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O_o
I cannot deal with this situation anymore. Almost everything involved in this has only made my life worse off. While I grew a lot as an individual because of my time with you, everything else was a mistake. How we met - mistake. Our relationship - mistake. Who you introduce me to - mistake. Everything makes me want to scream, it’s physically and emotionally draining. I’m just done. I cannot be your friend, I cannot message you back, I cannot see your face; it’s not healthy for me. Ever since I saw you again, I’ve lost my ability to breath and I want it back. I know it was my choices that led me astray, but without you involved in my life, I wouldn’t be subject to such situations. Now I can only hope I didn’t ruin everything.
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Life again.
Sometimes we’re so determined to find that connection that we lose track of what we need.
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Gin and Tori.
We always have the best days, I’ll miss you next year and until you come back.
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Lols
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No Repeats
What do you want from me?
It had been months since I’d seen you and I was over everything. That is, I was over everything until last night. And when I looked into your eyes again, I missed everything we had, how you made me smile, how much I grew with you, and wanted everything we could have been if the circumstances of how we met would have been different. You pushed your way back in, and you knew what you were doing, but I let it happen. I made the choice as you did.
And now the feeling has returned. Yet, I still remember how you made me feel in the end, and I don’t want that back.
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Composition
Was just asked to compose music for a television show next year through Washington State University’s Cable 8. Win.
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Poetry Portfolio: Not Yet Dead, Only Lingering
Not Yet Dead, Only lingering
Atop the hill he believes
perhaps within the trees…
The orchard stringed with fog
alongside the trail of clovers,
roots entangled in his arms
as boots sink into dirt,
and clouds dwell
in his heart
before a wedge of stone,
drawing nearer
noticing letters etched
within its face
his hands arched
like the symbols
the letters spell
his name.
Yet reflected back by glass,
there is a graveyard
of bottles resting
on the edge of his desk
where he sits each night
and drinks
and writes
of his cherished pain,
and maybe
trees and fog,
reminiscent to the bones
below, no longer
swaying, but
dead.
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Poetry Portfolio: A Memory: Annotations from Home
A Memory: Annotations from Home
There is a box on the
shelf with charcoal,
lace and dust,
fingerprints
stain its edges,
no longer embedded
with the soft silhouette
of the sun
but scarred by it,
and photographs
from before the home had
burned linger
for the leaves to crisp
orange and yellow,
but the willows’ branches
are cracked and dry,
ivy-trailed brick walls,
tarnished cedar
magnified by age,
no recollection of
what came from inside
rubble and smoke, yet
the door clings to
broken hinges
with hope as
rain falls from
tomorrow’s sky.
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"Up to a point, a man’s life is shaped by his environment, heredity, and movements and changes in the world about him; then there comes a time when it lies within his grasp to shape the clay of his life into the sort of thing he wishes to be … everyone has it within his power to say, this I am today – that I shall be tomorrow."
–Louis L’Amour -
Poetry Portfolio: To the Borderlined
To the Borderlined
I awake today.
Fingers crawl in my throat.
My teeth ache.
I remember you
ruined me.
Medals and plaques hang
dust-covered. Family portraits
worthless.
Branded into my skin
like cigarettes.
I can’t breathe.
Knots in my shoelaces
unravel.
Thunder roars. I lose
my balance.
I look up.
Your eyes shine.
As a child, unable
to see their intent.
I am changed
and I am afraid
it’s for life,
perhaps not awake at all…

