit out of some people. He is unannounced and unproclaimed like sage brush under a redwood tree. His silence is as loud as thunderclaps and he knows it. 

He'll take the words out of your mouth at the very moment you need them. He'll walk right through the walls you try to hide behind because he thinks It's his job. 

He is a walking contagion, spreading his disease of the heart quick like cracks in ice.

He prays for heaven's floor to break, just so a little light can come down on his dark shoulders, to keep the dark marks under his eyes from becoming permanent. 

He is scared of being forgotten.

Love, Alex

Obscurities

I'm sitting in the sand and it's so blue out there. 

The ocean's been wandering for awhile now and I wanted advice, I guess. 

"You see, I've been wandering, and it's really hard sometimes"

The ocean didn't say anything. That made me really frustrated. Really really frustrated. 

Like when a parent is pissed off, but they are scared of the word angry, so they use "I'm frustrated".

I'm just looking across and I see you, I am screaming and shouting and flapping my arms wildly. 

And you just wave back because you think that's what I'm doing. 

Do I need to get a flare gun?

Just take what I'm giving you and be happy. 

Flames! Engulfing Flames!

There's beauty in things of the future and some kind of stale madness in things that linger.

Like forest fires and landslides, Destruction is the best proponent of change. When something is destroyed something is always created. Love like you've never loved before darling. It's always going to be wonderous but don't linger. Don't get stale.

I call them my Clinker-Clankers

 Song of the Post: Hear the Noise that Moves So Soft and low - James Vincent McMorrow

It's a sickness. Like the morning after something horrible has happened sickness. Knowing what I need to do, I know a lot these days. I'm talented, my mom tells me I am the architect of my world. I guess she's right.
It just feels bereft of fulfillment. Maybe I'm not far along enough. The cerulean sky talks to me sometimes. she tells me I'm like her in her vast expanse of blue and beauty. I'm still not sure if I believe her.

My life gets hot sometimes. I feel like I'm changing, it's uncomfortable and beautiful. This life is a crucible. I'm sure it's good but the enormity of all of it, is really overwhelming sometimes.

My bones tell me to do what I want. They are so loud and clanky. I want to break myself sometimes. Bones are like statues, cracking with time. Resembling something that once was or someone who once lived. Beautiful and off-white, off centered and off balanced. People walk by without remembering and that makes my bones mad. They don't know that people can't hear them screaming "Just listen!... Shut the hell up and listen to what I'm saying!" No sound escapes through my skin, cracked it may be. This is where it gets a little scary. My bones start acting irrationally and this is usually the part when they try to strangle everyone within 5 feet.

I work out. Good thing too, or I'd be strangling all you fascists right here right now.

But every once and a while, I break. The calcium lines and curves take over, and I'm left to my own bones to wreak havoc upon innocent bystanders.

They call it manic-depression. I call it noisy bones.

Love always, Alex

 Song of the Post: Truth - Alexander

Lying in bed.
Under my sheets, even though they make me cold.
Blanket up to my nose, my hands grasp the top of the blanket'
White knuckles clenched.
It's getting darker and darker
And the barbed wire is getting tighter and tighter.

My feet are frozen, and probably blue.
but I'm too scared to look at them,
because they are so far away,
at the end of my bed, dangling off my mattress.
The draft whispers at my mouth and nose and ears
and ruffles my hair.

Barbed wire tight and cutting.

It's just me and death,
and he looks me in the eye,

well I don't know because of the hood,
but I pretend.
Because it feels like razor wire now.
Tight and cutting.
Blood.

it must be time, I think.

"I'm scared."
Death says 
"Me too."
"Why are you scared?"
"Because anything you are scared of, will always be just as scared as you are."

Razor wire, wrapped around my neck.
tight and cutting.

It's even darker than before now.
which up until this very second of my life thought was impossible.
It's colder now too.
and my feet are so far away, and
The door is further than my feet.
Which I also thought was impossible.
I know I can't leave,
because my legs are like a slow computer
jerky and slow.

It's foggy in my room, and it's funny,
because I don't remember buying the fog machine.
Death gets closer to my bed.

Death is the only thing that seems in perspective.

Death smells like roses.

which I find strange,
because it's death we're talking about here.

But then again, 

a rose will still smell like a rose,

long after it has wilted.

Love, Alex

#RealTalk

I don't think we should ever be scared to ask for help.
especially from God.
'cause Dad says He always listens,
all you gotta say is "look, i just can't do it right now. give me some strength?"
Dad says He will give it to you, right then and there.
and i think you'll also find that when you stop for a second and look around,
you'll see some friends running and climbing and swimming, too,
and there's this magic thing where when you help them,
you'll end up helping yourself, too.

those are a few things that i've learned.