oh! my anchored heart. oh! my steadfast ship.

i want love like 1964.

i want to tear down doors and throw open windows 

and breathe new air like it's the first time.

set sails west.

and be blown into the setting sun.

love like the bottom of a bottle.

love that stays up late only listening to deep breaths

i want air like the bottom of the ocean

where the snails and snakes 

crawl the ground searching for something to believe in.

love in the shallow sense.

love in the bottom of the wade pools 

where starfish and sponges paint the prettiest pictures

i want to sit alone at a table set for five.

with a bottle of wine and polaroid camera

15 candles and a box of bread.

sit until i find god.

or it finds me.

and cigarettes under streetlights.

and 40's in boxcars

and winter weather won't burn my bones.

and the holes in my shoes only bring me closer to the ground.

optimism is the best happiness i know.

and i have it.
it's been a while.
i may still be confused
and i may still be a fucked up kid [but who isn't]
even our parents and peers have their problems
but i have happiness.
i know that i am able to givelove and havelove and beloved.
whether it's you or not, i'm happy.
i promise.
and i have no regrets.
and i love you.
and i love you.
and i love you.
and even if there's nothing more for us beyond this moment.
i still have this moment.
and even if there's nothing more for me beyond today,
i still have today.
and even if this breath turns out to be my last,
i still have my lungs.
and even if my heart is broken,
it will still beat.
and my optimism will always outweigh my brokenness.
that is my promise.
and my cliche'd words will still ring true.
and i still have my god
and i still have my heart
and i still have my breath
and i still have today.
and in my heart i still have hope.

i want

to live like it's 1922 and a half.
my fucking heart hurts
and i got my hopes up again.
i miss my friends.
i miss hot showers.
i miss not waking up at 4am not knowing where i am.
i miss everything again.

here's looking at you kid.

there's a porno playing,
adding background noises
to my 2 am thoughts.
and it's hard to say
it's hard to put my finger on.
and every once in a while,
when i wake up.
and step into the morning light,
it gets hard to breathe
there's a moisture in the air and it's killing me
but there's a smile in your eyes and it's giving me breath.
i'm still having a hard time
believing your well-thought words
and i'm still having a hard time
think of the right ones to say,
i'm seeing yellow
it's different,
not better
not worse,
just
different
i'm choking on my words
and i hope you'll believe me
when i feign sincerity.
it's a smuggler's den
and the only way there is the cave in.