I Wrote This for You Page 7
The world is hard because you will have to fight for the things you love or worse, fight the things you love.
The world is hard because the things you love will kill you.
The world is hard because it was made that way by thousands upon thousands of hard men and no one wants to admit we have no idea why we’re doing the things we’re doing anymore.
The world is hard because it’s hard to forgive and even harder to forget.
The world is hard and you should just give up, right now. Just lay down and die. Nothing will ever be easier.
But, you don’t.
The Last Place We Saw Them
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Thursday, October 29, 2009
Gasping for air and sanity. Moon and stars and clouds and night. Out of breath and breathless. Pillows and sheets and blankets and you. I will drown in this bed. They say it’s just like going to sleep.
The Universe Will Take You
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Thursday, January 26, 2012
They might not like you at school.
And they might not like you at work.
And they might not like you in a park.
And they might not like you on the moon.
And they might not like you in summer.
When you say they remind you of winter.
But this universe, will always love you.
This universe, will take you.
The Turning
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Wednesday, September 26, 2007
The State Of The Artist
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Tuesday, January 10, 2012
You, as an artist, have the greatest responsibility of all.
You are charged with trying to make people feel, in a world that tells them not to.
You are tasked with speaking soft words, painting, playing, filming, writing moments of such magnitude and beauty that people rediscover their hearts one more (last) time.
You are here to give meaning to the few decades we spend here.
That is the reason you were sent to Earth.
The Art Of Breathing
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Tuesday, November 22, 2011
And in the beginning, my lungs had too much air in them, whenever you were near, like I could never breathe out enough.
And in the end, my throat closed, whenever you were far, like I could never breathe in again.
The Camera Is A Bag For Memories
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Monday, January 7, 2013
And when someone takes my picture and they tell me to smile, I still think of you.
The Nature Of Being
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Thursday, February 21, 2008
Unfold before the world, let it in, let yourself out.
The Intrusion
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Monday, February 4, 2008
You are well within your rights to stand up, interrupt everyone around you and say, “This is not who I am. This is not what I want. I’m sorry, but you’ve mistaken me for somebody else.”
The Campaign For Shorter Days
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Thursday, February 19, 2009
When we get to the end of this, you’re going to need to remind me whose turn it is to leave.
The Impossibility Of A Normal Day
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Monday, January 19, 2015
I think there are two things everyone has, the one is The Great Sadness and the other is How Weird I Really Am. I think everyone has them but only some of us are brave enough to talk about them.
I don’t know if I’m brave but I do know that sometimes I’m sad and sometimes, I worry about how weird I really am and if you do too, that’s ok.
We’ll both be ok. We’ll both be weird and sad and ok together.
The Stupid Things I Need To Hear
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Monday, February 22, 2016
Sometimes people who you like, won’t like you.
That’s ok.
Sometimes, everyone around you will talk about all the incredibly cool things they’re busy doing and you will have very little to talk about yourself.
That’s ok.
Sometimes, you will wake up and you’ll just be sore for no real reason.
That’s ok.
Sometimes, you won’t know what to do and people will say, “I’d kill to have your problems!” and that won’t magically and suddenly stop them from being problems.
That’s ok.
Sometimes, I’m saying it to you because I hope that one day, you’ll be able to say it to me.
“That’s ok.”
The Remaining You
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Monday, September 26, 2016
Someone knows the you that goes to bed early because you can’t talk.
Or the you that doesn’t stop talking when they’re excited.
I’m sure someone knows the you that stays up late because your head is too busy, no matter what you tell it to settle down.
There must be many, who know the you that you wish other people thought you were. And more that know the you that other people actually think you are.
And perhaps a few know you, at least, know the you that you think you are.
But only I know the you that’s left, when the rest of you has gone away.
The Wind Blew The Light Away
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Wednesday, November 20, 2013
The world didn’t end in fire. It just blew away in the rain.
And who can say anything at all.
Maybe, if you are anywhere at all, you can say to someone in Italy, Indiana or the Philippines, “Don’t worry, we are on our way.”
I will say, “Just for now, it’s ok to believe in ghosts.”
The Hands You Gave Me
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Friday, February 14, 2014
Everything started when my hands touched yours.
And I’ve done such sad things with my hands since then and I know you have too.
And I know we’ll find light in smaller hands than ours one day soon.
And I hope our hands grow old in each others.
If not, then why have hands, at all.
The Last Meal Request
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Thursday, November 24, 2011
You don’t get to yell at me for being dead, if you’re the one that killed me.
The Circle, Triangle, Square
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Wednesday, August 19, 2009
If you’ve got the time, we can play a game. It’s easy. We just see if I’m the same shape as the space you have inside you. If everything fits, we both win. If it doesn’t, don’t force it. That’s how you get splinters in your heart.
The Next Stop
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Thursday, August 12, 2010
Only because it’s still so raw and real. Soon I’ll just be a series of images that sometimes flash through your mind, when you least expect it. And after that, only a few will stay. Then, one: A memory of a memory.
The Invisible Warning Labels
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Tuesday, March 10, 2009
You’d think it would be easy for them to mark with red the cigarette that killed you so that you wouldn’t smoke it, the drink that does you in with a label cautioning you not to, the kiss that ends the world with flashing lights that spell out the words,
“Stay Away.”
The Slight Pinch
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Tuesday, August 11, 2009
You and I could collide, like atoms in some scientist’s wet dream. We could start a new universe together. We could mix like a disease. And if we do, I hope we never get better.
The First Sign Is Taking Strange Pictures
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Wednesday, July 15, 2009
I have pretended to go mad in order to tell you the things I need to. I call it art. Because art is the word we give to our feelings made public. And art doesn’t worry anyone.
The Invisible Postal Service
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Wednesday, November 16, 2011
I keep thinking you already know. I keep thinking I’ve sent you letters that were only ever written in my mind.
The City Rises And Falls
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Friday, May 14, 2010
You were a dream. Then a reality. Now a memory.
The Failure Of Prayer
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Wednesday, February 17, 2016
I tried to tell you how much you mean to me.
How every part of you is made of the dark side of light.
How seconds hit like glass hammers.
How every millimetre of your skin softly sings a song only it knows.
I tried to tell you how much you mean to me.
How a billion black oceans float between the things you say.
How shadows chase shadows.
How low the birds fly when I blink.
I tried to tell you how much you mean to me.
How this house becomes church light in autumn.
How we can be, and be, and be, and be again.
How a porcelain heart can beat so hard it breaks itself.
I tried to tell you how much you mean to me.
But all that came out was poetry.
The Way Forward
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Thursday, May 26, 2016
The Reason The Willow Weeps
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Monday, August 31, 2009
It weeps for you late at night, when sleep does not come easily. It weeps for the one you miss. It weeps for the dreams on the tips of your fingers. It weeps for appointments missed and it weeps for the tears in your pillow. It weeps for the silence and it weeps for the noise. It weeps for formal letters where once, language was spoken as close to your ear as possible. It weeps for betrayal, intended or not. It weeps for the friends you once were. It weeps for the colours faded. It weeps for sunrise. It weeps for a death in the family and it weeps when a baby is born. It weeps for the last time you touched. It weeps for words that can never be taken back. It weeps so hard and so much and so often. So you don’t have to. So you can carry on. It weeps for you. When you have run out of weeping.
The Fragments Belong Together
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Friday, August 28, 2009
Things just break sometimes. Maybe we should blame that third person we became, that personality we shared together. Maybe it’s their fault because you’re a good person and I think I’m a good person too. We just weren’t made for this.
The Child With The Invisible Head
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Monday, September 10, 2012
And what still shocks me, is how often the thing that hurts you, looks like the thing that helps you.
The Hate Feeds The Hate
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Friday, January 13, 2012
You say there is an ‘us’ and a ‘them’ and we must fight. I say there is only an us. And we must love.
The Ground Will Give Way
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Monday, November 16, 2009
The bad news is, your choices and intentions, some people and places, those nights spent awake and all you’ve done, can lead you to the bottom of the pit.
The good news is, this wouldn’t be the first time someone’s crawled, tooth and nail, out of hell.
The Place I’m In
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Thursday, April 16, 2009
You cannot kill me here. Bring your soldiers, your death, your disease, your collapsed economy because it doesn’t matter, I have nothing left to lose and you cannot kill me here. Bring the tears of orphans and the wails of a mother’s loss, bring your God damn air force and Jesus on a cross, bring your hate and bitterness and long working hours, bring your empty wallets and love long since gone but you cannot kill me here. Bring your sneers, your snide remarks and friendships never felt, your letters never sent, your kisses never kissed, cigarettes smoked to the bone and cancer killing fears but you cannot kill me here. For I may fall and I may fail but I will stand again each time and you will find no satisfaction. Because you cannot kill me here.
The Wedding
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Thursday, September 13, 2007
Sometimes the sun shines and it still rains. The weather changes all the time. You can too.
The Sheer Arrogance Of Loneliness
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Saturday, January 3, 2009
Making love was never about you and me in a bed. We made love whenever we held hands.
The Last Part Of This Sentence Is Still Yours
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Friday, June 13, 2014
You still take things from me in the most beautiful way.
You are still the only way I can sleep, when I wake up to tell you, I cannot sleep.
You still make sense in a way that only birds know when they leave winter.
The New Species
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Wednesday, October 28, 2009
I want to weave you into me. Stick your thorns in and grow. Bleed sap and feel this shining light. Grow strange leaves. Bear this fruit. Share this soil. Bury ourselves. Reach for the sun. Strip this bark. Carve a name and a heart into me. Please.
The Flickering Light
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Wednesday, July 8, 2015
“I had trouble sleeping” is just another way of saying you spent the night fighting ghosts in the dark.
The Jacket Weather
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Monday, April 14, 2014
Loneliness is a kind of winter. And you drag me, kicking and screaming, into some kind of bright summer.
The Descent Into Light
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Monday, June 30, 2014
If you’re not afraid, there is no end, only an imminent bliss. So burn like love and love like fire.
The Stars Whisper To Planes (Sometimes Trains)
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Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Services were held for us at major international airports and the same song was played each time. I hope that somewhere, somehow, you heard it.
The Stranger In Waiting
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Sunday, November 1, 2009
I’m sure you’ve met them. They say they’ll put you back together while they’re tearing everything apart. And they use the type of lips you can taste for years.
The Sound A Passing Heart Makes
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Sunday, May 17, 2009
You will hear it and no one else will, like your soul wears headphones and only it can hear the music.
The Wind Stops Screaming
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Thursday, May 21, 2009
No storm is so bad that you can’t learn something from it. You can grow in a storm. You can thrive. Rain cleans the air.
The Storm Before The Calm
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Thursday, February 2, 2012
You’re still here but I am still the sea. And as peaceful as I seem, please don’t ever turn your back on me.
The Place Everyone Worked
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Tuesday, April 13, 2010
If you don’t think I’m important, you’re a no one, not a someone. Because everyone is important to someone.
The Trees That Decided Not To Die
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Thursday, March 25, 2010
As I put down my pen, I know someone, somewhere is picking up theirs.
I know that someone, somewhere is playing a guitar for the first time.
I know that someone, somewhere is dipping a paintbrush and marking a field of white.
I know that someone, somewhere is singing a song that’s never been sung.
Perhaps someone, somewhere will create something so beautiful and moving, it will change the world.
Perhaps that somewhere is here.
Perhaps that someone, is you.
The Ticket Is Valid
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Monday, November 9, 2009
And maybe I’ll sleep at the station because there’s nothing to go home to but an empty fridge and some stale mayonnaise.
And maybe I’ll ma
ke friends with the guys sleeping under cardboard boxes and newspapers and we’ll discuss what it means to love and to live.
And maybe I’ll wander the city, one lost particle in a dust storm of Mondays, late nights and reports due yesterday.
And maybe I’ll get on a plane or a ship and get lost in places I’ve never been lost in before.
And maybe I’ll keep my phone on me in case you call.
And tell me there’s something to come home to.
The Wet Hair And Eyes
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Tuesday, October 6, 2009
The Briefest Respite
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Tuesday, April 22, 2014
If all you do is make something beautiful for someone else, even if it’s only for a moment, with a single word or small action, you have done a great service.
Because life can be ugly and frustrating and for so many, it is.
The Reminders In The Sky