Tag Archives: art

Flying Blind

If you’re wondering why the stanzas are so weird, it’s because I originally wrote this piece as a song, not a poem….

There are paths we walk when we are lost
There are ways we change our world with words
Our sight with labels put on lines
Our eyes with tears we cry at night

Am I two spirits flying blind
Am I lost too deep inside
Myself and all the other things
I keep there – buried away

Am I alone as I would think
After all these years without Continue reading Flying Blind

Introverts Galore

072010_text

In addition to my semi regular¬†Last Week’s Poetry¬†feature, and my temporary series,¬†The INTP’s Guide to Everyone Else, I’ve decided to start posting a series of comics I’ve been working on for the past few months. It’s another Myers-Briggs inspired thing, and I’ve decided to call it “Introverts Galore.” Because introverts. Lots of them.

Look for these comics on Sunday, and if you like what you see, please feel free to like, share, and/or comment. I ‘preciate it.

M.
Nov 13/16

The art of taking poor-quality photos

Look and think before opening the shutter. The heart and mind are the true lens of the camera.”
– Yousuf Karsh

It used to be that people would give me strange looks when I mentioned that I took pictures on my fourth-gen iPod. “Don’t you have a phone?” they would ask, slightly taken aback. “Does that work okay for you?”

While it’s true that many late millennials and generation Xers have easy access to the newest in technology Continue reading The art of taking poor-quality photos

Lately

Perhaps not the best poem to start off a new school-year with, but I suppose it’ll do.

Lately

My poems are just
empty strings of words
lately

They don’t rhyme like
everybody secretly thinks they
should

Cause they’re just thoughts
pulled out of the crevices in my
head

My head isn’t the way
it ought to be
either

Thoughts move a lot slower
and faster than they used
to

And panic threatens to
eat me when I
sleep

When I sleep the sky
turns kinda
violet

I wake up twenty-three times
in the early morning
hours

Because my brain forgets
which house I am sleeping
in

Today it’s the corner
of my friend’s
bedroom

I don’t sleep in my own house
anymore because it’s empty
now

Just like my poetry
the sheets never quite wear
out

And yet they’re still in disarray
when I struggle to wake
up

M.
Aug 25/16