I Seriously Believe

I seriously believe
So clap your fucking hands with me
Make the fairies dance

clap clap clap

Smeared across your fantasy
Giving light to sanity
Dance the fucking dream with me

dance dance dance

Break the happy child’s dream
Shatter every lullaby
Ripping wings off butterflies

fly fly fly

Give us room to rage and scream
Find yourself with tears again
Clap your fucking hands

cry cry cry

The Old Farmers Know

This poem was written for my grandpa’s funeral. He was like a father to me, and always supported everything I did. I wanted to give him something special to send him on. <3

The old farmers know.

When to harvest the crop;
when to bring in the cattle.
They know how much farther
the horse can pull the plow.
They know how much longer
the sun will light their work.

They know when to pull a calf
and when to put one down.
They rise with the sun
and set with it.
They see life begin
and they see it end.

The old farmers know.

They know when they’ve
lived a good life.
They know when they’ve
left a good legacy.
When they’ve worked hard
and when they’ve loved harder.

And the old farmers know
when to go home.

They know when they’re ready
and when to let go.
They know we’ll be alright;
we’ll make it on our own.
And when the Lord beckons them
and the earth welcomes them
the old farmers know.

We Watched

We watched.

Crushed rock smeared on cave walls,
charred rings dotting the ground,
blankets of death wrapped around nakedness.

We watched.

The rich earth enslaved,
driven out to prolong life,
imposed order trampling beautiful chaos.

We watched.

Stone and timber.
Brick and steel.
Concrete and glass.

We watched.

Grey smothering green,
ashes and smoke,
always an electric hummmm.

We watched.

Crushed into reserves,
we watched.

Sick and dying,
we watched.

Small signs.
Too much rain.
Twisting currents.
Hot wind.
Earth cracking.

We watched.

From behind iron bars we watched.
From the sides of asphalt ribbons we watched.
From under the crosshairs we watched.
From our nest of starving young we watched.

Wild, we watched.

A vibration in the earth.

We listened.

We watched.

I am a Druid

I am a druid.
The earth is mine
and I belong to the earth.
I see the trees and the skyscrapers.
I feel the soft dirt and the concrete.
I hear the birdsong and the car horn.
I smell the honeysuckle and the dark smog.
I taste the evergreen and the packaging plant.
I am a druid.
The earth is mine
and I belong to the earth.
I cry when the earth is injured.
I scream when the earth is destroyed.
I bleed when the earth needs to heal.
I rest when the earth is at peace.
I am a druid.
The earth is mine
and I belong to the earth.
With the summer I grow strong.
With the autumn I grow wise.
With the winter I grow still.
With the spring I am reborn.
I am a druid.
The earth is mine
and I belong to the earth.


roads dark with soul marks
steel groaning buried deep
snow red on brittle wind
wide awake tomorrow sleeps

sunset shattered flickering
concrete blood washed with heat
thunder creeping whispered tears
stolen tread of ghostly feet

starless night timeless day
silence blows through empty streets
broken tombs of fallen steel
acid stained the cold earth weeps

Ven’s Pain

I almost remembered you
Memories of blood
I almost remembered us
Memories of flesh
I almost remembered me
Memories of death

Memories of Blood

It hurts
to think
you see
me now
as I
would never
have been.

It hurts
to know
you cry
and I
can never

It hurts
to see
the ghost
of you
that I
will always

It hurts
to feel
a truth
so real
that I
would rather
have died.

My Rock

I am my rock.
The one thing I have control over in this existence is myself.
I must live with myself, and my own actions, throughout eternity.
My choices will be my own.
I will take responsibily for those choices, and will accept the consequences.
I will follow only my own heart when I make decisions.
I will not allow an outside influence to rule my life.
I will be at peace with myself.
I am my rock.
When the world crashes upon me, it will break.
I will hold firm in my defense of myself.
When the world blows against me, it will be turned aside.
I will stand tall in my belief in myself.
When the world casts me into darkness, it will be banished.
I will shine brightly with the truth of myself.
I am my rock.


the ocean speaks to me
in the whisper of the rain,
and though i’m far away
it still remembers me.

the rain falls down on me
and runs across my skin,
and when it rejoins the sea
it gives my touch to it.

the scattered thunderclouds
speak of whitecapped waves,
giving me a picture
of beloved stormy seas.

the screaming wind races
with a sense of urgency,
and i respond in thought
yearning for the deep.


(Note: I don’t own minecraft. I don’t own Notch. I felt a bit of empathy and wanted to express it.)

Today I created something brilliant.
Showed a few of my friends and they agreed.
I published it
thinking people might enjoy it.

It grew a community.
It inspired gamers to play.
Mods sprouted everywhere
and youtube channels streamed.
Forums grew
servers were built
platforms were added
fees were charged
cheats were made
hacks were stopped
[Herobrine deleted]
fanbase exploded
merchandise sold
cos-play worn
playsets built
lore rumbled on.

I didn’t know the thing I had created anymore.
I couldn’t speak without being attacked.
I couldn’t make any “right” decisions.
I wasn’t me anymore and I hated it.

I created something brilliant.
Showed the world and they agreed.
I published it…
I didn’t publish me…

Take it then

I created something brilliant today.
Showed a few of my friends and they agreed.
I didn’t publish it.