Saturday, March 19, 2011

i know i've given you hell

it’s been twenty years, nine months and
one day of bickering,
nagging, screaming,

son, don’t you dare drink before you turn twenty one
son, don’t you dare talk back to me
son, don’t you dare swear in this household
son, don’t you dare get bad grades

i look out of the Great Spectacle of
time and see the sunset in the
blue sky—
the smell of nearing Spring and
the blooming scent stare back
at me through flashes of time
time and time again

i’ve chipped paint off of my white
walls that you spent hours painting
and i’ve played the drums too loud
with a thump, bang, bam—
i’ve broken my wrist with well-earned pain when you
specifically warned me the day before that i would break something
i’ve screamed and shackled your
ease, yet you still put up with all of
my crap—

love really is unconditional

it’s been twenty years, nine months and
one day of you parenting,
loving, caring,
and protecting me

and for so long i’ve been in
the clouds, high above my potential
and i never realized that i just needed

to be grounded

so happy twenty years, nine months and
one day of parenting, mom

i know i’ve given you hell so thank you
for the piece of heaven you have given

Sunday, March 13, 2011


For all of you people who are saying "That's for Pearl Harbor assholes," shut your mouth. I may love some of you, but shut your mouth.
That may be the most ignorant and most awful thing I have ever heard anyone say.
First off they are our allies now, pearl harbor happened years ago. So keep that in mind.
Second off, this is a natural disaster and over 1,000 people have lost their lives... not too mention all of the cities that were destroyed. Cars, houses, food, possessions wiped out forever.
What if something like this happened to us? Do you honestly think Japan is going to say "That's for HIROSHIMA bitches" ....NO
So put your ignorance aside and help out. They need our help, much like we would need theirs if this happened to us.
I can't believe people are saying this kind of thing.

And for the record, it is not the end of the world.

- Kevin

Saturday, March 5, 2011

welcome home, my love

the world looks up and smiles
at the orange and red fire from the sun and whispers to the
sky full of cotton-ball clouds
paved with a stream of blue:

welcome home, my love

she eyes the pearlescent moon as
it glistens with blue memories
from the daytime past
and whispers to the poka dots
dotting the night
with brilliance:

welcome home, my love

and she revolves on her axis
knowing today was
the day she fell in love
as the tree's shiver from
the chills she receives
from the emotion,
the wind whispers

welcome home, my love

and I smile
at the beauty of the world
knowing today was the day
that love began to beat
rhythm into my heart
and I whisper  to you

welcome home, my love

For Carol

Well, it's been two days since I've posted anything according to carol. So I will post something. Not sure what, maybe I have a poem that I wrote in class or something?
Anyways I am rather mad about the whole boarders closing down, or at least a lot of them. Why is it that people can't appreciate books as entertainment anymore. I am talking about the physical forms of books. Now that were talking about that I do remember a poem I wrote recently. There is some editing need to be done, but I am too lazy to critique it right now.


she looked at me with her wide
brown eyes, full of luster
and age
and even wisdom from time
she spent breathing life
into the hearts of
those who love her

and she said to me

“look at this handy new
electronic book called an
e-reader that your grandfather got for me—
it’s so wonderful
you can flip pages with
just the press of a button
and it doesn’t cost much
for each book”

i smiled, glanced it over and
replied as my insides turned
to ash from the disgust of such an
“grandma, i personally hate these
they are so impersonal and not the same

i enjoy real books, you know,
the ones that you hold in your hands,
the ones you find at book stores
and libraries
and airports

i like to hold the book in
my hands, i like the feel of the rough
pages as my thumb and index finger
graze the edges ever so smoothly
as to not receive a cut
or to leave a rip,
to not ruin it and bend
the pages with folds

i like the feel of the book
when i hold it in my
hands like it’s a teddy bear
with enough power to
kill an entire nation—
a weapon of words

my sweet genocide

a book is a physical object
meant to be held,
meant for readers to be drawn into
like pictures on pages painted with
because the concrete book itself
is something that helps me
affiliate myself with the story,
i become one with the novel as
i engage my mind on adventures of
who killed whom?
and the apparition is staring at me through the mirror
and Frodo Baggins is my best friend
while Harry Potter is my idol

but electronically?
can I really associate myself and
become engaged so deeply
as I do with the book in
a physical form

each flip of the page
is another step into the novel
nearing the climax
as my heart races…
and those are called ‘page-turners’
not electronic-devise-page-scrollers

each page has a scent so unique
from anything else
I can’t even put it to words—
the smell draws me in,
as does the plot
and setting
and format
and feel of the pages
it’s the aroma that stains my
fingers like cigarettes do and fills
my nostrils with a sense
of a ‘guaranteed-page-turner.’

they will always be there for me

while electronics eventually die

Thursday, March 3, 2011

the attic, the door, and the flower

the house was eating
me alive; i was running
and sweating
in the darkness

nothing was what I
remembered it as—
my house had turned
into hell
and a sinister black
that suffocated me

my eyes kept seeing flashes
and blurs of my past
my family, my friends
rotting in religious
reunion with the ground

my eyes looked at the
window sill, a flower
blossoming in the moon-light

my heart was a time-bomb
ticking away my life
with each beat
and thump—
and darkness embodied
my soul
enveloping me in shadows,
monsters of my mind

and the flower
blossomed in the moonlight

i tried running and escaping
the house
but every door i opened
led to my dreaded

i tried screaming
but all that
evaded from my
lungs was a roar

and the melancholic 
moonlight captured
that brief glimpse:
a flower
blooming in darkness

i tried another door
and it led to
that room that i’ve
never seen before
only dreamed about:

the attic
where my biggest fears
would come to life

i just wanted to leave
this cursed house
that i’ve known my whole
but the room was calling me
my fate was screaming
my name, and the darkness
was letting me in

i took a brief glimpse
into the window of my
identity, and saw what had been there
all along: a silhouetted entity
shadowed by what had once been—
not a man
a monster, caked in
the crimson life of his lovers
my lovers

and the flower began to rot
as the door closed and
locked behind me
and i saw what had been calling
my name. An open coffin
ready to swallow me whole

darkness sucked the life out of me
with my clammy hands
holding the rotting flower

and the house devoured my soul

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Another Lonely Night ... [song lyric I wrote]

It's another one of those nights
where I’m locked in my room and the lights
from the street outside my window
reflect to times and places I wish I could go
but the four walls surround me
consuming me in sorrow that bounds me
and I wish I could escape
but the radio keeps playing my favorite song
you know, the one that points out all my wrongs
the one I know every word to 

And it's another lonely night
writing songs about my sad life
summer has gone and it's not coming back
at least for months and I know you won't be coming back
but I can't escape the memories
baby, it's just not right spending the night without you with me 

And here I am burning down bridges
the ones that kept me at bay
I’m ripping apart the seems from the stitches
of every connection that I’ll ever make 
because I think I won't be able to take this again
and again and again because pain isn't worth it in the end
it's just another lonely night staring at the past
wishing and hoping I could have those times back 

And it's another lonely night
writing songs about my sad life
summer has gone and it's not coming back
at least for months and I know you won't be coming back
but I can't escape the memories
baby, it's just not right spending the night without you with me 

So where do I go, where do I hide
I can't move on or breathe without you by my side
I'm so used to the moments that we had to share
If I said you were poison, I lied, cause you were my air
yes you were my air, but now
it's another lonely night full of frowns
that will never again turn to smiles
no matter how many miles I search, because all the while
I search for another, I'll be thinking of you