In a tiny town
I can't get out
I'm starved for new ideas
For not accepting theirs
I have to find a way
Go against what they say
A small part of the whole
With nowhere left to go
Being in and of myself
Becoming someone else
I'll get out on my own
A house on a hill in the snow
Die free in my own home
Every fiber of my body is on edge, seething with a burning urge to be alive.
More alive than this repetitive stasis that is Educational routine.
My blood thrums and sings with the desire and yearning for otherworldly adventures.
The uncontainable demanding within my soul that CRAVES more than a dull life set within the confines and standards of a society that has disbanded the thrill seeking pleasure that is and was the old world. Now we have to pay a small fortune in order to obtain a moment where we transcend grey and our colors blast and shoot through the spectrum in solar flare heartbeat pulses of excitement that dulls far too soon.
I want to taste sea salt and raindrops on my lips, grains of sand beneath my feet.
To feel every nerve in my body alight with the spark of something more.
To face the unknown, not in a city nor my home cowering for the remainder of my life.
But to claim my destiny with both hands, clutching my glaive firmly in battle stances while gazing unafraid into the eyes of my nemesis, my enemy. To duel it out on stormy seas, sails billowing, lifelines secured, braced upon the slick decks of pirate ships soaked with rain while torrents of wind lash at my body during a dangerous battle between lovers, demanding my downfall at the hands of nature but instead of falling to it I would prevail and arise. Where lightning cracks across the sky like a golden whip, where thunder roars in agony across the cosmos like Atlas holding up the weight of the sky.
Engaged in the throes of battle while the air is rich and pungent with the scent of steel and the satisfying clang of blades locked in combat. Sword against glaive, antagonist and protagonist.
To battle and seek, to pursue those who dare take whom and what I love. To become MORE. To transcend the fabric of dreams and turn all this into something tangible, to grasp it tight and shower the seeds of dreams into the soil of the real world, and to help it bloom into a reality I've wished for my whole life.
Instead of sitting around writing about how much more I long for. I don't want to be trapped in columns, in places at certain times.
To change the world, to alter my dull fate and the chance to make the stuff of my daydreams and night visions into more than just letters on a page. To whisper and weave the song of those worlds into the fabric of this twisted reality and watch as stardust mends the frayed edges.
Perhaps it is this fate, that my dreams never see the light of the midday sun
that there is not a strong enough conviction nor skilled weaver to bring about the change I long for.
We grow up in a world filled with fairy tales and books filled to the brim with stories to capture our imagination and you cant expect me to suddenly still be content and satisfied with the damnable grayness that is the black and white of our world that will never be filled with color.
And I will be doomed to write out worlds and cultures I can never touch and interact with, never will I be able to grasp the soil of the other worlds and exist within the places I make.
Never will we, of earth, trapped inside dull grey columns ever truly experience freedom.
Not even with our words for we cant even paint the sky a different color other than grey, and the ground beneath our feet will only ever be black. Despite the colors we think we see, they're not the colors we want. Just pale washed out shades of worlds we will never be a part of.
Tie me to your bed post,
remember me when the change in wind marks it's time to go
I am but a fleeting stranger on a winding road,
Where do I go?
I remember when you said,
"Doesn't matter, if you don't know"
If you don't know.
I don't know.
But when it's time to go,
you better go
you better call that cab, run for the bus, or check the train schedule.
The bruises on your skin aren't love, baby.
There's no love in a broken home
No love intertwined in vacant souls
You better go.
And if you don't
pin your hair up and dig your grave baby
I find myself standing alone in the barren valley. The wind is cold, it burns my nose. I feel it moving my hair. Shivers run though me. The smell it brings tells me that snow is not far off.
Looking in the distance, clouds cover the mountain. It's where I must go. A new home lies beyond the tall peaks. It's calling me. Why did it send it's message now?
It's hard to explain this pull it has over me. I must get there. It's where I belong. Where I am supposed to be. Moving forward I keep my focus. Determined to survive.
i hate the stress.
i love the stress.
i hate the studying.
i love the fact that i don't study.
i hate the fact that i'm stuck here till friday.
i love the fact that i'm stuck here till friday.
i hate the fact that i have to go home.
i love the fact that this semester is finally over.
i hate saying goodbye.
i love saying hello again.
We are concave,
folding in on ourselves,
trying to find the other half,
the pieces that seem to be missing.
We are lost,
on a dark road outside,
no sign of hope,
but a sense of missing home.
We are scared,
of what's to come,
what has come,
what is coming?
We have hope.
That the hole will be filled.
The streetlights to turn on.
To be okay with what came.
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.
I traded the Midwest for West Coast sunsets.
I left my home.
Some people said they were so sorry that I had to uproot.
I was not.
My home was my prison.
My cellmate was the red faced, foul hearted man I'm supposed to call father.
Who used his fists to persuade me that I was not good enough.
I hung my head low.
I started dancing with razors and the thought of death was my only solstice.
I left behind self esteem stealing girls and fire breathing dragons.
I clawed my way out of the hole in the ground that I was tossed into.
My body is littered with scars and my eyes are dull, brightness stolen
but still, I carry on because I traded the Midwest for West Coast sunsets.
En homme, I feel at home.
En femme, I’m still him.
That is, me.
I was mommy’s little princess, and daddy’s little prince.
I just didn’t know there was a word for it:
Him today, her tomorrow.
i've always lived here,
yet as a stranger
that wanders familiar grounds
in eternal detachment.
desperate eyes, fixed on the sky.
i see my home
midst in the dark clouds,
closer to the moon and the stars.
too much gravity
and too little space here.
too many demanding arms
that grasp spirits of wanderlust
that long to escape.
i see my home in those
lost in the clouds,
but closer to the moon and the stars.