My good congregation, I take the podium!
I have been asked to speak--to preach!
Where are you demons, devils, acrimonious angels?
Why do you submit yourself to actions so odious?
Stand up! Do not allow yourself to be leeched
of your life! Do not suffer the unfaithful!
No! I will not allow my flock to be misled!
I will not stand by as these good souls are drained!
So, rise! Cast your burdens back upon the bastards!
Throw them like stones; let their sins be bled!
Who has had enough of being perilously pained?
Who is fed up with with all their dastardly disasters?
Now! Now is the time to undo the oppression!
Show them your anger--unleash the frustration!
I ask, who among you is without disdain?
To Hell with them! Let's teach them a lesson!
Our lives are ours! Deny them castration!
You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain!
(I give myself very good advice, but I very seldom follow it.)
I swallow it
and the words you deserved to be served I
choked them down like
Maybe they will make me better.
But the better part of me was mixed bitter in so many sermons I so easily spit at others.
I’ll save you from my presumption.
Prescription: hold your peace.
Dig that fucking razor DEEPER into your wrists.
Practice what you preach, and show us you're not afraid.
Don't just scratch with a pin and claim to slash them.
Practice what you preach. Practice what you preach.
We are here to preach the dream,
to share the good word
of passionate fantasy
and the desire for happiness.
We are messengers,
of the things that help us
reach the moon and back.
We are slaves to art,
and the emotions that inspire it.
We live to create
and destroy that
which hinders us.
We are here to preach the dream.
The dream to be
who we want to be;
the lust for satisfaction
We breathe to make others
We are the apostles of innovation,
rising from dust
where light once shown
to shine light forth
into obsidian hearts and ashen souls.
We are bandages for the bleeding,
braille for the blind,
and cotton blankets
for the faint of heart.
We are for those who need us,
and for those who don't know
what they need.
We are poets,
And with our pencils and pens,
brushes and hands,
guitars and hearts,
we will call to arms
all of those who
have ever felt something
move like we have.
We are a romantic tragedy,
an exuberant atrophy.
We are anonymously outspoken.
I don't think I'll fall asleep tonight
because I know you are all preaching for someone to do something
somebody do something,
it's too late,
and even after we all know it did happen,
we were never around when it was happening
Half of you posting statuses on your smartphones now, saying,
"Seriously, it's never cool to bully"
were bullying me yesterday.
I'm sorry no one here helped enough
I'm sorry you never asked all of us.