The hands that stretch, the feet that glide. The ability to see, the strength to withhold vision. I was stuck in shades of dark and filth. I was burning in the passion of the sun. I heard a truth that spoke life. I heard an angel say dive. I took a chance hoping I would fly. I jumped thinking I would bounce. The fall was humanity and life announced. I fell into an ocean of truce. I found creatures bad and good. It was a war, a fight for power. They were corrupt lifelings looking to be kings. They felt like gods eluded by the ring. The ring that controls all things. The orchestrators of lies that kill. Kill the freedom of the mind. The orchestrators of a world that enriches so-called kings. Blasphemy is the order of this world. Pain this world brings. A world of treacherous kings but all nothing without the power. What was the power? A spoken idea a woman a lump of gold? It was the fear! The fear instilled in souls so to inhibit freewill and limit conduct. The power that tarnishes the human soul. The power that bars the mind and hides the truth that one must face. The truth is his identity, the success of his identity is serving his purpose. The realisation of his purpose is dependant upon his surroundings. Surroundings are walls that limit his will and remind him that all he can be is nothing. The fallacy that man is the illusion and the kings are the truth. Scaling walls, browsing I saw that they were fighting. Protecting an order. Fighting for a world of lust, confusion and weakness. Where the kings are gods and the weak slaves. I spoke once and said that I am the vision and the truth I speak to the weak that need healing. I have body armour but no weapons. I have a reason to fight but no weapons. I have weapons but no army. I have an army but the soldiers have tainted minds, no feet and only one arm. An arm that remains stationary, erect and held together. It was the fist that represented the power to stand. The fist that represents immortality. I found hope, I found belief in the little weaponry that lay in my hands. The invisible truth I protect is the heart of my soul. Embracing I know I am what is real, Embracing I acknowledge the dangers of reel, Embracing the truth I know that I am the power and the power is me. I opened my eyes and saw the world as the waking of the day when the sun rises. I found relief in knowing that I am no longer hiding for this power is for fighting. Fighting for the will, fighting for man to be free. I leave the place that was confining, I leave the dust where souls burnt hide in, I scale these walls and glide, I use this power of liberation to display the truth that so many saints have protected. I allow the showers of the night to heal these wounds that leave me infected. I stand in refuge, I am a ghost, I am a soul, I am man, I am the power.
Do you know ?
Our passion as curious is priceless
Our innocence as raw is cute
The freshness we dress
The young times we mature
The young hopes we grow on
World thrills in our charms
World craves for our taste
Do not be ignored
Do not be waste
Do not be tired
Lust your wishes
Lux your riches
Lead your energies
Take advantage of your treasures
Don't look for gold in everything
Find it in the waters of your youth.
it's like everyone is making fun of you for never seeing a zoosla.
but when you ask what a zoosla is,
well, if you saw a zoosla, you'd know.
that is exactly what sexuality is like.
you have no idea what it even is,
so how are you supposed to know if you've felt it?
Sometimes, I am very impulsive
And sometimes, even compulsive
Can you imagine, that I am imperfect?
It all must be shocking to you all, for sometimes, I am who I am
Sometimes, I am very dark and somewhat confusing
And sometimes, I just don’t know when to stop refusing
But, does that make me so much different than you ?
Oh man , it must be shocking that sometimes, someone like me is someone like you
Sometimes, I can be aggressive
Or even sometimes, I can be incredibly passive
But, imagine that sometimes, me being me, is someone like you
And at the end of the day, sometimes, and I mean sometimes, is someone like you
Sometimes, I wonder if you are listening.
Sometimes, these deep dark entrenching vines crush me
I could only wish that sometime you will listen to me
It is all so plain to see; and sometimes, I blow things our of proportion but, now, you aren't glistening
Sometimes you understand me; Have the tides finally turned?
Changing into something hoping you realize that sometimes we are both deranged
I feel sometimes, that my life, and your life, need to be rearranged
And some time, maybe one day, you will finally accept me
You say, "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels”
but I say surely something
must taste nicer than the burning acid
being forced back up your throat.
Why not hug people instead of
toilet bowls? At least they’ll hug back.
Except Mia is your only friend now.
And her cousin, Ana, of course.
And I understand that you never
wanted to die, but this is a thousand ton truck
hurtling towards the edge of a cliff and
Ana took the wheel a long time ago.
There is no strength in this: in you, in a
fear of calories. Even your bones creak
as your muscles sigh with exhaustion -
for this, is not a war you're winning.
This is a battle with only one contender
and I will not be the one to disarm you.
That's your job and it always has been. I know
you only wanted to be beautiful
like all those stars in the magazines
you saved under a file titled ‘thinspo’
but the only stars you ever saw were in
your eyes from the dizziness
and to tell you the truth, you are not pretty.
For there is nothing “pretty”
about the layer of fuzz your body grew
to protect itself from the big bad wolf
when really, the only growl was coming
from inside your stomach.
Or how your little sister is afraid to touch,
let alone hug you, in fear of snapping you in two.
For there is no glamour in having to
remove clumps of hair out of the plughole
at least six times whilst having a shower,
just to let the water run down.
Or that one time you "accidentally”
took too many laxatives. Messy.
There is nothing admirable about the way
you sat shivering on your bed
at night instead of kissing boys,
or dancing, or eating ice cream.
There is nothing to be marvelled at
This, is not a life to be lived.
God, this isn't even a life.
This is being a slave to your own body,
a walking zombie, a ghost stuck
between two sides.
You are not alive.
But it was all still worth it, right?
Slowly killing yourself from the inside out.
A small price to pay for perfection,
a bargain for a broken mirror;
for a half-written book
with 97 blank pages,
that only captures in black and white,
with frozen hands.
And most importantly, for a peace of mind
you never received.
fall in love with a poet,
they cannot disguise the truth,
yet, soften it when needed, somehow,
for the only words they possess
are kindness and kindness...
Should you travel with a poet,
new ways of seeing will they introduce,
delighting you, and for ever in you, delight,
for every word that passes thru their lips,
gifts to keep, for the days of when...
There cannot be always good times,
poets know, so they write today,
for when tomorrow's intrusion is
the other end of life's continuum,
their words recalled, restore, revive...
Poets are the predecessors,
your torment, anguish, they have known,
so when they write today, it is
preparation when the future demands,
changes that require tissues, shoulders, arms...
Worry not about their torment,
t'is a seasonal change, comes and goes,
but in the winters of your life,
yours - warm fire, warm poets, summer kind words,
so, always, always,
Always fall in love with a poet...
he howled about the best minds of his generation
being lost, but I am not sure they were ever found
though I once lapped up his words like a cat with the sweet cream
or a ravenous dog licking the bottom of his bowl
after a cold wet fast--yep, a dog, like that
and who ever called us the dogs of war?
canines don’t know shit about war: the waiting,
the planning, the measuring, the murdering
they only know fear and what it tastes like to win
what it sounds like to lose, but they didn’t choose
they didn’t have a moral dilemma when fur and teeth and flesh
became a hot blur a la bloody cur, we,
with our “best minds” he thought were festering
were duped only by ourselves, by our desire to believe
the simple sweet lies rather than the shredding shedding truth
who could we blame? Walter Cronkite? Norman Mailer?
John Wayne, Nixon or Peter Pan?
yes, he howled; his howling wasn’t that
of the wolf at the moon, revealing an eternal hunger for a full belly
but a desperate audible gasp for one honest line, one
affluent aphorism before he slipped into the abyss
I won’t give it to him, because I was one of the dogs of war
not pretending to be wolf like he, not lamenting the loss
of great minds, whatever the fuck those are
I was washing the blood from my paws and teeth
trying to forget it came from some mother’s son
trying to silence the screaming of the other pups
when they fell prey to my razor sharp teeth
given to me by the state, honed to perfection
not by a washing of my brain, but a heart that lusted for the kill
long before I saluted my first flag, long before I swelled
with drunken pride at the bugler’s song, or marched
in cadence with the deadly drums,
he howled, but I didn’t hear an imploring sound
when they lowered me into the godforsaken ground
The automobile broke the ice.
Sitting on your porch, gloating
over your boxcar, I laid eyes
on your warm skin.
"That's the girl I will soon talk to".
The warm skin blanketed
my thoughts until I was too
hot to go on.
Breaking through that ice,
I spoke words to you.
I invited you into the cold.
You did not know of me, yet you risked it.
Ten days of risk and I cannot
view any regret in the green iris of your soul.
"That's the girl who lives beside me;
the one who stands as my
Even teenagers dream.
And it’s important that you know this.
Because before we can proceed it needs to be established that
Even teenagers dream
Mysterious as we may be…And defiant as we are
Angry as we seem
And obnoxious as we may wish to be
We dream…Tired, hurt and hungry
Our emotions know no company more comforting
Than empty bottles Filled with last night
And stupid love letters
That were never quite good enough.
Even teenagers dream
Despite popular disbelief
We do love the smell of rain
And hold hands in the dark
Lie silent in the grass
And wait patiently for the summer stars to speak first
Trapped violently between our conception…And our careers
Torn between the cynicisms of our defense…And the desire to trust
Even teenagers dream.
Living life swiftly…We cannot wait to receive that first paycheck
But miss sorely the days of naptime
Wishing we were harder to understand than we really are
Just so that someone would be intrigued enough to try
Searching infinitely for that outstretched hand
That is never, ever there…Searching, even when it is
Because we love to pretend
That we cannot see
The silver lining on the edges of our bed sheets.
Even teenagers dream.
So much stress just fell off my shoulders
Now I can go and explore, some positive things
I am starting to get older
and I don't want to hold on to no good things
Our time is up
I'm so torn apart
I can't do this now
I'll regret it later
but I know in my heart
that we are done