Warning Labels (FDA Approved)

Some people,

Should come with a warning label,

Bright and colorful,

Visible at a great distance,

Biohazard symbols and skulls,

Warning others to stay awake.

Like medications,

Side effects

Like heartbreak,

Time wasted,

Betrayal,

And possible self hatred

Should be printed clearly on the back,

So you know

Exactly what will happen to you.

Ingredients

Such as opposing personality,

Ability to lie,

Or music tastes,

Should be listed

So if you’re allergic to any of them,

You know not to take that relationship.

How your person,

Will interact with others,

Counteracting some friendships,

Or intensifying different relationships,

Needs to be established,

From the beginning.

Life would be much simpler,

If people were given warning labels,

With an FDA stamp of approval,

Certifying that the cute boy across the room,

Has been tested and approved,

For healthy human relationships.

That way,

You know exact what you are getting into,

Prescribed by a friend or doctor,

And if all goes to hell,

And you end up worse than before,

You’ll at least have someone to she.

But unfortunately,

People do not come with warning labels,

And we have no way of knowing,

If the person we choose to take,

Will cause painful side effects,

Or even death,

Or if we will get lucky,

And find someone,

Who makes us better.

A Rather Harsh View On Religion, Because, Like Sex, I’m Tired Of Putting So Much Fucking Emphasis On It

It is sadly ironic,

How the majority of wars,

Fought since the beginning of time,

Have been over religion.

There were the so called Holy Wars,

Of the medieval era.

In the not so distant past,

Of the 20th Century,

There was the Israeli-Palestinian conflict,

Not to mention

World War II,

Which wasn’t strictly about religion,

But weren’t the Jews,

Still among the most persecuted?

We could claim,

That it is all in the past,

And mankind has evolved since the 1940s,

But that would be a lie.

Because while there may be more subtleties involved now,

The War in Iraq,

While rightly fought over terrorism,

Has launched a cold war,

Between Christians and Muslims,

Because even though,

The terrorists who caused 9/11,

Were Muslim extremists,

Equal in view of the vast majority of Muslims,

To what the Westboro Baptist Church is to most Christians,

It does not stop,

People from being mistrustful,

Of those of Middle Eastern descent.

Is it any wonder,

Why I am agnostic?

It may be rather narrow minded,

And perhaps I am generalizing far too much,

But at its heart,

Religion is a personal belief,

Constructed to give people,

Something to believe in,

And a hand to hold,

When they need the extra help.

It is supposed to help people,

Make sense of an utterly chaotic world,

Which they were pushed into,

Without warning,

Or a set of rules to guide them.

And while I understand the need,

To believe in a higher power,

To have a reason for existing,

To hope there is something

Far greater than,

A mundane job,

And a rather unfulfilling life,

I have never understood,

The need to condemn others,

For believing in things,

That are different than what I believe.

In high school,

My best friends consisted of

Protestants and Methodists,

Jews and Catholics,

Muslims and Baptists.

We were all close,

Only arguing over,

Which version of the Doctor

Was truly the best,

Respecting each other’s beliefs,

And even trying to understand

The practices of other religions.

It never occurred to us,

That our Muslim friend should be mistrusted,

Or that since I was raised,

In a family considered Baptist,

My sister should not date,

The twerpy looking Unitarian boy.

But as I became more aware,

Of the world around me,

I noticed,

With growing disgust,

That too many people

Were using their religions,

As an excuse,

To pass judgement on others.

The President has a strange name,

Therefore,

He must be Muslim,

And cannot be leader of the United States.

Your premarital rape,

Was unprotected,

And the resulting pregnancy,

Has a soul,

Therefore,

You cannot get an abortion.

You are a man,

Who loves another man,

And because someone believes that to be wrong,

You cannot get married.

You’re Muslim,

Therefore you are a terrorist,

Subjected to surprise searches at airport security,

In the name of freedom.

If you are Jewish,

You have to go to school over Hanukkah,

But deities forbid,

Christians go to school over Christmas.

America’s Constitution,

Boasts the separation of church and state,

But while that looks good on paper,

Marriage equality only exists,

In a handful of states,

And a woman’s right to choose,

Is still heavily contested.

I wonder,

When it became acceptable,

To impose one set of beliefs,

On an entire nation,

When most of our forefathers,

Came here to escape such things.

I also question,

What business is it,

Of the rest of the world’s,

To dictate who I can marry,

Or why anyone who looks vaguely Middle Eastern,

Is regarded with hatred and suspicion.

So when the topic of religion is raised,

And I am asked what I identify as,

I say agnostic.

People groan,

And accuse me of being a cop out.

I look at them in bafflement,

Unable to understand,

How their belief in a specific,

All powerful god,

Is perfectly acceptable,

But when I choose,

To accept that there is something out there,

Yet not lab what it is,

I am in the wrong.

I will never claim

That my way is better or worse,

Nor will I ever,

Look down on someone for what they believe.

Because it is my belief,

That you are free to believe what you will,

But you also,

Have to allow others the same courtesy.

It is not your decision,

To dictate how others should live,

So live and let live,

And believe in what you will. ,

Help Yourself or You Can’t Help Anyone

One of the hardest lessons,

You will ever have to learn,

Is that no matter how hard you try,

You can’t save everyone.

There will be those,

Who will constantly screw up,

Making the same mistakes,

Over and over again,

Drawing you in with their brokenness,

And breaking your heart,

When their mistakes hit too close to home.

Others consider you their parent,

Asking you for help

Well beyond your abilities,

And get frustrated with you,

When you don’t tell them what they want to hear.

Some won’t ask you outright for help,

But will still get angry,

When you don’t react to their every need.

A few will take advantage of your generosity,

Taking everything you have to offer,

And demanding even more,

Pushing you away,

When you pull back,

In a desperate attempt to save your sanity.

More often than not,

These people won’t be complete strangers,

But instead,

Masquerade as friends and lovers,

Drawing you in,

With mutual interests and a sad story,

Pretending to care as much about you

As you do for them.

But in reality,

When push comes to shove,

And tables are turned,

And you are the one who needs help,

These impostors will pull away,

Leaving you high and dry,

At the first sign,

That you are unable

To fulfill their emotional needs.

At first,

You don’t understand what happened.

Panicking,

Believing that it is some fault of yours,

That they no longer want you around.

You don’t realize,

Until much later,

That your only sin,

Is to care too much,

About the wrong people.

It takes time,

To fully convince yourself,

That the problem does not lie with you,

But with them.

Because even though,

You put up a front

Of biting sarcasm and hatred,

You still care deeply,

And would do anything for anyone.

There is nothing wrong with you,

But sometimes,

You must learn to temper your kindness,

And not to get too attached.

Because even though,

You long to do anything to help,

You sometimes have to

Put yourself first,

In order to be healthy,

Even if it means,

Losing some of the people,

Who once meant the world to you.

But you will find,

Who your true friends are,

The ones that understand and encourage the fact,

That sometimes you have to look after yourself.

You will also discover,

That no matter how hard it is,

To not get involved,

Your mind will clear,

You will be healthier,

And you will sleep a little easier.

You will also find,

That you are more able,

To help those who truly deserve it.

So while some may consider you a bitch,

Or selfish and uncaring,

And while sometimes,

You may even hate yourself,

You have to remember,

That at the end if the day,

You bear no responsibility,

To anyone but yourself

And that while you cannot help anyone,

If you do not help yourself first.

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Nomad

I am a nomad,

Forever destined,

To wander alone.

I get restless easily,

Slipping off in the dead of night,

To walk sketchy streets.

Worried friends caution me,

Fearing for my safety,

Trying valiantly to protect me,

From the scary people,

Who also roam the streets.

While I appreciate their concern,

I brush it off,

Armed with overconfidence

And a pocket knife,

Provided by my parents,

Who understand all too well,

The terrible restlessness,

That accompanies buzzing thoughts,

Bouncing off walls of a room that has become a cage,

Because they too,

Are nomads,

And rather than try to force me to stay,

In a place that is arguably safer,

They teach me the skills,

Needed to survive,

So that I can wander in safety,

And have a peace of mind.

I try to explain to my friends,

That I do not have a death wish,

And that in my so called stupid ways,

I am intelligent,

But they do not understand,

The instinctive need I have,

To walk at all hours of the night,

Because they were raised in the stagnant lifestyle,

Taught to sit and think,

While I learned,

That I can only think clearly,

When I am on the move.

Sometimes,

I humor their concern,

Spending the night away from home,

In the safety of their houses,

Instead of on the streets,

Because even nomads,

Need to have friends and sleep,

In order to keep wandering.

Gallows Humor

They call it gallows humor,

Cracking terrible jokes,

About painfully depressing things.

It’s a coping mechanism,

Meant to cover up the pain,

Frowned upon by parents, friends, and psychiatrists,

All firm believers,

In talking out the pain.

Screw them.

Screw them all.

There comes a point,

Where you physically cannot talk anymore,

Because you’ve said all the words,

You’ve rehashed the dirty details,

So many times,

That not even Shakespeare,

Could find different words,

To describe what happened.

The incredulity

Of everything you went through,

And all of the shit,

You voluntarily put up with,

Hits you like a freight train.

Realization,

That life is a stone cold bitch,

Strikes you,

You’re forced to either laugh or cry,

And you’re sick of crying.

So you laugh,

At the fading hickeys on your ex lover’s neck,

At yourself for being an idiot,

And at your friends,

Who stare at you in concern,

Unaware of how done you are,

With everything and everyone.

You laugh,

When you find out,

That your friends took bets,

On how long it would be,

Before you screwed up again,

Because they had only left you on your own,

For seventy-two fucking hours,

Before you proved them right.

You laugh,

When your ex enters into yet another relationship,

That you know he will inevitably screw up,

Because you can’t really bring yourself to feel the pain.

You laugh,

So hard that you can’t breathe,

Nearly hard enough,

To prove true the phrase

“laugh your ass off”

And while you know it’s just a turn of phrase,

Sometime you check,

Just to make sure,

Your ass is indeed still intact,

And because,

You have a damn fine ass,

That is getting very little appreciation.

You try your hardest,

To find the humor in everything.

And while your friends,

Stockpile straight jackets,

And construct padded cells,

You determinedly keep cracking jokes.

Because after all,

Laughter is the best medicine.

It’s Over. For Real This Time. (I Promise With Crossed Fingers)

What is it,

About shit relationships,

That makes us keep coming back?

Is our self esteem,

Really so low,

That we return to the ones,

We know will betray us?

Or are we really so naive,

To believe the false promises,

That things will be different this time?

Are we too optimistic,

Clinging desperately to the hope,

That perhaps the other person,

Will change,

And actually mean what they say?

Or are we afraid of change,

Knowing at least,

We can accurately predict,

When and how things will go to hell,

Choosing the familiarity 

Of heartache and betrayal,

Over the uncertainty of the unknown?

At least in shit relationships,

We will receive attention,

Perhaps even affection,

Able to escape the paralyzing loneliness

And bury our shortcomings,

In cheap sex and meaningless conversation.

But is the depression and self hate,

Guaranteed to follow 

The inevitable horrible break up,

Really worth the fleeting affection?

Is watching your friend with benefits,

Move on and replace you,

While you’re left alone once more,

Truly worth a touch here and a kiss there?

In the midterm,

The point between breaking up and making up,

We realize the ramifications of our actions,

Just how badly we screwed up.

We make our promises,

To both ourselves and caring friends,

That it is finally over,

There will be no more interactions,

With our friend with benefits.

But time passes,

Anywhere from seventy-two hours,

To six months.

While we try to be good,

The solitude gets the best of us,

And we once more find ourselves,

In compromising positions,

With the ones we promised

We would never do such things with again.

Shame, regret, and self-hatred,

Fall to the floor,

Joining shed clothing,

That will be donned the next morning,

When we wake up,

And realize what we’ve done.

Once more,

We try to convince ourselves,

That things will be different this time,

Knowing full well,

That no matter how passionate the kiss is,

Or how good the release feels,

This will all explode in your face

And you will once more be left to wonder,

Why the hell,

You let this happen again. 

Doesn’t Add Up

I come from a family of engineers,

And while I go to art school,

There is still evidence,

Of my upbringing.

I count everything.

The number of steps in a staircase,

Or strides between cracks in the sidewalks,

Heartbeats in a second,

And breaths in a minute.

When I am anxious,

I will quickly count to ten,

And then back down.

Astride a horse,

Cantering to the next fence,

I count to keep a steady rhythm,

So I know where I am,

And how many strides it is

Until the jump.

At night,

I calculate how many hours I have

Until I need to wake up,

Deciding how many more episodes

Of bad tv I can watch

And still get enough sleep

Or make plans

To get a cup of coffee in the morning.

I count meaningless things, too,

Like the number of black cars I see,

On my way to class,

Or the amount of times,

I think about

Things that no longer matter,

Such as the number of days

It has been

Since we last talked,

Or how long it has been

Since I figured out

How to do things on my own.

Each second of the silence,

Is carefully calculated,

No variable left unsolved.

And like the engineers I come from,

I come up with a logical answer

As to what happened

To cause the silence.

But nowhere in my math,

Can I find

A viable solution

To fix the silence.

So I sit with my pencil and calculator,

Recounting everything that happened,

Thinking that maybe I missed something,

Trying new equations

And different numbers.

But the results end up the same.

I realize that maybe,

This is a problem

Not even Einstein could solve,

And instead of wasting more time,

Counting the things that don’t matter,

I should erase everything,

Throw the scribbled equations into the trash,

And start counting

The things that really matter.

The Funny Thing Called Life

Life is funny.

You meet people,

Who you think without a doubt,

Will always be in your life.

You fall in love,

With the completely wrong person,

Convincing yourself,

They are your soul mate,

Even though,

They are only your first kiss.

Time passes,

And you realize,

The more you get to know,

These total strangers,

The more you know,

They aren’t going to be,

In your life forever.

By the time a year is up,

The love of your life,

Has replaced you with someone newer,

All of the friends,

You swore were family,

Have all gone their separate ways,

Never to be heard from again.

But new friendships have formed,

And you learn that falling in love,

Isn’t just about,

A cute boy with a crooked smile and a guitar,

But about being able,

To trust both yourself and the other person completely,

And while it was a painful lesson to learn,

You know now how to be cautious,

And not throw yourself blindly into bed,

With the first boy to call you pretty.

Life will break your heart,

And leave you with crippling loneliness,

But when the pain fades,

And you find new friends,

And slowly begin to put yourself out there again,

Life will also 

Show you true friendships,

With friends who will let you get stuck on the same boy,

Over and over,

And cry on their shoulders without judgment,

Letting you know,

That you are worth far more,

Than a messy hand job and sloppy kisses.

You learn,

That beauty and happiness,

Are all around you,

Whether in a midnight trip to the beach,

In the freezing cold,

With the people who have become your family,

Or in sharing Valentine’s Day,

Not with a fickle lover,

But with your sister, 

Where you both get free dinners,

Because the waiter thinks you’re cute.

Sometimes,

It’s in a sunset trail ride,

On a horse that is your best friend,

And the quiet accomplishment,

Of finishing your second novel,

After four long years of slaving.

So while life can be a bitch,

Harsh and unfair,

Making you want to throw in the towel,

More often than not,

It will show you

That if you can make it through the hard times,

You will find something,

That makes it entirely worth living.

Say Something

There are days,

Where I go without speaking,

To another soul,

Save for the occasional text,

Or drink order at Starbucks.

On these days,

Silence is my constant companion,

Not even music playing in plastic headphones.

I do not mind,

These quiet moments,

For they give me,

Much needed time to think,

And write,

And exist.

Sometimes however,

The thoughts turn black,

As past mistakes,

Come back with a vengeance,

And I’m left drowning,

Under the weight of the darkness.

It’s on these days,

Where I reach out the most,

Desperate for a hand to hold,

Panicking when I come up short,

And am left with the loneliness.

Tears stain pillows,

That muffle screams,

As I wonder

If anyone out there,

Actually cares.

When I am lucky,

A knock on the door,

Or a phone call from a parent,

Will come at just the right time,

To save me from myself.

Most days though,

I alienate those I care about,

With over-dramatic texts,

Spoiling for a fight,

When all I really need,

Is someone to tell me,

That I’m worth it.

I hate myself,

On these days,

For being so needy,

Having spent years,

Building an indestructible persona,

And pushing people away,

So that when they’re not there,

I can be proven right,

About the fickleness of man,

And justify my natural avoidance of people.

I am called a bitch,

Cold, callous, and uncaring,

Antisocial and distant,

When all I really desire,

Is a hug

And simple reassurance.

But I don’t know

How to let myself ask,

Because that would be admitting weakness,

A vulnerability I cannot afford,

Simultaneously wanting a hand to hold,

But not wanting to give someone,

The power to break me.

So there are days where I’m quiet,

Buried under my fears,

Unable to speak,

Telling myself

That no one really cares,

Because if they did,

Surely they would notice,

The screaming silence,

And ask what’s wrong.;

Humans versus Zombies

A single shout,

Accompanied by the sound of running feet.

A small faction of people,

Dressed in varying forms

Of combat gear and Deadpool masks,

Carrying blue and orange guns,

With orange bandanas wrapped around their arms

Race across the parking lot,

Leaping over curbs and parked cars,

Pausing occasionally,

To fire a foam bullet

At their pursuers.

The attackers,

Are dressed in a similar fashion,

Their faces painted

In a gruesome manner

To indicate their undead state,

With bright orange bandanas

Wrapped either

Around their heads or necks.

One person,

With a bandana on his arm,

Falls behind the rest.

His fun jams,

As the hoard of undead

Converges on him.

He dies valiantly,

Fighting to the last,

With a small arsenal of rolled up socks,

Momentarily stunning,

A few of the zombies.

His comrades try to help,

Firing their foam bullets from a safe distance,

But it is too late.

A zombie reaches out with both hands,

And tags the poor soul.

He falls to the ground,

With overdramatic flourish,

As his killer lifts his ID card.

His former teammates,

Run for safety,

As he untied his bandana from his arm,

And wraps it around his neck.

His now fellow zombies help him to his feet,

And together,

They take off after the humans.