the currency of the mind.
In my eyes
the flaws are what drive me crazy,
to me the true beauty of a woman is her flaws,
what distinguishes her from the next.
Every man desires a beautiful woman
but no man desires a flawless woman.
And when you find that woman and fall in love with her flaws,
you have then found a flawless woman.
Imperfection is everyones most brutally beautiful feature.
So thank you,
for being perfect,
not for the world,
but perfect for me
If we'll ever come close,
Dancing in the dark and turning,
Tread on my toes but we'll keep on learning,
This feeling that kills,
Like the Earth I'll spin you around,
Hold you tight so you'll never fall down.
Eyes on us but we have stopped caring,
Twirling through the night while the people are staring,
I am not prepared to surrender this moment,
Keep my eyes closed and they will never open,
It's all about us until the music stops playing,
Our heartbeats drown out every word they're saying.
I remember when I was at the concert.
I could feel the tsunami of the crowd
As the headliner started.
Nothing to hear but screaming and music.
Electricity shot through the veins of all,
Some intoxicated, some not
we all feel the same musical passion.
The time of excitement was now.
Pit after pit of swarms engulf the crowd.
Sucking in the unexpected but willing.
But to protect a friend,
I was a fortress against the mob.
Listening to the music, the lights flashed.
and from nowhere known,
A natural weapon struck my face.
Turning around, feeling no pain,
But assured of the severity
by the river of blood I unwillingly donated.
Into the washroom, I stumbled.
Blood mixing with the nectar of life.
Outside to the medic I casually waltzed.
Swollen eyes, nose, and disappointment.
Hearing the music from outside the hall,
my heart dropped, I blew the plans of fun.
But never fear, new friends are made.
The blood stops its own current,
and memories are established.
Stories to tell in the future.
it is true
when we give our blood too much
we aid in disempowerment
constant giving in love and providing does set unhealthy-precedent
and when it falters in its expected-rhythm
ugly-tantrums get thrown, bordering on disrespect
demands kick in hard upon trod-floor of insidious-hooks
there's always a rider for the other party
some or other condition to feed the monster of excitement
while health straddles some jarring regions
in hostile-spitting strong enough to lance startling-injury
shoelaces dripped in hazard-oil over a generational-canyon
provides unwanted-fodder for establishing long-term slippage
(no! you weren't raised this way.. where does this stem from?)
there has been no failure to show how humans act and speak
this is unacceptable)
oh............you want / you want / you want..... all.the.time.
then kick up unholy-storms where there's a break in rhyme
get ye, lad.. go practise your ire on a field
go throw a stick on the prairie
go find your path, you're old enough
yer insolence plain sucks!
(I could tell you .. you're rude.. go home,
but you already are!)
S T - 10 dec 13
it needs hair on teeth and grit in mouth to swallow some stuff, but persevere against adversity.. not always flippin' easy.
to teach independence and responsibility to children is a constant and ongoing thing.. one can hardly let up..
yeah, I guess it's the old adage of repetition, repetition, repetition ...
(there's a poem I half-remember.... about parents letting go of their offspring... natural pattern..)
between jagged-rocks and petulant-push
how breathes a soul
stuck in places where no space moves?
reach for the blue one.. then, a white one
later.. three small ones
wooden wheels of erstwhile-splendour
interest little to jelly already set
skull goes numb in efforts
can't keep placating, no
wrong to wring neck of bird
who feeds well the keeper
who keeps warm the feeder
who helps to lift the spirit
Like the sky.
Filled with winter rain drizzling finely
Waiting to be released.
Why on earth words of truth.
Became contorted into lies.
Lifted as haze over the morning stream.
Hovering as heavy vapour.
Weighing on her troubled mind.
The lady thinks.
Maybe much too much.
A timid touch.
Her gloves are violet velvet.
Streaked with stripes of sun's touch.
Not so long ago.
Oh so cute.
He was so damn cute.
She the dame, whose tongue now muted.
The lady for who,
His love for her, he disputed.
Was so vilely refuted.
Words spoken and wrote.
Fell onto eyes and the ears of the stubborn old goat.
Such spite shown.
Think she needs a drink.
He's making her sick.
Maybe she's mean.
Afraid she's not.
She sports a smile.
Masking the tears.
Sometimes she's mellow.
Sometimes she's not.
But rare moments of magic.
Such magic never will be forgot.
All she has left is a heart.
A beautiful heart vacant and hollow.
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)