when you are feeling caught up in the tide

Swim Strong
Kick hard
Look Inside
You have had your own guardians all your life

Swim strong
Kick hard
(24 ribs shaped to protect your heart)
You are more beautiful than the sum of every broken part

Swim strong
Kick hard
There’s so much left to do
Squeeze someone’s hand three times
(I, love, you)

there's reasons to breathe

The akward juxtaposition, humanity
Fulfillment a paradox
For every sidewalk, a skinned knee

But sometimes sore stomachs remind us
there is laughter, more contagious
then any disease

hold your own hand and
hold open the sails
here comes a breeze

{{ }}

i'm thankful for my anchor
but i hope our winds do change
so out of these choppy waters
we both can sail away

unimpressed we press on

connected to a screen i feel stuck

i don't know how to be awestruck

my generation is overstimulated, unimpressed,
and left craving human touch

we view what were "the good old days" as living life rough

drugs, dangers, pressing the limits have all come
because feeling is tough


patience is no longer veiwed as a virtue
but as a weakness
we demand
bigger
         better
                 faster
                         stronger

and have forgotten what peace is

night swimming

floating between two worlds
the water and the sky
almost weightless almost waiting
for the next airplane to fly by
thoughts drifting to the variety
of the passenger's lives

swallowing the expanse above me
and imagining it below
kicking feet for once graceful
following the flow

tomorrow i'm seeing a boy
who makes me feel warm
where i used to feel empty
the next day i'm going away
to live for a while
in a new city
either too personal
or political
i'm not sure i still care for poetry

a standing on moon landing

unlike those before me
i was not amazed
to see man walk on the moon
i was instead shocked to learn
we had not been more

it was years before i knew
we were not just trying to explore
but we walked
as a side effect
of war

hands

tight, angry, clenched into fists

callused from monkey bars

spread open wide as if receiving a gift

burnt from reaching for shooting stars

rough from a life of labor

clasped in an act of prayer

raised calling for the waiter

soft, stroking a daughter's hair

raising, shaking, tapping, typing

covered, criss-crossed in life lines

playing, punching, stretching, writing

yours fit perfectly in mine