Alive

Turn up the bass
And feel it in your chest
Feel your heart vibrate
Know you’re alive.

Turn up the volume
And feel it on your eardrums
Feel your brain vibrate
Know that you’re alive.

Turn up the risks
And feel it in your soul
Feel your body light up
Know that you’re alive.

The keys on the piano ring in my head
Causing a shiver to travel up my spine
It only takes one simple noise
To form a reaction.

Pull that bow across those strings
Let that violin set the mood
I need the sound, the life
We can know that we’re alive.

Beat that drum, give it all you’ve got
I need you to do that for me, please
I’m dying from this silence
I’m risking everything where I sit.

I’m so alive at this moment
I close my eyes and wait, it happens
I know I’m alive, I know
I need to feel the noise.

Grabbing your hand shocks me
Electricity, friction, electrons
Emotion, love, compassion
I’m risking everything to be here.

I’ve never felt more alive
Each beat sends a wave through my head
My sober mind is spinning
You bring me back with your words.

I know you’re panicking, too
We could lose everything
Too easily can everything change
But this risk, this is what I need.

Days, weeks, months, so long
I’ve been surviving, not living
You’ve made me alive
The music has kept me alive.

A Special Someone

I was reminded tonight that certain people are more special than others.


She looked him dead in the eye. One eyebrow up. He followed suite. Head to the side. Again he copied. His warm body pressed up against her and she laughed at his simple ways. Wrapping her arms around him she was reminded of simple joys. Innocent delight. She looked him dead in the eye again and waited for him to respond. He simply licked her face and barked for her to play the game again.

Every time she laughs, he wags his tail harder. Every time she cries, he snuggles closer. Every time she screams in pain, he barks stronger. Every time she runs, he runs harder. He is her baby.

No matter where you are in life or how horrible things are, there’s a special person like my baby, Oreo Wilbur Williams.

i love him. <3

Writing

There’s no feeling like that when letters mold to your fingertips.
When the keys of a keyboard become your landing pads.
When the thoughts of your mind become the paint of a canvas -
A canvas, the document on the computer screen.

There’s no feeling like that when the pen becomes a baton,
Forming sentences in the form that you call your handwriting.
When the paper becomes your orchestra, only your call goes.
When your hand becomes the god of the written piece -
A piece of your heart and mind put into tangible form.

Poetry

Don't laugh, but this was actually for Mrs. Powers to help her understand me better.

Poetry is not forced; it is something that grows in the soul and pours out of the body through way of words. Poetry cannot be molded or shaped by any person; it has a definite shape with definite volume that cannot change without changing what it is. Poetry is not child’s game; it has a heartbeat and is therefore another life - it must be handled with care and carried very gently. Poetry is not quick or hasty; it is time-consuming and patient. Poetry is not a raging fire of hate and lust; it is a blanket of comfort, love, emotion, and strength. Poetry cannot be found or sought after; it is something to arrive and stay for only as long as it desires. Poetry has no mother or father; it is an orphan, adopted by nostalgia, and married to coffee. Poetry has no home; it thrives in nature, in the waves of the ocean and the leaves of trees. Poetry does not love everyone; it is introverted and enjoys the company of a simple few. Poetry is not art; it is a living, breathing being that is looking for someone new to embrace it, even if for a short time. Poetry is beautiful.


I'm on quite the roll tonight with posts. That's Starbucks, for you.

Nostalgia

Nostalgia, poetry, and coffee.
I’m on my way to heaven.
Build me a fire and I’ll be there.

Quiet and calm mood.
Relaxation calls out to me.
Forget the troubles of this world.

Romance, love-songs, and wine.
I’m on my way to heaven.
Hold my hand and I’ll be there.

Serene and perfect mood.
Happiness calls out to me.
Forget the harshness of this world.

This is the life.

Cruise Control

Another one that never got shared. This was written right after I got my license when I was fifteen.

Flicking on cruise control to keep myself legal.
Maybe I shouldn't drive when I'm mad.
Hoping I could get to take my anger out on something.
Running into a car never seems too bad.

Got to find my way in this world of people like me.
We've got tempers that blow us away.
But I don't care and probably never will.
'Cause lashing out at people seems okay.

So I need to find my cruise control -
Something solid enough to keep me in check.
To slow me down when I seem to go over board
And keep me from doing something I'll regret.

That's why God is my cruise control,
So He can stop me when the time is right.
'Cause without Him watching my every move,
I'd be slamming life's gas pedal with all my might.

16 years old - speeding on 61

I wrote this almost two years ago, but it was never shared. Wow.

Pushing 60 on a 45.
Yup, I'm one of those people who hate themselves.
Can't control my speed or emotions.
Yes, I look at pictures of myself to remind me of who I was.
Can't seem to let myself say I'm beautiful out loud.
Have to look to a future of hopeful happiness.
Sure, death doesn't seem that bad.
Kind of like a friend you've always been annoyed by, but suddenly started to love.
Being with my savior is a hell of a lot better than this place anyways.
So, differences don't matter 'cause we all hate ourselves and all die eventually.
So how 'bout we all go 80 and laugh along the way?

Windmill

Call yourself a windmill ‘cause you’re pushing me away.

I know we’ve got a battle on our hands, but you’ve run at the first sign of bloodshed. Just imagine. Just put yourself in my shoes. I’m the one getting shot at. I’m the one they want to kill. Yet you leave me alone on the battlefield.

These are the times that we really need to be together. Its times like this that we’re really supposed to show each other how much we care. Why is it that now things are tough, you’re not standing by me? I get it, it’s hard, but you’re leaving me alone and that’s the last thing I need right now. It’s only making everything worse.

Do you get what I’m trying to say? You’re my best friend, you’re my family, you’re so important to me. It’s hard for you to comprehend that this is happening, but I’m the one that’s having to not just face the facts but run into them head-on. I need you and you’re leaving me.

Call yourself a windmill ‘cause you’re pushing me away.

Dig

This isn't aimed at anyone in particular, but it encompasses other emotions.

I’ve been digging my own grave for months.
I went from a shovel to a bulldozer in a week.
And in another week, I was so deep I couldn’t get out.
So, why stop and let that grave have use?
I’m digging more now, but this one’s for you.
For all the crap you did to me, I dig your grave, too.
If I’m going down, you’re going with me.
They say if you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything.
I say if you go out without a fight, you’re letting the world win.
Watch out ‘cause I’m on my way.
I’m not letting you have this battle.
You’re going to see my true colors - I’m not black and white.
Just look into my eyes and see that red-hot fire.
Yea, those flames you see, that’s hate.
The hate I have for you.

Favorite

Okay, so this one is kind of funny:

I've got holes in me dating back to when you'd run around screaming
I've got scars on me that no one even knows what they're from
I've got stains on me that would even gross the garbage man out
I've got stories woven through me that speak of the years before
I've got secrets in my pockets that you'd try to hide away in class
I've got a brand name so old even the historians don't recall
I've shrunk
I've been big and I've been tight
I've been with you as you've changed
But no matter what, I'm still your favorite pair of jeans

Hands

This is for one of the most important people to me:

Around 28 bones. Cartilage. Ligaments. Blood vessels. Tendons. Nerves. Who would’ve thought that the hands of the people you love would be so precious to you? A simple part of the body; able to do so much.

It was the hands that held me when I was seconds old.
It was the hands that baptized me.
It was the hands that hid the tooth fairy’s dollar.
It was the hands that gave me my first Bible.
It was the hands that wiped away my tears.
It was the hands that thought to fix my broken toys.
It was the hands to tear open those well-packed gifts.
It was the hands to make me the best breakfasts.
It was the hands that I watched give my sister away.
It was the hands that fight for our family daily.
It was the hands of my father.

Strong hands that have done so much for me.
I look at them shake when he’s down and I feel my whole world shake.
I watch him hold them out the window like an airplane and I’m reminded of why I love him.
I see the scars of life on his palms and it is made clear that he has fought for me.

He was my first love.
He is my protector.
He is my teacher.
He is my friend.
He is my father.

Who would have thought that his hands would mean so much to me?
Who would have thought that he would be the one I fear to lose most?
Who would have thought that I would have such an amazing man for a father?