My blood has bounce

My blood has bounce

My bones can bend

My flesh can rip, 

then stitch and mend.  

A sine jumps up 

then down and back,

a cycle weaves,

my spine can crack.

For all of life

is tears and patches,

of growth in rupture,

of light in matches.

Of ashes, mud, and moss, and mold

Of spores and buds, and new from old

The flexible, will learn to thrive

The rigid prick, will burn his hive

For all of life, is death of same,

and bouncy blood, will ease the game. 

Irrelevant

Irrelevant

The thing that is irrelevant,

Is what we ask for most.
Why do we care? Why lair it bare?
Nothing to hide or boast.
We seem obsessed with relevance,
And dish it out to trash.

Pry deep to reach a surface.

A comfort and a rash.

Ignoring those who matter,

And hailing those who don't,

The coin can flip as quick as cash,

Hold faith to you it won't.

But it can be destroyed.

I'll redefine the point,

Of what we ask, of what we mask,

And rip the boggarts joint.

So go ahead and ask.

I'll tell you all I am.

But what is truly honest,

Is that I am my am.

VEGA VISION No. 11 

Letters to a Tree

VEGA VISION No 10

Cardinal Trees and Golden Bears

VEGA VISION No 9.

The Land of the Trees

VEGA VISION No. 18

Let's not study.

VEGA VISION No 8

The Tour

"I'll Try the Champaign"

VEGA VISION No 7

A Walk in the City

VEGA VISION No 6

A Walk in the Park

VEGA VISION No 5. BALLN'

The Born This Way Ball

Part 2

VEGA VISION No 4

BALLIN'

The Born This Way Ball

Part 1

Vega Vision No 3. "Ice and Glitter"

VEGAVISION NO.2 : Baby It's Cold Inside

VEGAVISION No. 1: An Intro and a Walk

A Self Portrait

A Self Portrait

I've come to realize that I am stronger than I've known.
I am transparently insecure,
And take pride in it.

I feel that I am commonly underestimated.
I like it that way,
For it gives me a chance to impress,
And prove that I am not as readable as you thought.

The bow ties
The bright colors
The childlike joys.
The pop.
They're not a mask.
They're not a lie.
They show that I am much more aware.
of what maturity really is.

Not a image.
Not a job.
Not a number.
But an understanding,
An awareness.
A love.

I would say my life is a bibliography.
I constantly reference.
MLA
My life adapts.

I'm a bit arrogant, I admit.
Incredibly vain.
Narcissistic.
At least it's genuine.

Can you blame it, if it's true?
Is honesty a valid alibi?

Thanks for listening; you didn't have to.
It's more for me than anyone else.

Undefined

Undefined

One day I bought a dictionary, 
Sat in front of glass,
And strangely came across myself,
On every page I passed.

It seems quite odd that everything,
Could fit in one small space,
And yet it all can fit in me,
And still be out of place.

I came to realize that I
Am more than just one word.
I'm full of contradiction.
I'm sane and I'm absurd.

I am a lie, to be quite frank.
I'm telling you the truth.
Now I will tell you all I am,
Though it may seem uncouth.

I can be articulate,
But then I can be slang.
I can be a friendly smile,
And I can show my fangs.

I am insecure.
I'm certainly too vain.
Plus I am hypersensitive,
Yet don't respond to pain.

I'm quite the little monster.
I'm also cool and coy.
I'm hopefully distraught.
I'm sadly full of joy.

I am all I chose to be,
Raw and unrefined,
Buffered and well-polished.
I am undefined.

Tension

We seem to strive for balance,
For all to be quite still,
Set forces equal zero,
Toss all our doubts downhill.

We find all contradictions,
And kill them on the spot,
Then sterilize their mothers,
And leave them out to rot.

We cannot live with holes,
Find torture in the gaps.
We excavate, and cut and fill.
No beauty in a lapse.

But maybe there's more truth.
When things don't fit with sense.
When tension finds its hold,
When we cannot condense.

So many of the mysteries.
Are seen as flaws of faith.
But maybe these absurdities,
Are really just a lathe.

I seem to think asymmetry,
Is where the beauty lies,
When motion finds it birth,
Where stagnancy must die.

When things are joined by tension,
They find their strongest form,
And prove to show more honesty,
Than what we see as norm.

When what's considered real,
Cannot fit what exists,
Then who's the one who's out of touch?
Why deny what fits?

This tension is the bond,
This struggle is the force,
That pushes us toward finding truth,
And leads us to the source.

Perhaps the true denial,
Is that the light is fake,
But maybe there's just too much light,
For human eyes to take.

Salt Water

I cry, a lot.

I've always said that my tear glands are over-achievers.
It's something that I'm grateful for only in retrospect.
I guess salt water can be good for you.

Don't worry, I smile a lot too.

It's Not That Nice

It’s Not That Nice

I’ve tried to stop from spitting back.

I’ve tried to cater what you lack.

To just be nice seemed like the goal.

But now it’s time for me to troll.

It may seem childish and crass.

A phase that with time just will pass.

But maybe not, it might persist.

It’s time for someone to get pissed.

It’s for the greater good, you see.

Not out of spite, not just for me.

I’ll call you out; you’ll feel the heat.

It won’t be fun, this meet and greet.

You’ll know the burn, the scorch, the sear,

The pain you’ve never had to fear.

You’ve looked away, ignored the scene,

And now it’s time to burn the green.

Your lids can’t keep the image out,

For this is more than light and doubt.

It’s real and it’s always been.

Can’t run away from what’s within.

I’m sorry. It’s what must be done.

Scratch that, no room for rueful guns,

Since courtesy comes with a price,

And honestly, it’s not that nice.

That moment...

...when you steer the sewing needle.

And worry whether you're creating or destroying.