A Thoughtful Marathon

I think back to the times we had

Finding the source of what makes me sad.

I remember bits and pieces of us:

Memories I can’t completely trust.

I feel this pain cut so deep:

Haunting memories that won’t let me sleep.

I forget some things, but I remember most.

I still remember… that’s why I coast.

I can’t seem to break this thought

And what we had can’t be taught.

Your shadow casts as this pain lasts.

I run away to only see you;

I can’t escape no matter what I do.

I keep on running until I’m free

knowing these thoughts will never leave.

Gene(ration): Me

Years pass by before my eyes.

I am not ready to say goodbye.

I have lived a hundred times.

I still believe that I am fine.

I think about life’s unknowns

and other ways to find my home.

I start to think about the past

to only realize that I won’t last.

My face reveals a winded tale

and shows eyes that I am frail.

Years pass by with many generations

as the youth grows to be a nation.

As I pass through life I pass on genes,

so I can create a generation’s dream.

Story of a Friend’s Ship

Lost at sea in a hollowed-out tree,

we float out further chasing the light.

Back and fourth, waves hit you and me

as the things we’ve seen leave our sight.

Picking up speed, we push towards tomorrow

hoping that we can make it past,

The effort put in leaves no sorrow

while the time we’re given doesn’t last.

Inch by inch, our speed only goes up

leaving no time to wade in the water.

Now feeling like a half-empty cup,

the sunshine faded but I wasn’t bothered.

I’m in a friend’s ship and I hold on tightly

as we share the same quest.

The storm is here, oh boy, is it frightening

but we sail on through and give it our best.

The friend’s ship rocked day after day

but pushed through the times of struggle.

The ship never sank and I’m here to say

that a friend’s ship saved me from trouble.

Ghost Writer

The pen bleeds black

into my DNA.

Unable to erase

my yesterday.

Poisoned by the ink

carelessly used

by every writer

and those they knew.

I try to remove

your permanent marks

left on me

as my life embarks.

I saw your veins

filled with doubt

before you saw

your way out.

The marks you left

celebrated your pain

and the marks I kept

remain the same.

I often ask why

you penned my story.

But now is my time

and there’s no hurry.

My veins run black

like the pen I hold

as I become

the story that you told.

Hi I Am…

I am from strangers overcrowding

a small military room, from Top Ramen

noodles and Welch’s jelly. I am

From constant breezes shaping

younger generations. I am from Evergreen

trees envy for green and power,

the thick shells of grown gooey ducks.

I am from fresh French Dip dinners  

on Thursday night and an entanglement

of thick hair. From Cody, Eva, and Heather

posing as clowns, lions, and monkeys

for Halloween, I am from the crazy

on my Dad’s side working in my favor

and the dangerous and creative on my Mom’s

side providing a vibrant life. From the

anything is possible and the express yourself

no matter what. I am from a home that spent

Sunday mornings eating wings

instead of growing them, watching the Hawks

felt more natural than the possibility of

a higher power; the power I felt I needed

came from myself. I am from Newport News,

Virginia, From the blue sky that made up

my great great Grandpa’s German eyes.

From the busted lip of my sister when

I realized my golf swing was unpredictable,

the gash on my brother’s hand when I realized

I’m not cut out to be a ninja and from

when my sister, Sporty Spice, I mean Heather tried

to become a Spice Girl. I am random pictures

thrown in a very valuable cardboard

box. I am from the black ink that bleed out

of my Dad’s unreliable pen and the worn down

shoes passed down that did not have souls,

even though we did.