Here's to you.

Hey there, you.
You the few.
Sitting there alone and scared.
Feeling sad and unprepared.
Like the world has smashed you thin.
Like you just don't fit in.
Well here is news for you, the few.
I have always felt that way too.
But we two, we few, do not have to be scared.
We do not have to be unprepared.
We do not have to be uncomfortable on our own.
Because we two, we few..
Are not alone.
We are not two.
We are not even few.
Everywhere you look, we are.
On the sidewalk, in a car.
The teenage girl who lost her boy.
The little guy who broke his toy.
The dying man, slipping through the void...
We are all people, and we are here.
So hold yourself, and hold you dear.
Everyone can feel this way.
There is no need to fear.
It is not you, the few.
It is us, the many.
And together we are ready.

him, or her, or it, or you...

With every woman I play a game
A game that has no name
A game that is famed
But this game is shame.
That is the name of the game.
Change yourself to match what she likes.
Many men learn this as tykes.
Don't be vulnerable or show yourself, lest you end up on her back-up shelf.
Don't be weak. Be a man. Never cry.
This is how you find her before you die.
Don't be weak. Be a man. Never...
Cry.
I just want in someone to confide
So I no longer have to hide.
With him or her to be myself; not end up on the back-up shelf.
This person could be him, or her, or it, or you...
I just don't know what to do.

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With every man I play a game
A game that has no name
A game that is famed
But this game is shame.
That is the name of the game.
Be pretty and be disarming.
Maybe the next one will be prince charming.
Keep alert and respect yourself, lest you end up a trophy on his shelf.
You must be weak and you can cry. Only the man can dry your eyes.
This is how you find him before you die.
You must be weak and you can cry. Only...
I can dry my eyes.
I just want in someone to confide
Someone who lets me dry my own eyes.
With him or her to be myself; not end as a trophy on a shelf.
This person could be him, or her, or it, or you...
I just don't know what to do.

Ramblings of no one: Me

I sit here on my laptop, pondering.
Wandering.
Wondering.
Why am I here? What am I supposed to do?
As always I am met with silence and more questions.
I look around the world and see varied complexions
and beating hearts within
And still they kill self and each other
Bathing in red sin.
He's black, she's white, he has blonde hair...
After all this time and complication
Should one really care?
Every day I ponder this, and more...
But all that lies ahead for me is a part time job in a liquor store.
And so I lie and cry and wait
For someone, something to change my fate.
...
But it will never be.
No grandiose events will propel me into action
No royal decree
The only one who can make a difference in this life
is me.

"Published in College Art Magazine, Thank you!"

First and foremost to my readers and anyone out there that has seen my material I say
Thank you.
Thank you so much.
What started as an outlet for creative "juices" and cathartic "writing therapy" has turned into something else entirely.
When I was introduced to blogging, and I thought the very notion of it was ridiculous.
"Who would read something that I wrote? I have nothing interesting to say."
"Just write, Brian."
I had the above conversation with a professor at my college. Huh. Just write. Seems so simple.
Later, at my desk in my small dorm room in the middle of nowhere, I look upon the views and viewer map of those who visit this blog.
...
What.
Someone actually read what I had posted; people have returned to read what I write.
...
Not only that, one of my writings is being published.
WHAT.
I would like to avoid repeating this often over-used saying (Ahem, Disney films), but there is no avoiding it.
But dreams really do come true.
Thank you.

Brian M. Coon
Author of various scribblings and student