Rural Living

The smell of coffee and anxiety wakes me up daily.
Steam engine wind is my alarm.
I sit in my light house
waiting like a widow for bad news.
Its been cold the past few nights,
shivering nerves, drinking during fighting and
I can't help but wonder what happens when the storm comes.
Because usually I would find shelter,
hidden underneath blankets of drugs or
in the security of lit words left as beacons for me find happiness.
But this time, I am the tornado.
I will wreck everything in my path and if you get in my way,
get curious about my destruction,
question whether or not you can figure out my power and my creation
without house, fence and car dismantling-
good luck.
I was made to break shit.
Tare down walls, smash the last thing you believed in,
the last thing you owned,
its beautiful from a distance.
Watching global art on doplar convas like
graffiti without
ever thinking of the people who called this their home.
But I am not sending 3 story buildings of bulldozer waves
to your shore,
flooding millions of homes and leaving millions homeless,
I am
in open fields.
Found only if you look,
if you search,
and if you find me, make sure
to find my eyes.
Its the one way to understand my purpose without being hurt,
dig your feet into my soul like sand and stand only for a second,
only for a moment because if you dont work with me,
and you dont move with me,
and you stay where you are...
I will end up ruining you afterward too.
It is my purpose.
I was made to break shit.
See, I am a tornado but on other days

Im just a guy.

Unnoticable on radars, invisible to pedestrians.
Waiting for his widowed heart to come back to him,
drinking coffee in his light house.
Hoping to one day be looked at from a distance,


just dont come any closer.