Apple Picking 

I won’t stay quiet forever,
I’m sick of going silently insane,
Not saying a word
For the sake of everyone but me.
Screaming on the inside
At all the fake around me,
Can none of you see it?
Pretty on the outside,
But rotten to the core,
Stop trying to deceive me,
And just pick one already.
Put down the facade
And show me something real. 


I Don’t Show My Heart Enough

My heart likes to live quietly, keeping to itself (not really, because then what would be the point?), though it’s never quiet, it’s rather loud actually, I’ll just rarely let you know it. It likes to think too much, beating itself up, for every little thing, though it’s not to blame, it’s not my hearts fault it got stuck in a body that refuses to do what it wants. 


The Logic of Silence

I hate the things that I don’t say,

the lost goodbyes,

and the blank pages,

or the empty silence

when there’s something left to say,

you came to me and wanted to know

why I always waited

to speak before

I was invited

the logic of waiting,

dear friend,

is not an easy one to reason,

I’m not sure that even I

can read it’s mind

much less my own,

so I’ll just keep asking the same one

you did,

as if it didn’t make sense


Art (n.), Creating One self.

She kept her secrets hidden,
Deep beneath the colors
painted on her canvas,
If you looked closely,
sometimes you could see,
fleeting traces of subtle whispers,
fading in with the bigger picture,
And out of inattentive sight. -t.r.p.

Running Away, Without the Running.

I let my imagination run away just to see where it would go,
While my heart tried to convince me to let the evil little bugger go,
(Shut up, I know I should have listened)
but imagination yanked the string of curiosity further around me and my heart,
My mind not too happy it was forced along for the ride,
Clearing a path with me in tow,
Through familiar, uncharted territory,
Going places I sometimes wished to stay,
In happy memories,
Some not yet even true,
Where the lines between world’s like to get my vision drunk,
For a moment I convince myself to make the most beautiful of homes there,
Until something falls from high above,
(Stupid mind, Stop throwing things),
and knocks me back around,
To tell me that what my imagination thinks it wants,
Isn’t always good enough.

I don’t typically write things then rewrite them, let alone rewrite them again, then again. I normally won’t put them down till I am happy with them in my mind. But that hasn’t been the case recently, I’ve been filling pages with the same things over and over trying to get them right, as stupid as this sounds…’s kind of a new annoying feeling for me.

Look, Not Physically

I’m scared to think that one day you might look at me 

And decide that you don’t

like something that you see,

So just look at me

With your eyes closed and tell me what you see,

without looking,

Everything inside of me, 

I’ll try not to speak,

For my words might give away,

The heart inside that I tend to think,

Is not so worthy of much of anything.

The Floor Likes Hugs Too

Quiet? No. In fact I say a lot,

You just don’t listen close enough,

I speak through more than just my words,

And I wish that you could understand,

I hide my face among the clouds,

Lying on the floor

In the bottom of my mind,

Sometimes praying to exist,

I’m the shadow,

I’m the light,

I’m the death of myself,

Never black and never white,

Silence doesn’t have to be sadness,

and sometimes maybe the floor just needs a hug.

People often wonder why it is that I’m so quiet, and I often wonder that myself. But the truth is, the world needs more quiet people, people with loud minds and big imaginations. The world needs more quiet people because there is always someone that needs someone to talk to, someone who will just sit, and listen as they go on and on about the problems of the world until they realize they’ve solved it themselves. Someone to listen without input, who isn’t just listening so that they can respond.