Tapping Into Something Raw

Rip open my heart and show the world the most tender parts of myself.
A tale of a lost love, personal failures, or the echoes of a war.
Dive into the details of which has left a mark upon me.
I’ll give you my insightful, whimsically fresh perspective.
I’m a real artist.

Get chicks to be impressed by my secret layers and soft side.
Get the bro’s to totally relate and get hit in the feels.
Get that glimmering sense of self-worth by the barrage of likes.
Social media acceptance and approval. I am on top of the world.
I feel like a real artist.

Face the blank page again.
Trying to tap into something raw inside. Bitches dig when I write something raw.
Moving those fingers, vomit words and hope they stick together.
Fucking garbage. *Delete. Delete. Delete.*
I ain’t no artist.

Time heals a lot of wounds. Scars no longer visible.
What once rocked me to my very core, is but a memory of a tremor.
The nightmares are no longer as frequent.
Tranquil acceptance fills me when I look at those pictures.
Maybe these are just excuses. As I find the courage to tap into something raw.
In order to prove that I’m still an artist.

~Raul Felix

Read: For This One Day, She Made Me Forget
Read: Heartbreak
Read: The She Serpent Wrapped Herself Around The Young Man

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His Mind Is A Whirlwind Of Thoughts

IG: raulfelix275

He mounts his motorcycle,
Blood heavy with alcohol and weed.
He has no care for the stupidity of his actions.
His mind has gone to a dark place.
He wonders about the point of it all.
Whether it will be better to just let go.

He races down the freeway,
Zooming in between cars,
Keeping his iron steed steady.

His mind is a whirlwind of thoughts.
His usual sweet, friendly, and joyful demeanor,
Drowned in whiskey.
Anger, hatred, frustration, jealousy, rage,
Pain, loss, heartbreak, sadness,
Now reign supreme over all his emotions.
The darkness he buries deep inside,
Is now maliciously intent on destroying him.

The wind blows the tears from his face.
At the top of his lungs he curses those who have wronged him,
The events which have left permanent scars on his heart and soul,
He raises his left hand up and flips the world the bird.
He is free.

He pulls up to his home,
Kicks down the kick stand, dismounts, and lovingly caresses her.
There are no ghastly consequences tonight for his recklessness.
“Thanks for getting me home alive, babe,” he says to his beauty.
His temperament is cooled by her.
He lies down on his bed and passes out.

~Raul Felix

Read: In A Park On The Shores Of Lake Michigan
Read: Shards Of Broken Glass Scattered On The Kitchen Floor
Read: Another Night Wasted Getting Wasted

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In A Park On The Shores Of Lake Michigan

At 3 a.m. on a bench in a park on the shores of Lake Michigan,
I wrote a poem to my former love.
It poured out of me and had me crying for a few minutes upon completion.
The tears eventually dried up,
Acceptance of that lost love settled inside of me,
As the cold breeze of the lake hit me.

I laid out on a picnic table with my sleeping pad and sleeping bag,
Seeking to rest my exhausted heart and body.
As I was dozing off, a raindrop hit my forehead.
I awoke, looking up into the once star filled sky,
Now covered with the looming clouds of a storm.

Rain poured down from the heavens,
Drenching myself, my sleeping pad, my sleeping bag, and my motorcycle.
I packed up my things, rode my motorcycle across the street to a McDonalds,
Wet, shivering cold, and tired, I ate breakfast as I waited out the storm.
A couple of hours later,
The storm passed, the sun began to rise,
I rode back to that picnic table and slept.

I awoke to a majestic blue sky,
A gentle breeze, the chirping of birds,
The water from the storm dried up.
I knew I would be okay.

~Raul Felix

Read: The Witch In My Dream
Read: Shards Of Broken Glass Scattered On The Kitchen Floor
Read: She Dances Like A Flame

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Another Night Wasted Getting Wasted

I wake up still wearing my jeans,
I didn’t piss myself this time at least.
Room’s thrashed, emptied beer cans scattered throughout.
It’s 2 p.m. on a Tuesday.
Another night wasted getting wasted.

I have nowhere to be; I have no one to be with.
Eighteen, nineteen, twenty empty cans are stuffed into a garbage bag.
There is a comfort in escaping my frustrations with myself,
My frustrations with loneliness and reality,
Seeking refuge in vice.

Sweet serpent drink, whose poison kisses my lips.
Your cool embrace a reliable comfort in my life.
Women come and go, boozing remains.
Jobs come and go, boozing remains.
Cities come and go, boozing remains

Even when I muster the strength to resist your temptation,
Boredom, annoyances, celebration, life eventually strikes,
Causing me to seek your poison kisses once more,
Their gentle touch enhancing reality,
Distorting its undesirable aspects,
Allowing one to lose themselves in the abyss of the mind,
Wasting another night getting wasted.

~Raul Felix

Read: Maybe I Shouldn’t Have Taught A Psycho Bitch How To Shoot
Read: A Day In The Life Of A Debauched Traveler
Read: She Wouldn’t Make Me So Angry If She Didn’t Own My Heart

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The Love Of My Life From Age 25

A week ago, at the grizzled age of 30,
I reconnected with you, my love from the age of 25.
I wish you knew me as the man I am today,
Instead of the vulgar, drunken fool who was easily pissed
The one who chased away love at the age of 26.

I blame myself each and everyday,
For letting my ego chase away such an understanding lover,
One who understood my temperament and quirks,
Like no other.

I write this to you,
The former love of my life,
The one I met at 25.
Tears flowing down my cheek,
I apologize that my ego was so weak.

Two days with you was a tease of the life I could’ve had,
One I keep dreaming and longing for really bad,
But reality has kicked my ass,
And let me know the time of our romance has passed.

The realist in me says let go of all hope,
The romantic in me is willing to look like a dope,
But neither of those matter anymore,
Because I have lost the love my life,
The one I met at 25.

~Raul Felix

Read: Watching You Get Dressed Again
Read: She Had The Body Of A Greek Goddess
Read: The Lights of Los Angeles Loom

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Buffalo Hill Will Make A Man Out Of You

“I’m a fucking beast,” I say to myself,
I take those first steps running up Buffalo Hill.
There is always some college student slowly walking up it,
Occasionally, it’s a chick whose glorious ass I get lost in,
I’m reminded of what I want in my life.
More often, it’s a scrawny nerd unaware of the world around him,
I’m reminded of what I don’t want to become.
Buffalo Hill will make a man out of you.

When the body is in pain, it’s best to let the mind wander.
Halfway up, my mind runs rampant.
Thoughts of women past, family, friends, war, motorcycle trips,
Parking tickets, writing, money, and schemes for pussy.
Buffalo Hill will make a man out of you.

I’m approaching the final incline,
My stride becomes faster, eyes focus, bellowing grunts.
I reach the peak, smile as I stare down on conquered land.
Nice warm up. I continue my run.
Buffalo Hill will make a man out of you.

~Raul Felix

Read: She Was Traveling Through My Country
Read: Becoming A Beast May Help You Win The Beauty
Read: Keep Moving, Young Man

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Oh Well, We’re Off To War Again

“Ones!” yells the private as he opens the door of my hooch.
It mildly annoys me.
It’s a pretty fucking good episode of Scrubs, damn it.
I quickly slip on and tie up the laces of my boots.
Oh well, we’re off to war again.

I zip up my top as I speed walk to the ready room,
I make a quick detour to grab a couple of Rip Its and Pop Tarts from the MWR.
From my cubby, I slip on my kit, Peltors, and MICH.
I test my NODS, grab my M4: clear it, pop in a magazine.
We’re off to war again.

The gunner and I begin our respective duties.
The gunner turns on the comms and loads the .50 cal,
I hop in the Stryker driver’s seat, fire up the engine,
I stand on the seat, looking out the hatch.
The TC approaches us after the hasty mission brief,
A steady flow of men, the tip of America’s spear soon follow.
Sixty-seven men, six Strykers, two Little Birds, and a military dog will descend Tonight on some poor souls’ door step.
Fuck yeah, we’re off to war again.

~Raul Felix

Read: Eager To Pop My Cherry On The Battlefield
Read: Jumping Out of Airplanes: How It’s Really Like
Read: The Military’s Parasite Problem

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