Paralytic vision converter verging on the edge of mended delusion. A rose softly dropping it’s three petals like a roll of silent thunder, because you lacked the  vantage to see the lingering fourth.

Passive aggressive in its active nature, every tree refuses to violate the horizon. Dawn rebels, tired of the earth’s cyclical self, shelving the responsibilities of time management and begrudgingly nudging forever off into eternity.

It’s a cosmic rip, like the moon harpooning your mama’s ceiling and doing lunar things to her while you are sleeping, it makes me sick.

The night sky is the eternal Judas.
The march of time is the wisest clueless.

And my contrite mind stays awake to tune in.



There’s a hero in there… somewhere.

I know this because I can’t sleep without dreaming of people I want to inspire and I can’t be awake without seeing maxed out potential all around me. Sometimes I feel like lost poetry in motion, emotionally charging for creative assault and battery. I feel the coursing rivers of a curious strength in me, but the clouds across my mind have me feeling like my undiscovered gifts are a hidden disease.

I’m not aiming to please, but it feels like I missed the mark. If I don’t stop it quickly the ghostly burden of failure before enduring will drive me to my knees. There’s a hero inside me somewhere, but I feel like my super powers are super used to stay super sane. The picture of mediocrity in a different frame. Measurable discord in the membrane…

But in the quiet moments of my thinking… that hallowed space between one thought and the next… a mighty force deep in my soul crackles with power and vision. The voice of God pours through and I’m reminded that the battle isn’t the fight- it’s the perseverance. What? Easy to say for You Almighty God! You don’t have to deal with the doubt in my thoughts… you don’t have the burden of being blessed with something so incredible that you don’t really have words for it…

I say there’s a hero somewhere inside me, but I’m not sure I’ve earned it… the right to use that word. But then again- how can you earn the right to something you were born with? I didn’t choose this- creativity, vision, hope- I woke up with it.

It’s me.

There’s not a hero somewhere deep inside afterall… because the hero is me already.

My Idea

We all know how this goes.

The rose flows its petals upon the worthy, and the rest of us minorities reap the thorns.  Minorly lamenting in a minor key, our hearts skip a beat, throwing off the rhythm of our internal equilibrium.

What does life look like when peace was never an option…?

Star Wars sky stalking, walking the length of dreams jettisoned into space, following a hyperlink to someone else’s page, and envying their life.  It’s like, we’re locked in a closet, and the cracks along the edges of the door are our only connection to outside.  That’s not life- that’s survival.  Previously considered the fittest, because I fit in, but now my accomplishments are full of buts like old trousers with split ends…

This is not the me I had in mind to become.

Instead of feet gleaming in splendor, my shoes have holes in em.  In place of my swirling purple robes, and gilded royal attire, I’m in last week’s undershirt and jeans from five years ago.  And my crown… my crown has been replaced with a tangled encampment of warring hair strands that in no way resembles dignity.

I was dream destined to be a king, and now my inner vision of me matches my outer reality- pauper.  An expendable pawn in the poverty paved arena of a capitalistic society. My idea of me rendered my identity a casualty… because I no longer wanted to be me.

… but what if- what if that idea changed?  If the rain became a parade, and I saw light even in the dark?  If my view of myself wasn’t dwindling flame, but kindling spark?  Healing remarks… what might happen?  If my less was simply the prelude to more, strokes across a vast sea of purpose that I was incapable of truly comprehending, but had the conscious choice to either continue surrendering to or swimming through… A bruise is a reminder that I can endure pain, and a broken leg teaches me that I make what I am- incessantly able, even with a cane.

Scared.  Nervous.  Hesitant.  Concerned that I’m absolutely out of my mind.

Humanity embraces the human concept because it is ordinary, but what if I had found a different kind?  The truly evolved, not from King Kong to King James, but from unstable to internally amazed!  Eternally in faith!  A poem without metaphor or shine to it, just the expression of truth as I have discovered it today!

All birthed from an idea…

Change the idea of myself, and change becomes an idea- a force I can manipulate for my ultimate gain.

This, is my light bulb moment as I sit pondering, homeless, on a corner…

This, is my revolutionary inspiration…

This is me… in more ways than one- My new idea.

Open Your Mind

What manner of power is this?

What kind of Force?

The Jedi must be Sithing me…

That’s the only explanation.

Why else would the good defer to the wicked

Or the purity default to unforgiveness?

“IT’S CLOBBERIN TIME” goes the motto

But if we treat each other like things

We tattoo our own sorrow.

It’s odd how we’re so intricately individual yet, over shadowed by interconnectivity…

We’re interconnected.

You and me.

Like A, B, and C holding it down on their end for Z.

Open your mind.


~The Wordsmith

Screenwritter Psyche

The room is spinning
Furniture is suspended in the air
My thoughts control the chaos
But my thoughts are IN chaos
Cool air through the window
A bird perched on the ledge
Lights flickering
The madness threatens to consume me
It is terrible, yet beautiful
A coyote howls in the distance
The elements whip around the house
My mind erupts from its home
My eyes are on fire
Words pour forth from my mouth
I know not the dangers or aids that I utter
I know only that it wearies me
Even in equilibrium
This room still spins
Perhaps I need more stability in my heart

~The Wordsmith