My brother and I were invited to
Polynova, "The Grande City of The World".
Polynova is the largest city
To exist in our world,
It is home to every race in the world
It is has the largest trade market
It has the most beautiful architecture
You could imagine.
It can best be described as a giant pyramid
Where the governor sits atop
And the city becomes larger and larger
'Til the base.
I couldn't tell you a specific color of the place
Because the people have tampered
And structured it over time.
Gold, Magenta, Bright Green,
Cerulean, Silver, Mud Brown,
The list goes on and on.
It is constantly crowded and bustling,
You would be surprised how good it smells.
The cuisine is magnificent,
All the best foods from the world
Gather here and share their secrets
With the masses.
This city could be best described as,
"A city of togtherness".
It is a city of hope
Hope that the world will settle its differences
And hope that one day the fighting will stop.
Polynova stands as a symbol to us,
Some reject it,
But I embrace it.
I am but a boy
Too young to have seen the world
As a cynical and terrible place.
I regard everyone with the utmost respect
My brother and I were invited to Polynova
To participate in the first ever
Grande Fireworks Festival.
We come from a long line of firework makers,
My grandfather was one of the first firework artists
To grace this world.
So off we go to Polynova
To share our secrets and craft
With other firework artists.
Off I go to,
"The Grande City of the World"
Who have look alikes
Not twins, I warn you
They possess powers
A vicious smile
Their eyes are empty
They murder with inhumane speed
And they live...
.....with us, amongst us here
Another poem will be up soon, inspiration from the same book.
Your words are like food
and you are the cook
before you serve your dish
you make sure of the taste
if it tastes good, people would like it
if it tastes bad, people won't like it
and most probably they won't come again
is it not the human nature to be pleased?
Be careful of what you serve.
Now or never
whether we want to or not
they've got us by the balls
and though we built walls
to defend against these invaders of free will
we will need to be stronger
build our walls bigger and better than ever before
and let them kick out the windows and doors
we'll just brick them up and no one gets in
and no one gets out
and no one but no one knows what this is all about.
but the walls stay because they want us to rot
they've got us by the balls and all we can do is build more and more walls
and who wins in the end?
when we're all sent to Coventry with bags of cement so we can lend some authority to the people up there
and they don't give a damn
they jam us into categories with the same krappy old stories
that it's good for our health while they're spending the wealth that they stole from the miners and while they're dining on beef
and they've got us by the balls
in glass coloured test tubes lubricated,dedicated to the rise of the monarchs
and it can't be for real
we'd never allow that
but laying flat on our back and winking eyes at the sun
is where this begun.
In the minds of the merchants and in the pockets of wise men
in the back alleys of bigots and bigshots
and what have we got?
you know it,
A box full of sawdust and a whole heap of shit
so the walls get a little longer
a little stronger
but they'll break us one day
and take us away to a recycle plant
and they'll plant us as seeds to service their needs
and their needs will get greater the later they leave it
there's a whole load of shit
a coming our way.
One day, when I awoke,
I remembered a nightmare I had that previous night.
I was at a school, a haunted school,
With a group of girls I didn't know.
They were there to release the spirits of three sisters
Who were trapped there by a mysterious phantom.
The first girl was named Clara,
She had hazelnut hair, hazelnut eyes,
A heart that could only be described as infinite.
She was the oldest of the three.
The second girl was named Nora,
She had a sense for adventure and heroics,
Her eyes only looked forward,
And would sacrifice herself to save her friends.
She was the middle of the three.
The third girl was named Mary,
She had a tame body and never really spoke up,
What she had in shyness she made up with her smile,
And she liked to sing and dance.
She was the youngest of the three.
We climbed up the fire escape behind the school,
The ladder was sticky,
We couldn't tell what it was because it was so dark
No one had thought to bring a flashlight.
We reached an unlocked door
That Nora keenly opened up.
Bella scolded her to be more careful,
But surprisingly Mary was the first to enter
And she hid behind the door to let us through.
It was me, then Nora, then Clara
As we entered a brightly lit hallway
With a door all the way at the end.
And so we walked.
Nora jumped ahead of me,
While Clara stayed behind with Mary
Who regretted her jump start.
So we walked down the hall quietly
With Nora making giggles here and there,
I would look over my shoulder every now and then
To make sure Mary and Clara were fine.
Mary held her hands behind her back
And was looking at her feet,
Clara was looking ahead with her hands together in front
She titled her head, and smiled.
For someone whose sister is lost
She seemed quite content with the people she was with.
Eventually, we reached the door
Which looked like a plain old door,
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary about it.
Nora haphazardly opened it only ajar
Because Mary shouted to stop.
Nora looked back with a questioned stare.
Clara took it upon herself to slowly open the door
And make sure everything was safe.
I just stood there breathless.
Clara called us over one by one
To the strangest wooded area.
A wooded area in a school
It was covered with black trees, dead orange grass,
And a purple sky with a yellow full moon.
There were no visible creatures,
Yet I felt like we were being watched.
We walked through the crusty grass
Whispering where we should go.
Nora pointed her finger to the distance.
Clara, Nora, and Mary marched ahead of me
All determined to move forward,
Although Mary let Nora and Clara walk in front of her.
At this point I realized
I was like a ghost to these girls,
I seemed more like a wish
And more and more
Like a wish to save them.
We entered a clearing
And saw the large faceless dark phantom
Breathing cold air.
The girls and I stood stiff
And the phantom took it upon himself
To come to us.
He stood in front of the girls,
All three of them were crying bloody tears.
The phantoms pat the girls on the head,
Comforting them genuinely.
He took them into his darkness,
And they disappeared from my sight.
Found someone new and I lost the old me.
I miss that little girl that's locked up screaming to be free.
Find that little girl and hug her tight.
She's weeping, trying to keep her head up high.
HA HA HA. HAHA.
Those laughter rang in her ears since she was five, when the kids in kindergarten called her ugly.
Until now, it still haunts her.
Those words slowly became the monsters that she have came to love.
Because they become her shield.
How can she love herself when she loves the monsters in her head more?
When she can't bring herself to run away from them.
When she listens to them and shut out the ones she holds dear to.
And these people who actually LOVES. HER. BACK.
And before she can love another, she needs to love herself. FIRST.
She. Is me. I, am her.
I have been mourning for these monsters for a while now.
I realized I need to kill them before they kill me.
Before they make me kill that little girl that is crying but is trying to fight her way back.
These monsters have been a part of me that I have been holding on.
I used to hide behind them whenever I feel insecure.
They helped me build a wall to cower and cry behind.
They helped me disconnect myself from the world.
So that the rest of the world can feel comfortable.
Being disconnected gives you time to think.
Loneliness breeds thoughts.
Guess the fuck what?
No more of that bullshit.
My impression is here so stay.
My footprints will forever be marked behind me,
whether I like it or not.
And I think that I need a small spot for my footprints.
I crave for understanding and support.
I crave for genuine embraces.
I will explore.
And maybe you,
someday, one day.
My thirst for genuine affections
are driving me insane
but is inhibited my angst.
How do I explain to my mother that her only daughter,
her only child is one confused mess.
I like girls. I like boys.
I might not like girls. I might not like boys.
Maybe I like both.
Maybe I am just blind…to gender.
One way or another, I have come to accept that it doesn't really matter. Whichever way, I go, it's okay.
I want to stop apologizing for cussin’ around.
Because to me they are motherfucking appropriate.
I am fucking tired of having to be sorry for being me.
I am fucking tired of having to be censored.
Just because some people think that
my orientation is an abomination to the population,
blaming people like me for the demoralization of the institution just because they are the ones without proper education.
But fuck that, this is my identification.
I will never know when the time is right,
so I'm putting the hourglass into someone else’s hand.
I guess I will let time do its job.
For now, I am happy with our
awkward little conversations.
You deserve to know that I am just flattered of your existence.
And y’know what?
I think you do a fucking good job at that.
I want you to exist beside me.
To hold my hand in public
and not care about offending anyone by doing so because it shouldn't.
For now, I am holding on to the hope
that maybe you will accept me one day.
I feel things that I don’t understand when I’m with you.
Fucking kiss me out in the streets.
When our eyes met,
fireworks lit up in my chest but at night
those monsters put them out like rain
I trip over these feelings but hold them back because
of my fear of rejection.
Because I want to be good at being good to you.
Taking out these monsters may all need a lot work but I got time.
i cant keep on writing for free,
when i am not on the internet,
people talk rubbish about me;
on the streets, and at work.
if i was a swine i would say words like;
i am tired of this,
i cant take it any longer.
i wont let myself be led to hit a lamp-post like;
i am have no body-guards to command;
drive quick the loose media hounds are out to harass me.
i was raised in the hood-- a tired phrase suckers are accustomed to.
my distress is caused by a lost few,
people who know not how the media world works.
there are mornings when I wake up
and the dreams the night before
are pools in front of me
distorted clowns of people begging to be mingled with
so much better than the dead insects on the shore
but I know in my dreams I am a quiet God
I do not trust myself with such power
so I force myself to stay away
with the socks draped over my hamper
and the bugs kicked off to the walls
Early mornin dream of a prayer
I seek the blind man from the long ago street
Who held my hand
I remember the billy club policeman's face
And you too were there
An invented emotion that does not contain
Even one ounce of real emotion
We the lovers prowl the night
By the millions and billions below the stars
But we never see eachother there!
How is THIS even possible?
The prayer gets twisted into a SCREAM
Yes I LOVE you
As you know
We'll meet for certain if you want
We'll make the impossible a reality
We'll make eachother ---REAL PEOPLE
REAL PEOPLE REAL PEOPLE
not just puppet-like Pinocchios!
From Hand to Mouth, A Man Gives Birth
Sometimes the pen, unnecessary.
The poem, fully formed, in his mouth, born.
Silent back labor, unbeknownst the existence
Of such a thing, yet knowing now
His contractions, coming fast and furious,
Eyes many centimeters dilated,
The sac's fluid breaks upon the poet's tongue,
He pronounces in a single breath his
When his hand to mouth, goes,
Like Moses, when he touched the burning coals,
The words are signaled, freedom!
The words announce:
We are now created, conceived and
This new oxgenated atmosphere is now our
final resting place.
This child, the poem, this exhalation,
Once freed, is lost to him,
It's been renamed, retitled,
by hundreds of newly adopted parents as
When you hear the poet-man exclaim,
I live hand to mouth!
Weep joy by, for and with him,
For his true meaning now clarified,
An ode to joy has
Been birthed this day,
A child for the people.