Amidst all the lilies

When I walked into that garden.
Amidst all the lilies,
Stood a bright, red rose.
And I was captivated.

Everytime I walked past her,
I stared at the way the bees buzzed around her.

Everytime I walked past her,
I stopped to admire her beautiful petals
Red and gold, glistening in the sun.
But every time I held her in my hands
I was left bleeding from her thorns

Sometimes I wonder if I was a fool,
Ignoring those thorns I so clearly saw,
Just to see those petals glisten in that way again.
But I always come back the same way,
Disillusioned by the beauty of us,
Alone with cuts in my hands

I guess I am a fool.
Time and time again I come to pick you up,
But every time I come back,
My hands heal a little faster,
My skin grows a little thicker,
And after every trip,
I get a little closer,
To never coming back.

Bleeding

I’ve already become the person I’ve always wanted to be.

I’m driven by a cause, not for applause.

I’ve lived my life to express, not to impress.

I’ve put myself on a rocky path, and have become hypersensitive to action.

But along the way I think I lost my sensitivity to blood.

Every time you bleed I feel like I’m bleeding in a different color.

Sometimes I feel like I need to take a sip to bleed red.

I feel the need to listen to music to open my wounds.

But in the back of my mind I know

They might just be artificial wounds I’m cutting with this poison.

Because after these hours phase, I’m desperately trying to keep these wounds pulled open.

Before they stitch themselves back up and trap this blood inside my skin.

Sometimes it frightens me to think I need to cloak my self behind a Veil to be human.

I remember before, I wished to feel the happiness without the burn.

But this past week I wanted it to burn

So that I could bleed with you.

 

Ready. Fire. Aim.

I close my eyes, pull back my arrow and aim.

Even though there are targets all around me, I have no bullseye.

I’ll keep aiming, this will end in a perfect game.

Maybe shooting the easiest target won’t satisfy.

Maybe I should wait for a sign.

Maybe I should wait for god to acknowledge my aim.
Same bows, same arrows, hundreds of targets, I’m still just the same.

I can tell you about my precision, but in fact I have no vision.
No clue, no marker, no signal to trigger a split decision.

The more I pull back, the more my fingers bleed.

There are hundreds of targets, my vision is clouded, I don’t know how to proceed

Then I remember, back when I trained with only one target.
I had hundreds of arrows, I could adjust my aim if I missed.

I open my eyes, pull back my arrow and shoot.

Now, there’s no time to see if my aim was absolute.

As I released, the bow string resonated with a sound of familiarity.

Ready. Fire. Aim.

Finally I can breathe, action brings my clarity.

The Cave

It’s the world’s most comfortable place
Comfort zones suck they say, we have to get out
It’s not as simple as it sounds though
It’s not as simple as “stepping out”
It’s so engrained into our brains
It’s engrained in the very essence of our society
Meritocracy, bureaucracy, even our beloved democracy
Each world has a cave of its own
With prizes, titles, time slots to play in a Carnegie Hall recital
To become the president, get tenure, become Silicon Valley’s next billionaire
To enter the elite bubble, stay up there in the untouchable haven
Finding a job will be easy, I’ll have money, It’s so great to be at the top
It’s every high schoolers dream to penetrate those bubbles into Cambridge and New Haven
I know that’s when I’ll have everything on lock
I had to step out my comfort zone to get there
What’s wrong with that?
Nothing is. After all, all we really can see are those dancing shadows
We choose our cave, climb to the top, fight our uphill battles
There really isn’t anything wrong with that though,
People live such happy lives basing it on that
But maybe it’s the comfort of climbing that has made those caves so damn binding