What you make of it.

What do I find myself to be

Called upon with expectations, requirements of another world

Finding fault that lies not inside but within the eyes of others

Staring, thinking, breathing my soul out as if I were a puppet

Why do you think I am this machine? Why are you demanding my acquiescence?

Life is what you make of it I’m told

Like my father, I am a terrible creator.

Would I had been

Would I had been, the man I wanted to be

Then I could say, simply, call me a friend

But life is filled with sin, life disallows the happy


It should have filled the soul, this drive to find and see

The way of others, the ease in which they blend

But they can’t see the man I wanted to be


I could try to change my heart, fill it with forms of glee

Pretend and play, immerse and trend

But that isn’t me, never feeling that free


If it’s for the good, I would be a tree

To stand and stay, to never bend

But my roots stay close, there’s no buzzing of any bees


I’m made of no wood, I have nowhere to flee

All through the day, I fear to transcend-

Fear they’ll arrive, to turn my key


So I raise up my hood, I make my agrees

I act as do they, fake and expend

Would I had been, the man I wanted to be

Maybe, then, I’d fit with society



Missed Poetry Today

No new poetry today.


I start university again on monday, which means I’ll likely slow down a bit due to time restrictions and lack of inspiration(studying isn’t helpful). Today I did not post due to a long outing in San Antonio to include the Zoo, a bit of fun with the kids, pool time, time with friends and movie bonding with the wife. I hope you all have a great weekend and I’ll try to post more up tomorrow.

Start Small They Said

Start small they said
A little at a time
Don’t give up they said
You’ll be just fine

But she wasn’t fine, not as they said
She couldn’t settle, wasn’t right in the head
She danced all night, made her feel sane
She kicked up her feet, stayed in her lane

It’s the little things, that stab you the worst
A poke of the finger, a quickly thrown curse
But she wasn’t fine, not as they said
She’d turn it around, without having bled
Nothing’s so bad, you can’t turn it around
Just give it some time, you’ll be just fine

Current State

Free isn’t free anymore

Rights are earned, privilege born

the high look down, the strong are poor

free isn’t free anymore


Work two jobs, kids at school,

still no bread in your bowl

Better half sloughs, feel the fool,

deeper we go to the hole


Youth raises up, skills fall through

you still hold on to your tools

kicked and slapped down, feel like a clown

Never let em see you frown

life is a chore, you can’t take much more

When free isn’t free anymore