Just Another Memory

I’ve never met a girl like you before.

Hardworking, ambitious, and so much more.

You’re selfless, pure, and full of Grace.

Just looking at you makes my heart race.

Two worlds apart; yet here you are in front of me.

My head keeps spinning, and I swear, you’re all I see.

Buildings and cars, everything reminds me of you.

How good it feels when I tell you “I love you, too.”

Don’t worry about distance, it means nothing in the end.

I wish I could write down how I feel and have the guts to hit send.

It’s not that easy. It’s more complicated than meets the eye.

This lasted for such a short time before it was time to say goodbye.

Where are you now? You’re only a memory in my phone.

It feels so damn weird waking up alone.

Were you never here to begin with? Was this all just a sick dream?

Even hell heard the power of my internal screams.

May we meet again, in a different time and place.

I’ll beat ya to the destination; Guaranteed I’ll win the race.

Until then, thank you for the memories that I’ll carry along.

Thank you for being the muse to my next song.


Tension Rises

At first, it was a simple little “How are you today?”

Now it’s turned into begging you to come and stay.

Words were never spoken, but the truth is finally out.

We’re still in denial, but I know it without a doubt.

Be brave; Speak aloud, what’s running through our minds.

Admit the way you feel, that this whole time you’ve been blind.

Better than the Lakers, what a great team we both make?

If all is revealed, our reputations could be at stake.

“I’m confused”, you’ll say, until we both share a kiss.

Goodbye friend-zone, damn, that’s something I won’t miss.

Your soft lips touch mine, dancing with joy.

The moment you realize you no longer like boys.

Let’s tango in the moonlight as the kisses begin to deepen

Hold me while we count sheep together: 8…9…10…

What a wonderful dream that could have come true.

If it weren’t for society always judging you.

Don’t leave us alone, we’ll tick and we’ll tock.

Knock knock: The order of tensions are back in stock.

Seduced by one look; I know you feel it too.

Sexual tensions rise high; What are we supposed to do?



My Father.

Just writing my current thoughts on what I felt like when I found out my father has been cheating on my mother for over a year now. A lot of people get bullied in school. I was bullied by my own father. Fat, lazy, going nowhere in life, dyke, fag, retard… The list goes on, but never let anyone treat you like that. You have a voice of your own, and if someone tries to talk down to you, you have just as much right to use your voice as the bully does. Stay strong to those going through similar or worse situations. You got this. Never give up.

He stands there smiling like he didn’t break our family apart

My mom blames herself, holding on to what’s left of her broken little heart

A family once solid, how could you do this to us?

You kept her a secret, yet you still look at us and cuss.

I thought you were my hero, my best friend, but guess not.

You ruined my mom and I, all because you thought the Colombian was hot.

You threatened our safety, the look of compassion in your eyes no more.

You won’t move out of the house, cause you said it’s all yours.

You called me a dyke, said I was a stupid fag.

You said my mom was good for nothing, but picking up a rag.

Manipulative, destructive, much worse than the Grinch.

Someone tell me it’s just a nightmare, please just give me a pinch.

You said crying is for pussies, guys who do it are weak

You have two different identities, it’s like hide and go seek.

You call blacks racist names, and say Hispanics are all “Spicks”

Yet you think you’re so perfect, Mr. White Supremisist.

You pay for her to stay loyal, why’re you so scared?

She was found in a prostitute park, but you don’t think you’re prepared.

Well, your secret is out and now everybody knows

What an awful human being you are, so you might as well just go.

Please leave my mom and I, we’re better off without you.

I get panic attacks every day, not knowing what you’re going to say or do.

One minute, you’re laughing at the Family Guy show

Then the next, you’re calling my mother a hoe.

You’re no longer my father, I lost all respect for you.

I‘ll never be like you, my birth father, who?


Levels of Acidity

Original poem, inspired by Tom Wolfe’s novel, The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test


Somewhere along those yellow school buses is one particularly out of the ordinary.

Worn down, painted, you’d think manic people designed it, and you’d be right.

Kesey was the pack leader, we were all his puppets.

The acid industry rose, the population of puppets became fascinated with anything and everything.

We’ve returned back to the acid generation.


Clickbait catches our eyes, even if the video is a one star on the charts.

The trust meter has gone down, scamming being prominent in technology.

We’ve all consumed acid, living in this generation.

We’ve all hallucinated and smiled, entering our alternate state of mind.

It’s a better place, being somewhere where you’re the one in control.


Trump can’t control our acid trips, but we can control him.

Nixon can’t record us, he can’t understand what’s running through our minds.

The police are mad that they can’t figure us out, so they arrest us.

Handcuffs, restraint, recording devices. Acid is our only escape to freedom.


Let us have this. We’re protected under the first amendment right.

We’re doing nothing wrong, just having some fun in a boring old town.

Adventures, adventures, adventures is all we can ever think of.

Just one little taste and we’ll reach our dream destination. Everything will be okay.


Hush hush, and hurry up, let’s go.

The sirens fade as we escape the bars that kept us trapped.

Tick, tick, tick, the time is running out.

We all need to try acid at least once in our life.


Ding dong, the bell rings. The neighbor reported you for noise.

It was just a party, I tell the officer, as he sniffs my red solo cup.

What’s in the cup, the officer says, swishing the liquid around.

It’s just orange juice, I say, and he stares me down for a moment.


The walls are caving in, the guests begin to crowd.

The officer takes my cup and sips it, reacting sourly to the taste.

He places us all in handcuffs and read us our Miranda rights.

Then it hits him and he lets us go, as he joins our acid night.


He radios that he’s not feeling well, so he’s taking the night off.

Then, he closes the door behind him, and we all party the night away.

As the moonlight turns to sunlight, we wake up and realize,

We’re in a different generation, but the acid levels continue to rise.