"Seize the day!"
Well, that by itself is cliché. Btu that’s not the point.
Think.. a spring break trip, a last day of high school, a graduation party. Think young adults at the end of one story and the beginning of another. Think of an old dying man with little time left, and he must seize each day as though it were his last. Think of a soldier on the front lines of a war, meant to seize each day.
Seize the day and go on that crazy date that with that girl you’re absolutely in love with to the closed off lake that says “Authorized Personnel Only”. Seize the day and tell your boss he’s an asshole. Seize the day and make love to your neighbor who’s been eyeing you for months.
The way I understand seizing the day is doing anything you’ve wanted to do for a long time but haven’t because you’re afraid. It consists of shedding your fear, and, well, seizing the day.
I hope I’ve helped.
Something was broken that night
when you spat the words
that no one ever said to me
but my father.
And I can’t look
at you the same way
As you walk to your car
I put my hand to my chest.
I still feel the warmth from your hug
On the tips of my soul.
I hope it never fades
Because I’m afraid
That I’m far too cold
To warm it myself.
Spare me your deceptive tricks.
I can see right through your charming wit
and handsome smile.
You want to tear me apart.
If only you knew
my bones are made of steel
and my heart is made of diamond
after so much time
among your kind.
But, oh, how I’d like
to see you try.
And what is this new thing I’ve found?
Maybe a cure for something sick,
or a means to end something worse,
or maybe it’s nothing
but a gift graced down on me
by the all-mighty Aphrodite
because even she
has taken pity
Don’t forget me
when you’re walking on a path of light
and I get lost in the brilliance.
I’ve always hated summer time
because all it does
is remind me how little I am cared for
and how alone I really am.
I open my eyes and check my phone,
and I find the day is already gone.
I close my eyes again and drift far away.
There is never enough sleep
to quench my desire to escape
Never enough sleep.
Never enough dreams
And when they question what lead to it,
they’ll read it in the journal
my mom gave me when I was six,
that my bones weighed me down in a pool of ice cold water,
and the gun was the knife to cut away the ropes
and set me free.
Poor white paper,
to be permanently stained
with such sad words.
I lay awake with my pen in hand,
and I try to write to you, like I used to.
I try to tell you all that I could if you were here and not there,
that I wish you’d come back to me.
I try to tell you I miss your voice and your eyes,
that I miss your heart pushed up closely against mine,
but I never minded not being able to breathe.
Every second with you
was a whirl wind of storm-bred passion,
a fierceness of love not even the mighty winds
of the highest mountains could suppress.
I try to tell you that I want you back.
I try to tell you I never wanted you to leave.
But the pen doesn’t move.
Because long ago I promised myself
I would try never to consciously lie again,
to myself or to anyone else.
I cannot lie to you.
Especially not to you.
I’m thankful you walked away,
because I know our passions had long since died,
and I know no force could keep us together.
We’d both be spending our time
wanting to love each other again,
but never being able to quite reach those heights.
And what a waste of precious time
that would be.
To love an artist
is to have your figure sketched
into the stars
and your smile painted
on the side of famous buildings.
To love an artist
is to love the foundations of creativity,
of passion, and of light.
To love an artist
is to love transcendently,
as your name is stitched
into the very fabrics of time,
and you can never die.
I don’t want to be a distraction,
a toy for the time being.
I don’t want to be a work of art that, when stared at too long,
one loses sight
of why they came at all.
Time has a way
of breaking a person’s will,
and I know far too well
that few can withstand
the pressures of time.
You will get bored of me.
You will leave.
More than that,
you’ll cut me from your heart
and toss me to the side,
a toy once beloved and suddenly
no longer of use.
You say you can wait.
And while I soak in your sweet lies,
I plan out in my head
how to move on
a second time.
I will not shatter
because this time I will see it
arriving on the horizon:
the ship of your departure.
I will leave before it hits the shore,
my bags in hand,
and as you turn to bid me adieu,
you will find that I am not there.
I will not fall to pieces.
I will not lose this battle,
I will win.
Oh, you sweet and civil soul,
you mindless sack of meat.
You wander on,
no purpose in mind,
searching for the “right way”
that every advisor has spoken of.
You still don’t know
that road doesn’t exist,
nor has it ever.
And if you keep on wandering,
you’ll some day find a place
worth staying in.
If you’re looking for the “right” one,
you just might miss your chance.
Don’t wander looking for something.
You’ll never find it.
Wander looking for nothing.
Then it which you need most
will come to you.