If I Told You So

I don't know

that if I told you so

would you believe me

or just be, and leave?

I don't know

how those words hurt

so, much-- so deep

it cuts like a breeze

from hell.

Nobody knows

why we hurt each other so,

though the truth

was always right there,

right,

in front of

Us.

Let me tell you my heart,

if you'll let me speak.

Biting words are easy,

and it makes me weak.

If my mind could tell you my heart,

would you give it back?

If my mind could tell you my heart,

would you let me speak?

Nobody knows why we are,

or why we take it too far.

But everyone knows the good part starts

with a simple goodbye to the bitter,

bitter past.

If my mind could tell you my heart,

would you give it back?

If my mind could tell you my heart,

would you let me speak?

Hold On

And I saw rain, on another sunny day,

yes, rain, it was streaming from your face

pure and plain, I see you walking out that door

and I said, "would you give me another chance

to say what it was that's on my mind?" And you said

"No, I told you to leave that all behind."

There's only one who knows me

I feel safe in his arms.

And I said,

Hold on.

Hold on.

Stay strong.

Stay, stay.

You can't rip me open,

You can't make me bleed,

You can't touch me, I'm so free

and in love with what surrounds me.

Your praise lifts me above the ground

Though there's only one who knows me

I am safe in his arms

With no harm to be found

And I said

Hold on.

Hold on.
Stay strong,

Stay, stay.

[instrumental]

Passer-bys look into the fray,

blinded by his footsteps,

"It's time for you to go now,"

you say with your last breath.

"Stay with me for one day longer,"

I spoke through tears, shedding.

"It doesn't matter if time is up--

please just stay with me."

And I said.

"Hold on.

Hold on.

Stay strong,

Stay, stay--

Hold on! Hold on!

Stay strong,

Stay, sta---ay."

Calls of Nature

Hues that come in red and blue

and lines that come off cliche

with mentions of roses and tu-

lips that end up brushing by you.

Living like leaflets, we are--

dangling like by-gone petals

of puppy dog love too far forgotten

to remember any real sentimental

value.

Buy these flowers, won't you girl?

Love is a spark of light

A dazzling blaze of flame--

Buy these flowers of mine.

Moon

Light shining, or dimly lit,

The dark side of porcelain skin,

proves the distances still unmet--

so let us dance in the moonlit night.

Heartless words and hateful eyes,

provide, for a single time,

a glimmer,

a hope,

a window of opportune moments

too poignant to wish

ourselves proper goodbyes.

Behold, we are not who we thought.

Do you mock me, moon, glaring with your patient glow,

a pristine shine biding time, because too late do I realize

who really has been in tears,

who really has been the one,

crying,

inside.

Know, we are not who we thought.

And time mends these sutures-- time,

so easily used as answer to incessant 'whys.'

But bygones never stay bygones;

not those built upon counterfeit truths.

No, we are not who we thought.

Traveler

Hey there, Traveler,

why is your heart so downcast?

Didn't anyone tell you?

It's time to come home now.

Do not fret,

when you stumble on the path.

Your friend will steady you on.

Soon you can lay your burdens down.

So put your sorrows behind you.

Put your sorrows behind you.

Focus on the road ahead.

You are so close to the end.

Just press on towards the goal.

Keep your eyes on the light leads the way.

Soon you can lay your burdens down.

So put your sorrows behind you.

Put your sorrows behind you.

~MD

Murderer

We all tend to give

more than we should

for a stab in the back.

But why do most of us roll over,

so they can take aim at our chests?

* * *

Love is a murderer;

And a ruthless bitch.

Though on its good days

all is forgiven in bliss.

Don't force it-- don't even try.

But, in the moment,

live love, alive.

Fruit Basket

Looking curiously,

I peer inside

the basket to which I find

more than I had hoped for.

A lemon, here.

Bright and exciting

on the outside.

Though beyond that is a bitterness

not easily forgotten.

Something's not quite right--

how it conflicts with itself.

An apple, there.

Look at that red!

Such hot energy;

power a few could tame

and a few too many want.

It is no exception to itself

after a few bites.

See how it lays, rotten--

a justified end to one so lustful.

A coconut, in the corner.

I turn away from its unappealing nature

wishing it was more;

yet who's to judge

its musky mask?

Give it some time,

for there is beauty within,

a gem too rare for shallow taste.

Stepping backward,

(or perhaps in time)

I remember why

I hold this liquor in the first place.

Let's not fool ourselves

to hold on to non-sequiturs.

Though you can always find

just a few of us,

like grapes, crushed,

at the bottom of a fruit basket.

Ja Ne, May.

Don't do it.

Scattered, while it seems to be real,

you know it to be as it is--

heart rendering,

an inevitable torment,

a love unsound,

unsatisfactory,

unloved.

Do you feel, or do you weep?

For weeping is a tragedy,

a love unsound,

foreseen by the sadness.

You grieve…do you not?

And

Who are you? What are you?

Where do you exist, and when do I find you?

"Oh, I'm here and there. Everywhere, no?"

Maybe. But the older we get, the harder it is to find. So live, and laugh, for now.

Black and White

Dear Black,

It has come to my attention that you show-- with exaggerated distress-- signs of emotional inconsistency. Do pardon, but understand it may be in your best interest to calm those tides.

Dear White,

Fuck you.

-------------

And that's the story of the human psyche.

Try as you might, little one

Try as you might, little one.

Crying through the night.

Try as you might, little one.

With 20/20 hindsight.

Try as you might, but where will you go?

"Into the past, to see a glimpse of sunrise."

Lay in your bed, little one.

Eyes red; to that, no surprise.

Think of the others, little one.

Think of them, bringing glimmers of hope.

Think of the good in the people,

it's time to do what you're told.

But though you try, little one.

Nothing escapes the shatters inside.

"So what do I do?"

Try as you might, little one.

Try as you might.

I Can Do It

Leave the rest behind, you know it's a memory.

Last week's trash ain't this week's art gallery.

Make no mistake, it is not yet time, sir.

Wallowing before tomorrow's sunrisen blurs.

Step it up-- one foot at a time.

Don't give up, yet. It's your tomorrow, not mine.

The grand piano, stained black consistently over white,

Keeps people like me in the prospective limelight.

Harsh attacks from the music masochist

strikes over and over (strings) until nothing exists

save a world of peace where we can all live in,

a singularity where nothing is limited.

Step it up. One foot at a time.

Don't give up, yet. It's your tomorrow, not mine.

I can do it. It's not left versus right.

We can do it. Hear me?

Fucking right.

(works well with a hip hop beat)

Universe

I resign, from the earth's design.

Melt away, like a sign of the times.

When I go, I will be long gone.

We compromise, please, just truth, no lies.

Individualize, with individual eyes.

Get it?

This shouldn't be surprising;

We'll extend ourselves to the depths of the horizon.

From there, we'll be heard,

all throughout the world,

To the ends of the universe.

To the ends of the universe.

(works well with a hip hop beat)

A(ny) Way

"People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered.

Love them anyway.

(If) you do good, (people) may accuse you of selfish motives.

(Do) good anyway.

If (you) are successful, you may win (false) friends and true enemies.

Succeed anyway.

The (good) you do (today) may be forgotten tomorrow.

Do good anyway.

Honesty and transparency make you vulnerable.

Be honest and transparent anyway.

What you (spend years building) may be destroyed overnight.

Build anyway.

(People who) really want help may attack you if you (help) them.

Help them anyway.

(Give the world) the best you have and you may get hurt.

Give the world your best (a)ny(way)." -Mother Teresa

------------

(If people do you false good today, spend years building people who help give the world a way.)

Nostalgia

There is a wonderful feeling that wells up inside my chest when I look back at fond memories. It's not something that can easily be described, but it's strong. Emotionally strong. If words could be put to it, it'd be something like...."Oh, how I long for this again."

Ironically enough, this feeling arose when I glanced at my first blog, which now is fairly old and stale...Miscellany, my stab at literary humor. I remember how much fun it was to sit down and think of puns that were intentionally painful to read. And how much of an experience it was to share my blog with others, who commented and shared their own little stories and outlooks on life with me. It was a nice, small community.

And it was a good time.

But gradually, the posts became....less. Less in quantity, probably less in quality, and less in effort. There was just too much stuff to do-- too much real-world stuff that keeps people from sitting back and enjoying simple pleasures. Sadly, this real-world stuff is also what separates boys from men and girls from women. This stuff includes all the responsibility and all the psychological development and impact from cultures, groups and environments that overwhelm people in their adult years....and these things are why people like me say we don't have time to write anymore.

But why don't we have time?

"I'm too busy." "I have a job." "I have too much homework." "I'm not in the mood." "There's something more important." "I'd rather hang out with my friends." "It was something I did back when I was a kid."

...it was something I did back when I was a kid.

There may in fact be a million excuses for why I can't blog anymore, or why she can't play with dolls, or why he can't play tag in a field, or why you can't talk to that one good friend all those years ago...but no matter what it is, these things are simply something "we did back when we were kids."

What a depressing thought. Am I saying I can't blog anymore, because it's childish? Or that you can't play tag?

Not at all. But all these nostalgic moments that people have-- they're wonderful memories because those were times when people were free of the hardships they're aware of now, and were able to blissfully do what they wanted, without thinking, "I could be doing something more important." Because after witnessing financial tragedy, legal responsibility, bills, alcohol, drugs and whatnot, it's hard to see life in the same light. And when the world demands people to constantly work in some way or another in order to survive and succeed...it makes times like playing tag and blogging humor seem childish.

I wish I could go right back into the mindset of, "Let's write something today, and check up on my other bloggers, and reach out and try to promote my blog." But the adult mindset takes over and writes it off as "Sorry, you don't do that anymore."

I wish it didn't do that. Because the reality is that none of us are truly as busy as we think we are. That time we had back then still exists now.

We've just changed.