Wicked Rising


Time to be wicked,

A devilish grin for all.

Watch the magic rise.


In All Modesty


I like to jump from one thing to another.

It keeps me busy,

It keeps me sane.

It is such a problematic trait though.

I just throw, and throw, and throw,

Until all my energies are gone;

Depleted, defeated, destroyed.


There is a picture that I do not like to see;

A future of just me.


That’s not to say that I don’t like myself.

I love myself,

In all modesty.


I am strong and smart and capable.

Not nearly as ambitious and competitive as I used to be,

But I am trying.

The thought of being stripped of my family, friends, and potential loves is terrifying.

It’s lonely and bleak.

It is a recurring thought, largely ungrounded, but there.

It’s pervasive and sick, but I must question why it is an unnecessary weight that I bear.



I’ll finish early to find that the world wasn’t ready.

There are places I want to be, but never alone, you see?

I want to do this and that and that again,

But I have to do that and this and this again.

Stability is a mystery at this stage;

It should be outlined on my degree.

“Passionate, but little guarantee.”

“Self-willed, but too soon to gauge.”

Sign me up!

Make me king.

Interlock Shock


My mind hasn’t gone down that road in quite a long time.

At first there was curiosity,

But then there was honest to God fear.

I’m on my own path as it is,

And it’s definitely the one I want to be on.
But there are times I recall the old road;

There is no interlock between these two nodes.

Sometimes I worry about its maintenance and care,

But something tells me these are thoughts I can’t share.

Reflection of Three Years of Writing


There’s a certain type of gratitude and joy that comes from rummaging through loose-leaf papers, possibly stained with coffee among other things, each pertaining to a different moment in time. Each would likewise carry and illustrate past states of mind. And each would appear to be a layout to my developing train of thought, as well as ideals. Like a maze, many would seemingly get lost along the way or jump in within the middle of a high-tide. Creating this archive of my past works is one of the best decisions I have ever made. Though part of the nostalgia and excitement is lost from making a random and unexpected discovery of a long-lost treasure, it better allows me to see where I was two years ago in comparison to now. The fact that others have been actively interested in my work is just a humble bonus. I love writing. It helps me see a side of me I might ordinarily quell under busywork and disregard. Surely there are more understandings to be made. Thanks for joining the wave. – Sincerely, an open ocean


United States 1606
United Kingdom 75
India 66
Philippines 32
Canada 23
Australia 15
Kenya 9
Panama 9
Singapore 6
Brazil 6
Nigeria 5
Honduras 4
Serbia 4
United Arab Emirates 3
Ukraine 3
Netherlands 2
Indonesia 2
South Africa 2
Argentina 1
Hong Kong SAR China 1
Belgium 1
Malaysia 1
Mauritius 1
New Zealand 1
Germany 1
Kuwait 1
Israel 1
Turkey 1
Bulgaria 1
Jamaica 1
Mexico 1
Italy 1
Thailand 1
Spain 1
South Korea 1
Ghana 1
Zimbabwe 1
United Arab Emirates 1
Total 1892



Slayin’ when I’m playin’

Because nothing is stable when my pillars start swayin’

They were the only things I was taught to rely upon.

So when the ground started rumbling,

I had to teach myself how to go on,

Relying on myself to not go down tumbling.

No, I was forced to learn to stand tall.

So don’t ask me why I’m playing this game in a city full of wanna-be-winners.

I’m climbing high over this pile of questioning sinners.

They made me, yes,

But I built myself to where I want to be.

I won’t be anything less,

Than that vision I hold of me.

That Puzzle, I See


I didn’t plan that it would come to this;

This feeling of lost euphoria,

But I knew it was bound to occur.

Two heads can concur.


It is sort of like when you have a few pieces to a puzzle.

You start around the edges,

Making your way inward.

You try to make them orderly and nuzzled,

But sometimes you come to realize that the two in the middle are at odds.


You can try to make them fit;

Never quit,

But it drains you out.

To throw away the puzzle after it’s nearly complete seems wasteful.

Some would even argue, distasteful.


It hurts to walk away from the puzzle,

But you might come to see that your forte was never around such games.

We all have to remove the clutter,

Toss what’s incomplete,

And seek what makes us stop,


And stutter.