“And we find ourselves stuck somewhere between a daydream and reality.”

It is beneath pale blue skies, amongst sycamore trees, and afoot dirtied leaves, my heart, and soul finds peace.

Let’s sit at the table of angels and allow our horns to pop through our halos.

In all the ways I have grown I wish I didn’t grow away from you.

Time is slipping away from me. And yet, all I have tried to do is pass time.

I can’t believe it, I’m falling apart. I recognize the way my feelings eat me from inside out.

And what am I supposed to do with all this residue?

I live in quiet confusion, in calm chaos, and in gentle waves of passion.

It’s both a blessing and a curse to feel so much.

My thoughts are like whiskey – one shot and I’m left with a bitter taste in my mouth.

Don’t let this dissipate. Don’t let this evaporate into thin air. Don’t let this go.

Listen to the silence it will speak to you in a way that no amount of chaos and noise ever could.

I live in spaces between contradictions for I am a paradox with the depth of an ocean.

I love you so much that it hurts and that’s the problem I love you so much that it hurts.

Time passes. But pieces of my heart remain in the moments of the past that ignited the colors of my soul.

I am laden with sorrow. But always hopeful of tomorrow.

It will never be like the way it always was.

I wanna open every know of who “I should be” so I can elongate the rope, fly up higher and discover who I “could” be.

Who is the poorest man in the world? I tell you, the poorest man I know of is the man who has nothing but money.

How much is enough if I always want more?

Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present.

Caring too much about what people think of you is useless. Most people don’t even know what they think of themselves.

The police must obey the law while enforcing the law.

Some nights, alone, he thinks of her, and some nights, alone, she thinks of him. Some night these thoughts, separated by miles and time zones, occur at the same objective moment, and Ray and Mirabelle are connected without ever knowing it.

To define each of us by our race is nothing short of a denial of our humanity.