different directions

i've been digging deeper, but i can't take the dark
that eclipses my eyes as i cut through the earth
until all that remains is the side of my shovel
catching the last few rays from the fresh air above
and i remember my youth when i used only palms
cupped and curved to remove dirt and earth
and shallow holes hid only ankles and feet
but now that i've grown, so have my goals
and i want my work to show the steps i've taken
towards greater heights and higher standards
but i can't see how my lofty new life can help
my well-washed hands hold this dirty shovel
and dig through depths i've longed to discover.

singing similar songs

listening to my brother's bright eyes
as he takes his secondhand shower
and i change in my parents' room
wondering what it's like to stick around
without staying in my parents' town
never letting myself regret running away
because i haven't left the starting line
spreading my stance across the states
so i can continually shift my center
back and forth between now and then
and i know they know it makes no sense
because i can't belong in plural tenses
even though i ended up in this halfway house
without my plane getting off the ground.

ignorant introspect

every song has the same sound
when strummed on strings untuned
key changes attempt to fix the flaws
but the broken sound persists
carrying chords on crippled wings
landing lazily on ears unwilling
to tolerate the punctuated patterns
of forgetful fingers lost on frets
never realizing what's really wrong
while blaming weather-warped wood
and ignoring the simple solution
because pride provides a gift of guilt
rather than raising wings against wind
and seeing what flying feels like
because it's easier to climb regretful rungs
than building ladders born of love.

shedding our shells outgrown

symbolically sewn and stitched into being
we've been woven with metaphors in mind
our fabric and framework expressing more
than motion blind and instinct mindless
with splitting seams rented in representation
and stubborn stains stuck in deeper meaning
positing problems beneath colorful covers
and fabricated facades become frayed
betraying the beauty once boldly believed
and exchanging the exterior experience
for reality revealed by holes in our clothes.

hiding the keys

thought i'd learned how to look
through the glass and past the pane
instead of staring at the reflection
and seeing my facade in the frame
but i've burned whatever book
taught me how to turn off the lights
and i find my face staring back at me
following what seemed perfect nights
the transparency i once pursued
has left me looking through empty lenses
while the peace that i prayed for
feels like reflections of reflexive senses.

reading walker

this book's got my brain slightly insane
with paranoid ponderings of the malaise
wondering worried about brand new thoughts
and twisting my head in half-tied knots
that until this time stayed lingering behind
the back door opening on the wall of my mind
but they've broken and entered through my eyes
and i'd ask them to leave, but i'm too polite.