It is my duty:
To be fair,
To be kind;
For me to care,
And be willfully blind.

Not my place
To look beyond;
To step beyond,
And be a child.
Not my place to be wronged,
To be unknowing in the wild.

My responsibility
The world has gently shaped:
I am watching,
I am waiting;
My missteps will lead to hating:
And so the path, then, to negating,
Is simply not to move at all.


You think I’ll live and die alone
But I already have
You think I’ll never reach the world again
That doesn’t sound so bad

You think I’m capable of more
I think you’re more than wrong
Every test that’s come my way
Has disappointedly gone

You think to get me into shape
With a stencil and a knife
Well I truly am sorry, dear
But this is my life.

What Was

Where is the wonder that she used to know?
That little girl, where did she go?
The one with her friends outside in the snow,
When having to leave was her only woe?

She went to the future and she stayed at home,
Trying to find the light in the gloam.
But time got up and went off to roam;
When next she looked up, she was alone.

Now, she is haunted by all that should be;
And all that she wanted she knows won’t come free.
What’s to believe in, and what’s there to see,
When all that’s around you is your life’s debris?

The Art of Being More Social

I’m supposed to make an effort
Be friendly, it’s just fine
How dandy for the experts
I couldn’t trust a cup of wine

I’m supposed to make an effort
Accept mistakes, cast out a line
Trust that life won’t leave you desert
In the end it will just leave you brine

I’m not supposed to make an effort
People use each other all the time
And that doesn’t give much comfort
But what if comfort’s only lying?

Second Draft

You’re trying to find perfection;
But life gets no second draft.
Still, you go on thinking
You’re a failure to your craft:

You should have got it right by now,
You should know what to do;
But trying to rewrite it
Won’t make that first draft untrue.

It will be what it will be,
And still there’ll be no second draft;
So why not take a breath and read
The story as it’s meant to be, at last?

Your Little Fool

Bear with me,
Watch me patiently:
Try to read my story,
Though I know I am a fool.

There are times I’ll say
More than ought to cross your way,
And then there’s times I’ll say
Almost nothing at all.

And if you try to stay,
It might be me who turns away;
Mad with the fear I might not see the day,
I verge so nearly upon cruel.

But if you try to see,
And accept even the worst of me,
I don’t think I could be anything
But your lucky little fool.


What are you doing?
What makes you think you know a thing?
As if you could tell the difference
Between real life and a dream.

What compels you forward?
You know how you’ll end up.
Your very soul’s a jester,
No matter how you dress it up.

Do you think that this will change things?
Oh, I assure you that it will:
You will drown in every failure…
And in every tear you spill.


Being nothing scares me
More than you ever could:
So it will be what it will be…
Now shut up, Wormwood.