10 thoughts on being fully alive

1. Okay, so everyone's technically alive. Except for all the people who have died already. But even some people who are alive aren't really alive.

2. Some people are cowards. They don't dance, they don't raise their hands, they don't tell people they love that they love them.

3. It's possible to be shy and still be alive.

4. Do scary things. (I'm not talking about drugs or jumping off cliffs. I'm talking about love and poetry and goosebumps and talent shows.)

5. Be aware that you're dying.

6. Make mistakes and take risks and make more mistakes. If you know how it's going to turn out then it's not really a risk, is it?

7. Be reckless. With your status, not your body. With your pride, not other people's hearts. With the rules, not the law.

8. Art.

9. Try not to be a phony. I mean, we're all fake sometimes. But if you're fake as often as you're asleep, that's a problem.

10. Sit at the kids' table.

dessert

Maybe my soul's all right, but my body's all wrong
We hit the club all night, every day the same song
Same song, same verse
New kids, same curse
What's worse, you say boo-yah
and we live in Utah
woompa doobadee dop doobadoompa
woompa doobadee dop doobadoompa
Murder that, Murder that dance floor, dance floor

My soul's right
My body's wrong
and I'm caught in the middle

A custody battle that began in the pre-existence
My body got visitation
and I only see my soul every other weekend
he lives in a one-bedroom apartment across town
all we ever seem to do is fight these days

Maybe it's this beard
Maybe God didn't like the look of my face when he saw it.
Sometimes a big dog looks right into it.
Sometimes animals can sense danger.
Sometimes they can't.

Sometimes I catch my oldest son staring at me
like he's looking into a mirror
like he's looking into the future
like some day we'll only see each other every other weekend.

 

sunday poems

i'm sick of sharing old stuff / 2016 stuff / I'm 36 and I still have things to say
games to play / I've been telling you how to write for 8 years, so what

Holler if ya hear me / I'm just stealing Tupac lines / I can't write to this music

I check e-mail and Twitter so I don't have to write / this is too hard

How to write if you're not inspired / just write / I played basketball tonight
I have nothing to say / nothing to say / nothing to say

a new song / let's start over

My daughter lies / My daughter cries / My daughter lies / My daughter sighs
omigosh what am i even saying, I give up.

I haven't eaten all day and it ain't even fast sunday

This is an anti-slam poem.

Look, I just want my English credit. So shut up and give it to me.
Talk with your hands
Do the Helen Keller
QUIT QUOTING SONGS don't you have anything to say?

Maybe I've already written about everything.
The moons and the stars
the birds and the bees
what else is there to say that hasn't already been said
by Shakespeare and Mojgani

I've written more midnight poems than anyone in this room
come at me bro

The longer you're here, the more this place feels like the M.T.C.
You'd rather I teach you Spanish instead of English
Scriptures instead of poetry
You want to listen to the spirit, not your heart
I'm done listening to Lamanite poetry.

I'm not asking you to break any commandments,
I just want you to fall in love.
Have one last fling before your plane leaves
I want you to hold hands with adjectives
and send late night texts to that nice metaphor you've been eyeing from across the room
that provocative title you wrote on page 29 of your notebook
it's not too late to be voted cutest couple.

It's not too late, it's not too late

I'm listening to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata right now and I'm telling you it's not too late

Call me blasphemous
Tell me we should be reviewing MLA format
How to write an essay
How to write an essay
Call me blasphemous,
but this is your last chance to fall in love with language.

She won't find you at 22 because you won't be looking.

She won't wait for 28 because you'll be married with two kids and there's no poetry in children.
There's no poetry in children.

Unless you count the stars in their eyes
or the thunder in their laugh
or all the possibility in their hands
My daughter laid her head on my chest last night and said she couldn't hear my heart.

And I don't know if I can blame her.
Maybe she needs hearing aids, or maybe the truth hurts.
I hope she wasn't listening.


And.I.don't.know.if.I'll.ever.be.the.same.