Some fools are born, conditioned by fate,
And they, like all, still procreate.
All useful knowledge flees their minds,
As selfish life fulfills these swines.
And while they swing and cheat for joys,
The watchful eyes of their little boys
Do take a look at what they see,
And what they see is “A bigger me.”
Their little girls, in company of dolls,
On occasion, foresee what befalls
Upon them, too, as they soon explore,
An impending battle of love and war.
But then, there exists that little kid,
Whose sex and gender shall remain amid
A cloud of irrelevance and mystery:
Their wisdom calls most urgently.
As this kid sees a life unravel
Along Lacanian stages of travel,
Concerned are they with the fuss and mess,
Which most adults do not confess
To what they cause and what they bring,
Most taken in by their offspring;
And as one parent lacks all the care,
The other lives a life unfair.
In times of chaos and audacious cuss,
Dear vengeful killer, Oedipus,
Consumes all facets of the mind
Of the little kid who must confine
All pain, and hatred, and all rage,
Enough to place one in a cage,
And leave one there to squirm and rot,
Like a lobster boiling in a pot,
And free the bird whose wings to fly
Have been broken off, now left to die,
In part, by diabolical norms
That invade a home in all shapes and forms.
But, the kid looks up at the two,
Then whispers quietly, “I’m neither of you;
Not the blinded one, who feels must reign;
Nor the obliged one, too tied to pain."
Nor does the kid ever dare to be
A product passed politically:
Ingrained in mind, in heart, and soul
A subordinate being in a bowl,
That turns, and turns, and turns, and turns
While greedy capitalists more they yearn.
Within this cycle is little choice,
Hetero-normatively sans a screaming voice,
For a true language for some not made;
Virile chest-pounds place a shade
Upon the stronger ones deprived
Appraisal for their stronger minds.
The kid, all this, can’t take to be,
As what they see they wish not to see.
In this unbalanced Yin and Yang,
The kid’s perception hits a bang:
“The power lies within the one
Who mostly governs with a gun;
And how can a human hurt their double,
When love and passion are lesser trouble?"
A fitting sex the kid can't choose,
As in every win, each sex does lose.
But slowly, as they come to be,
The kid, society directs to see,
That to just one sex they must belong,
As 'genitalia proves feelings wrong.'
This funny theory most credits Freud.
By collective viewpoints the kid’s annoyed:
'No good is said, no good is done',
For those who are all, but yet are none.
Great gender points makes Butler de Judith,
While her female likes are out to proveth
That she is wrong within her stance
‘Only female unity will give rise to chance'
To an inclusion of the female word,
And one that’s First, not Second or Third.
The opposite, still out to bend
The rules and laws, all to pretend
That the other sex does not exist
Because swollen egos must persist
In rule, in art, in build, and biz:
'Fields where opposites lack all wiz.'
The kid, in this silly world of theirs,
Looks at all the foolish heirs
Who bounce and shoot this gendered ball,
While the kid stands back and laughs at all.
you may be acquainted with the night, but i have seen the darkness in the days
i must confess it is a truly terrifying sight
just like AFP says
because everything goes dark without you
you're my moon, sun , stars, and my whole sky; the reason why i sing
without you nothing matters anymore
you're my everything
written at 2am, while cuddling my Pikachu because reasons
both of us have pikachus and i will never not find that adorable
From my Dark Watcher series:
Where is the color of morning?
It has left me standing within it’s shadow.
No sun’s smile, coaxing me to follow.
No longer does it wake me with its warmth,
or touch my body with its heated fingers.
White dove that once sang to me so sweetly,
Now quietly perched, dressed in gray tatters.
Has time lapsed into eternal mourning,
To lie still upon deaf ears, nothing heard,
Will it also, one-day cease to matter?
Where is the morning dew that
once kissed these dry parched lips?
Life’s replenishing moisture, that
lent color to the paleness of night.
What I would not give, but for a sip.
I once walked free amongst the flowers,
their buds opening to my caress.
Silken mounds willingly thrust forth,
to satisfy a knight’s craving hunger.
That my heart knew one, I must confess.
A sharpened thorn amongst the beauty,
its piercing sharpness cutting into flesh,
bringing forth a festering wound, death.
Where is the color of morning?
She resides in another’s arms, I’m told.
Kathleen M. Kohl/Levinski
Some things never come to pass,
you never forget them,
you love them forever,
like her intelligent thinking,
the taste of her lips,
her succulent organic-ness,
her soft kisses,
the way she makes you feel
O, I must confess,
I'm a renaissance man.
I love the fine arts,
her strong beating heart,
the way she starts things up
and finishes them.
O, I must admit,
I'm not vegan,
I love her sweet meat,
her line of thinking when
she's lying off her feet,
I want to be the abandoned house you snuck into every other night
because there was nowhere else to go.
Slam my trembling frame against the wall like an old vase
and smile as every organ inside me crumbles like books off their shelf in the midst
of an earthquake caused from the faults inside your knuckles
and underneath your tongue.
I want to be every bad habit that you can't break. When there are no more walls to punch, you can leave holes in my bones instead.
When there's a pit in your stomach that you never can fill,
you can shove me in your mouth with both hands and eat fast
and feel me run down your chin.
You can savor the nausea from overindulgence
and grab the crumbs from off the floor.
You can tip me over and lick me up.
When you can't bite your nails anymore, my throat is welcoming your teeth.
Don't be afraid because this is your last lack of cigarettes;
You can always light me up instead, my love.
I can assure you my screams are more addicting
than what any nicotine can give you.
And me? I'm just addicted to the way 'good girl' rolls of your lips.
I'm addicted to being the reason you can't stop, won't stop, don't stop.
I want to be the response to your calls of desperation.
Listen closely to my hips and answer every question they could ever have with your tongue. Tell my neck things that you could never confess to any preacher,
and beg for forgiveness to my thighs until they've giving every ounce of their blessing
to your neck.
Don't worry about collapsing
I will catch all of you and swallow you whole.
Tell me I moan like an angel, even though I feel like sin.
I love the way my ribs creak when I hear you say my name.
My dear, my darling
I must confess to you a
my dear, my darling
will you do your best to
I know you have a
and live so
but baby I could
FALL FOR YOU,
I already know you're
My dear, my darling
how long distance relationships
but my dear I now think they
My dear, my darling
I'm addicted to your
your comments, posts, and
you're even exactly my
My dear, my darling
I don't wish to break up
SHE AND YOU,
but my dear, my darling
I think I am falling
Pain hits my body
the devil strikes
love is departed at the dead of night
peace is shot in it's heart with the shadow's good gold arrow
no one does confess
for the devil is gone
and never was caught with the very detailed pupil in any beings eye
but until the war had struck
no one had ever heard of love.
Do you ever wonder if the past loves of your life,
remember you as clearly and fondly as you
remember them. Or even recall you at all?
Is my memory that much better than theirs?
Or do I just think too damn much in general.
People meet, quickly attract,
fall in lust, or even love,
for a moment, or two,
entwine their lives,
their naked bodies,
perhaps their hearts and souls,
confess deep secrets,
then soon they part,
going their separate ways,
Like Ships that pass,
and briefly collide in the night,
then merely, casually sail away.
A perhaps damaged hull , more than
chipped paint, left blowing in the wind,
Corrosive sea water seeps in, rust begins,
we look for someone to do a repair,
Some body work, a little new paint,
and off we sail again.
And yet no collision is without illusions
of it's "what might have beens",
indelible inevitable, later recollection,
Second guessing fermenting distraction.
So back to the question,
Do any of our past loves remember us
as fondly as we remember them?
Or indeed remember us at all?
In the prevailing final analysis,
it's all long gone and done,
Why should we even care?
Too much thought can be,
a nagging unwanted distraction.
What is over and done,
can never be again.
So give it no more thought,
than one of last years
fine summer days,
While you are basking,
in the warm soothing,
sunshine of this day, today.
remembered, than they deserve or actually require, is a lesson well
learned, knowledge it seems that takes nearly a life time to acquire .
May God bless me...with Nobility
Futility reminds me of her ability
The Devil"s dress she wears with no contest
I must confess under her stares I'm a mess
Virility blinds thee so very viciously
Temporarily binds me with insanity
Confined is my mind, bewitched by her dance
God hath designed, but the devil"s in her glance
Many men have fell, they never stood a chance
Angels now in hell, still mesmerized in a trance
For you toll thy bell, and try and cry romance
Now forever dwell, forbidden to ever advance
If chivalry has died, then she choked its very last breath
Her Vanity and pride combined, provoked suicidal death
Perfection lies soundly in the sand
Tranquilly next to me on the shore
But if it's you that holds her hand
You too, shall be cursed forevermore
Secretly, we lie.
Secretly, we hide information to cover our past.
Secretly, we say we trust.
It just not that much.
Honestly, we say we don't-when we do.
We all can't admit some of us are fools.
Which is true.
Place a camera in our face and you'll find many denials.
Until you hit them with the truth.
Like they say, a picture tells a story more than words could express.
And only then will folks confess.
Privately ,many do.