In reality, too many people are simply a disappointment.
They live without passion.
Waking up each day solely to fulfill the mindless routines and mundane expectations that society prompts them to accomplish.
They simply exist to exist as they strive to subsist and survive.
Appeasing a world built purely around predictability, profit, and political propaganda.
How can people be at peace with knowing that their life will end as unremarkably as the day they were born?
Perhaps because mediocrity offers comfort.
Perhaps for many it is easier to die unremarkably than to risk the consequences of ever truly living.
Tag: Me
Her 7
RX
Compressed and covered
with an enteric-coated shell.
Altering my mind
to convince me that I'm well.
Branded to fix the low
dopamine and serotonin.
In lieu of my over-indulgence
of caffeine and melatonin.
Unworthy
I am unworthy of your warmth.
I deserve the solitude and loneliness that lives inside me, not the comfort of being between your arms.
I am not meant for contentment, I am meant for failure.
I am perpetually reckless, selfish, and stubborn.
I have damned and doomed myself.
Childhood
It's funny what insignificant details stick out from my childhood.
I can remember the neighbor kid's laugh,
the entirety of a book minus the title, and the foul flavor of the Flintstones vitamins that were force fed to me.
Yet the details I want to remember have been lost throughout the years.
I can no longer recall the exact model of my parent's gray car, when I lost my slightly yellow front tooth, or the address of the blue house that I spent my first years in.
It seems that I have lost those details.
It seems that I have forgotten everything except what I had expected to forget.
Found
There are thousands of variations to each situation I've placed myself within.
Each moment I've experienced could have been changed and every encounter slightly altered. Yet, I do believe that each and every outcome would have inevitably led me to you.
Somehow I still would have found you.
The Hedge
It's getting harder to notice where you hit the hedge with your car.
It took a few years, but it's branches are beginning to burst and bloom.
It's sharp pine needles finally flourishing and filling in the gaps that your hood had left.
Now even the scarred foliage seems to be smirking at what you did.
It's triumph much more than just another act of nature.
Babel
I realized that I had flipped through an entire chapter without retaining any words.
My eyes had scanned each line of thirteen full pages without actually reading a single letter.
Thirteen.
I apparently had no desire to try to comprehend anything besides the blur of babel in my mind.
So I closed the book with a sigh.
Unreliable
I'm an unreliable narrator.
My stories are missing timelines and their details have been diluted by either drugs or depression.
Although that's probably for the best.
Why repeat what I'm urged to remember,
but compelled to forget?
Him
One night split my life
into two separate eras.
Before him and after him.
AO Poetry 
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