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Blackstar, David Bowie

I woke up this morning, 4:12AM, to a text message from my friend Ashley saying that David Bowie has died. Just 3 days ago, his album Blackstar was released. How fitting of a title. The time of release forces one to listen to and appreciate the album in a way that could not have happened any other moment than after his death. Thank you for the most beautiful goodbye, Mr. Bowie.

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Closed People

I live in a world full of closed people.

Unwilling to learn.

Unwilling to hear.

Unwilling to understand.

I live in a world full of closed people.

Chains on their egos.

Glass on their egos.

Locks on their egos.

I live in a world full of closed people.

Minds warped.

Minds confused.

Minds stupid.

I live in a world full of closed people.

Judgement.

Hatred.

Ignorance.

 

 

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Cliché Fantasies

I find myself at a hotel in a dead end tiny town.
I peak out the window to check on the truck.
In this moment, I pretend to be the silhouette of a vagabond.
Green carpet.
Red curtains, furniture and bedding.
Budget but nice.
For one night I am able to be no one with no ties in this unknown place.
For one night I am just a traveler, passing through, using the hotel along the highway for temporary stability.
Part of me wants to quit it all in exchange for the life of a passer-by.
I’d make money doing odd jobs, simply to move on to the next nowhere town and the next nowhere hotel and order pizza in my room and drink cheap coffee in the morning.
Part of me aches for that.
But I won’t.
I will check out at 11 and make it home to go to work with all my personal comforts and possessions surrounding and suffocating me.

adulthood, Apathy, coming of age, depression, freestyle, god, growing up, happiness, heartbreak, knowledge, life, poem, poetry, simplicity, thoughts, twenties, writing, Youth

Strange, Mad, Wild World

Waking up to a tragedy,
every Tuesday.
Reminded that this world is insane,
on the daily.
I can’t relate.
The interest of the rich is far removed from my own,
my home is not my home.
Religious belief justifies evil,
my home is really not my home.

adulthood, Apathy, careers, childhood, coffee, depression, freestyle, god, happiness, humor, jobs, laughter, life, love, Outdoors, poetry, Positivity, sadness, satire, simplicity, thoughts, twenties, writing, Youth

Silence

It’s funny how I’m silent when I’m content.

My pain-body has endless things to say when I’m in a negative state.

I can sit down and write whatever I want, so long as it continues feeding the shit.

But now, now that I’m not struggling to get out of bed and the world doesn’t seem like such a bitter and frightening place, words are hard to come by.

Why do you think that is?

I’m curious.