The Fight

Composed 1/12/15
Description: A little before Christmas I received my very first smartphone as a Christmas present. Yes, I’m 23 and just got a smartphone. What? I liked my little Alias 2! That’s a cool phone!

But besides the fear of ditching my longtime, very reliable “dumb” phone, I was worried that I would be faced with many distractions once in possession of a smartphone. I’m already an Internet addict, but I rather disliked the idea of technology creeping in on my social interactions. So is the smartphone a distraction? Yes. But…

He steals my eyes from yours
so I cannot see your smile
your grief
He steals my hands
from the touch of friends
and worse he steals my mind
filling it with preoccupations
that have nothing to do with the observations of my loved ones
Surely he’s stolen opportunities for connection
with family or with strangers
but

Hasn’t he also given me a chance
to see your face?
To reach out and comfort my dear far friends?
Flood my mind with the warmth
of your unexpected words
so that I may think of nothing else?
To speak
make connections with some I may never or rarely meet?

Perhaps…
it is all about
balance

Psychic

Composed: 6/12/13
Description: I have not posted in a long while it seems. This is partially because I am currently readjusting to working full time and partially because I have been inspired to continue working on a novel-in-progress. In fact, it has come to the point that I come up with backstories and events so randomly I’ve resorted to carrying around a notebook to write ideas as they come to me. This random inspiration that occurs throughout the day also makes it very hard to focus on work, hence this poem…

I reside in two realms
One reveals to me the past and future
The other strangles me with the present
Though I struggle to remain
Constantly slipping
Sliding
Seeing
And scribbling down pieces of lives

The world grasps me with its claws
Reeling me back to a pool of the numbest gray
But I am enticed by my premonitions
Unable to thrive in the world of the living
Unable to relinquish my soul
And let it be dragged down and drowned

The disjointed
Random realm
Of adrenaline and twisting lines
Of smoke and blood
Of rain and startling colors
That flashes before my eyes
Rolling back into my skull
Are a blessing
And must be written down for the good of man
Though I must record my thoughts in private
Lest I be cast out by those who judge

Thus is the life
Of a psychic
A clairvoyant
A writer