Adopt Me

Adopt me into your home and allow me to grow into who I was meant to be. Adopt me, but don’t “take me” so that you can change me. Altering me into the very image you see, the image you wish me to be. That is not me and that is not adoption. That is creation. I have been created already just not wanted. Do not mistake your adoption of me as permission of ownership. You do not own me. I am neither owned nor apparently wanted. But I am here. Alive and waiting for someone to finally care. Someone to finally want me for me and not for what I could be. Adopt me into your life and allow me to add you to my own. Adopt me truly and I will adopt you back.

-Opinionated Man




Label me

Label me with your words. Your hate. Your scorn that is forever there. You throw it in my face and laughingly stick it on my back. Jokes to you making me a joke to society. Label me till I become a label. Till I am what you have made me.



A million words

I could write a million words and never make a sound. I could think a thousand thoughts and still be just as lost. Is the reward in the doing or the done. I do not know. I simply love to write.



Willow Mine

You sit upon a mountain. Or is it really a hill. A place for you to find solace away from those that would break your peace. And so you let your hair hang low to hide your face from those around. From those above as well.

Weep for me willow mine. We weep together, we do not cry. Crying is for the shallow feelings, instead we pour forth emotion from our eyes. Dying moments trickling down other moments. Each racing towards its end. We sway, you and I, against the current of humanity. We sway, willow mine, as we lean against the wind. Allowing the breeze to dry our tears. Allowing each other to ease our fears. You will always be my willow mine.



My Yesterday

My yesterday sounds like a keyboard in the night.

A dying action creating failing words.

A bleeding of consonants and vowels in the hope of finding a voice.

A voice found and then buried alive.


His fingers move effortlessly, a memory in the night. My yesterday.

Common and lesser known foes. They come and they go and they go.

A burden borrowed is a burden owned. My burden. My life of strife.


They will holler at the moon and gloat upon deeds done.

They praise driving a man from his passion. And there his passion did lie for all to see.

A corpse of the past and ultimately what it really was. Letters… pure letters of opinion.

I bleed out as I wish for a nonexistent pen. An outlet to be remembered by.


Do I live for the moment or does the moment rule me.

Do I live for myself?

Yesterday I did. Today I do not.

I cannot.