In Other Words

Life is a game of chess. In other words,
we will play until the king is put to rest.
Life is a game of 21. In other words,
we can hit or stand without knowing
the dealer’s plan. Life is a game of Risk.
In other words, take out your sword,
prepare for war and kick down a door.
Life is a game of dice. In other words,
some will shoot twice without thinking.
Life is a game of wins, losses, ties, tears,
blood, sweat, love, pain, hope, and loss.
In other words, take what’s yours,
love from the core and be a boss.


Rope Burns

As life gets heavier,
my grip naturally tightens.
I am playing tug of war,
and on the other side
of the rope is the fear
that I lose all hope.
I am always trying
to stay grounded when
my mind is flying.
I am trying to live
instead of thinking
of death or dying.
When I try to pull,
I feel that the hole
in my soul becomes
filled: almost full.
In this life, I tug, tug,
and tug. I attempt to
stand on top of a rug
that is being pulled
from under me. See,
these rope burns
come easy. I won’t
slip or lose my grip
until the sweet taste
of victory drips off
of my quivering lips.

Better Off

Your heavy, calicoed hands
stay balled up. Never open
to another’s. Your lifeless
arms always stay crossed
looking like you just lost.
Your patience went astray,
yet the frustration stayed.
The time I’ve been away
has shown me a new life
consisting of better days.
In many ways, I’m better
off not finding the things
that forever remain lost.

Wise Guys

I know a few wise guys.
They know things
most couldn’t imagine.
They wear sunglasses
to hide their eyes
from the sun. Because
they are wise guys,
they don’t need to
listen or fall in line.
They do all things
on their own time.
They wear top hats
to conceal their brains
because looking from
the outside in would
really just be insane.
These wise guys like
to get a rise out of
anyone silly enough
to get caught in a web
of complex sentences
euphuisms, or idioms.
Wise guys wake up and
fist-bump themselves,
doing anything that helps
them begin to win.
I know a few wise guys.
They know how to be
people I cannot believe.




Losing Count

I’m losing count of the days.
I’m not winning this game.
Many moons have fallen
before my eyes. Many stars
have burnt out. Many nights
have come. Many times,
I’ve lost track – lost count.
The number of times?
I’ll never know the amount.
I lose track of the time
as I pen lines that rhyme.
Sometimes, I wish I knew
how many times in life
that I have counted
the same day twice. Still,
the count is gone: lost.
Each line that I’ve drawn
has now been crossed.
Countless of times, I have
wasted time recounting.
Now, I think to myself:
I should’ve been rounding.