well I guess
that's the thing
it's not just part
of our surroundings
on a tuesday
in the summer
or at 6 a.m
on a wednesday
in the winter.
it's more than that,
we can feel it
and sometimes it crawls
into bed with us
while we're staring
at the white walls
that cling to
hung with tacs
of people who never
bother to call anymore
but then sometimes it
it comes spiraling
to knock the air
out of our lungs
and the wine glass
out of our hands
at 11:08 on a saturday
that's when it's hard,
when there are twenty
people smiling in a busy
room filled to the brim
with music and stories
all we can think to do is
stare down at our feet
and hope it'll leave us be
This is not a poem that you would enjoy, for it's structure, it's possibly pleasant, creative, invoking use of diction, or subject matter. Also, this is truly not me employing reverse-psychology in an attempt to draw you in. And that is not reverse-reverse-psychology or layered reverse-psychology, seriously.
It is simply an expression, a result, of myself experiencing a byronic attack, a selfish emotional embellishment, that may be constructive and help me recover from, and hopefully learn from, my particular human condition.
I do not expect or necessarily desire anyone to read this, but here I am, publishing it.
I am a passionate young individual, but this time I cannot be bothered to express myself metrically, or in a fashion usually regarded as poetic, as artful.
Nonetheless, I confess that I believe since it is different, then it is p'raps artful in it's own way, but it is still far from ideal to me,
And if I was not seized by such urgency to ride this byronic wave before it crashes, I would maybe take the time to write it in a fashion which aligns with the purposes of this website,
To share poetry, not literal messages, however heartfelt and true.
I am a passionate young individual, and I love to write, to sing, to play, to draw, to dance and experience all the arts and crafts of life, though I clearly prefer and am naturally talented at a few over all the rest
I wish to read so many books,
listen to so much music,
play so many games,
produce so much art,
spend time with so many friends,
learn so many skills and climb so many branches of knowledge,
to be healthy, fit, intelligent, informed and whole in this poisonous and yet wonderful modern world of possibility,
but I am finding it so difficult to juggle it all, to give it all the energy it deserves, to make such worthy things part of my experience and/or character. So difficult.
I care too much about too many facets of my experiences, I cannot encompass then all satisfactorily with my time.
This is entirely my fault.
Because I am a peerless procrastinator, a scatter-brained and hopeless dreamer, always living in dreams which swallow my desire and motivation to make them manifest.
The magnitude of my desires are unreasonable, but stubbornly I do not let them go.
Most of all, I cannot let go of my friends, the beautiful, brilliant, infuriating and so special people I find I have the privilege to know, I cannot let it become 'have known', despite the inevitable and healthy eventuality that they will traverse the earth. I must live the beauty of each one of them, and reciprocate, to develop something worth reciprocating, I must, I must.
I must do it all, or I must de-frag, re-organise, wise-up, simmer down, and just be kool with what is.
My philosophy includes many esoteric spiritual fancies, which if I practiced would make this quite possible, this childish problem vanish, null, void, I would stride towards mastery of this life, but I am so good at falling back on anguish, instead of beating the path I have discovered towards anything and everything I desire, noble or otherwise.
Bit of a cli'che, but this is so First World, so selfish, personal and esoteric. Bother this nonsense.
It is too late, I have not progressed far enough in my internal fancying quest to befriend and gain the favour of time, the wave is crashing, the passion running thin and foamy to be absorbed by so many grains of thought and feeling in the fleeting and seemingly linear stream of conscious experience, it is dissolved, no doubt only to build up, well up from beneath, again in the future. What crap.
This is not silly at all, but it is also very silly. The moment has passed, I am deflating back t'wards normalcy, societal tolerancy, acceptabe behaviourability, towards facetiouty it seems.
I so yearn to share this thing called passion with those dear friends of mine, completely, and I would do all that I must do,
I sometimes don't think it's so unreasonable, so unattainable, though p'raps it would just be too good to be true....would it?
Wish me luck.
I lost myself once upon a time
in a place that was only whispered to me in dreams.
Where the fog is thick and threads through the seams
of street lights and street cars with bum fights and brillo bars.
I tell you I lost myself on the tongue of insanity
who swallowed my soul to feed its humanity.
I lost myself
in a city that found me;
San Francisco, 2013
Let me extend two points like two bridges
that begin in separate places but lead to the same thing.
I’m talking the people in both hands with countless art in between.
The people, the people, the people.
What can’t be said about the near million faces
sleeping on warm pillows or cold stones,
wearing top hats or traffic cones
because not every night are people thriving.
But they’re still surviving, getting busy living or getting busy dying.
In their eyes are stories being told
once you wipe those windows into their souls, deep.
You see it all,
Just like every star in the fall when the sun goes to sleep.
I gave a homeless man a dollar who gave it to another homeless man who then gave it back to me
Like we were passing a love note that said, “You need this more than me.”
So which one of us was without the home?
Home I soon found in the art of every step taken,
one foot in front of the next.
I can’t walk through that city discounting the side effects.
I was drunk,
but not from bottles or cans
I was drunk from the hands
that told tales with graffiti art to camera pans.
and countless other melodies
massaging bricks into the landmarks that spanned.
Culture sprinkling up and down the hills and between the cracks
Painting colors in the sky as the rainbows stacked,
Finding pots of gold by merely lifting my eye lids back.
There is so much to say about this city in the bay,
that is held in place by the people of race
and the vessels of art that encompass in its space
like stories and attitude,
survival and gratitude,
muse and expression
in delight or depression.
I tell you I lost myself in that city.
But I know now that being lost is sometimes the only way to be truly found.
Bright green bean bags
occupied with big-boned bastards
begin to strike faint resemblances
to mounds of porous gelatin
or sea cucumbers
but when I entered the room
and saw myself reflected in the temperament
I decided that my features should never be crushed
by a thing so simple as introspection.
With sweat dripping down my brow
and perspiration moistening the part of my shirt
that is encompassed by the pits of my arms
I stared at the grease-stained gluttony
of the year
and it became clear to me
that every frolicking pixie that never existed
would be envious or appalled
by the state of our TV dinners.
Before the paisley phantom swoops down
and slowly cleans its ears with a black Q-tip
we must make the mental preparations necessary
to start preparing for the deaths of our children
that don’t exist
because if we are ready for that
we would surely be ready for a person
to try to make us try to think about trying to
stoop higher than the jungle in an attempt on neutrality.
There a few things I need to say, and this isn't a poem. its more of a letter or a bitch out. I have seen the crap you post. I don't get u cus u act like u were some innocent victim. Im some horrible lying cunt who broke ur heart. WTF? Let me say my dear boy that I have loved u from day one and I still do. ur the one whos got this anti -me thing going for no reason cus ur afraid of letting your true feelings be felt and delt with. I may have said a fib or two when we spoke online the first time but at least everythg I said then wasn't a complete lie unlike others...... I don't hold that against you. I don't bring that up to you and talk shit about it. You seem to think that just because I didn't ever say I loved you that I didn't... it was so hard for me not to say it or to try and not feel it cus of her sitting in your bed each nite. that's why I didn't ask you stuff cus I didn't want to seem like I was being all nosey and being all in your business. you didn't ever say so I didn't ask. I figured if you wanted to tell me you would. I didn't want you to think I was trying to know your all of ur personal shit. I tried so hard to not have feelings for u and I thought I did a good job but that too was a joke. I have never felt like I do about u. it sucks that we don't talk like we used to and really sucks that we don't see each other....I miss u so fuckn bad. I still cry over u cus u were my perfext match. you are strong where I am weak and vise versa. Ur really great in the areas I need help in and I can help in the ones ur not in. I still want you to read to me. I still remember the things u said to me the first times we used to talk. the time where I fell in total love with u. I pains me to see some of the stuff u say on there. I didn't mean to not ask things or seem interested in you or act like I didn't want you to come over....I did that cus I wanted to see if u really wanted to come over.. um...all I wanted was to be with u from the beginning and I still do but I don't think u will cus your trying your hardest to forget me. I guess im not one to stand out and keep one wanting ......I wish I could erase all ive found out since oct 1st cus it makes it even harder to get over u....I don't want to but its really stupid to keep trying if you have made urself believe that u hate me or convinced yur self u do. I will write more if I remember but I have to go to bed now and I hope u sleep too... It just upsets me that I meant nothing like the others and that uve made urself hate me.....when I cant stop loving u.....this sucks.
you say to me that 'to your Jesus one must come broken and empty handed'
but to the Goddess in the end, our soulswe come bearing our talents like fruits and she celebrates them with us
with eyes full of stardustnebulaes and a mouth full of leaves
and as beautiful and powerful as everything
she is everything and she didn't leave the world behind
( she's the beauty of everything in nature and the wonder of all the cosmos all rolled into one being; she is in the laughter of every small child and
not like "Your Great Merciful God"
(your Great Steaming Pile Of Patriarchy and Excuses to be Hateful to Fellow Souls)
but something that feels much better to be connected to that that hollow feeling when everyone looks around after an "amen" so make sure everyone else is sayingitfakingit too
something that feels much better so that i wish i could make these people comprehend it at least
because there is nothing that feels hollow about feeling Her
even though i made notes on my phone when i still had ideas
last saturday i had to go to a funeral for an uncle that i didn't know and it amazed me how much they tried to market their religion to you through even that
it made me so angry
"bruce has gone to heaven now but think about your soul? do you know where you're going?"
it feels odd sitting in an overstuffed chair with a skirt on that's too long surrounded by people that know you but you don't know them, and trying really hard not to roll your eyes
i knew where i was going when the portly pastor-man asked. i was going home and away from his bullshit.
when i got home i tore the house apart looking for my pentacle (i had to take it off for the funeral)
and my mother looked at me funny and asked "are you gonna put that on and go to sleep"
i sure fucking did
there was a place
where my heart grew
In a murky peace,
it was comfortably happy
But you ripped it away.
denied me my haven,
however broken it was.
And I bled for an age.
And my scabs became scars.
And my lips remembered how to smile.
And my heart ached for you no more.
But and but.
But then there you were.
My murky sunlight.
There you were.
And we laughed.
For a moment,
I was safe again.
And I was oh so radiant.
And I was oh so polite.
A vision of Over You.
But when the rain came.
And you faded into the mist.
I cried bitter tears of Not Over You.
For the cherished hollow I miss,
is the broken thing you escaped.
this is where I am
I plant a flag upon myself
I lay claim
I know my face
I know my voice
I know the feeling
of my own skin
I have comfort
in the silence.
I have found
that elusive thing.
The one that calms a heart.
It's called acceptance
It's called respect
And I cried many bitter tears
Ad my hands tore at my hair
And my grief tore at my heart
for the loss of a dream.
But the dream is over.
I was blind for wanting it.
I am calm.
Now that I know.
I hate you more than I hate myself.
the air is thick with madness
blown in the wind like smoke
in time we all begin to choke
stagnation static clinging
wringing me of passion
rob me of compassion
like a black hole, devour
my heart and soul
now, in our darkest hour
I cry out, "save me!"
the silence is deafening
so loud my ears are ringing
I wander lost, alone and confused
a stranger in a strange, cold world
seeking peace and solace
finding nothing, I recoil
violently, like the raging storm
and the sizzling crackle
of lightning splits the sky
hear the sound of my fury
in the booming of thunder
the rage against complacency
the roar of my inner fire
I know there is more to life than this
it started off slow and subtle
in time the hunger began to spread
it began to divide and consume
the light and all that lies before it
at first no one noticed
now we turn a blind eye
overlooking our true nature
we are agents of destruction
devouring all in our path
discarding that which serves us no longer
and moving on to the next thing
it doesn't have to be this way...
we look to the sky for our salvation
but no one is coming to save us
from the nightmare we created ourselves
and continue to maintain each day
with the folly of our egotism
nothing but an illusion,
a ghost of the truth, that is
we are ugly deep down under
the polished masks we wear
and for what? What does it matter?!
cast off the persona weighing you down
become the light you were meant to be
let me tell you a little secret...
we can be our own saviors
of, pertaining to, or characterized by a manner of writing in which a character's thoughts or perceptions are presented as occurring in random form, without regard for logical sequences, syntactic structure, distinctions between various levels of reality, or the like
I sat there,
Thinking about the simple
And the impossible.
Why am I still fighting?
Why am I still standing?
Why am I still alive?
This is all seems to unreal to me,
Just a shattered reality,
Nothing seems real to me anymore.
My memories are fading,
My dreams are breaking,
Everything seems... empty.
For years, I have been fighting,
But after all those years,
Only one thing came out in the end.
That one light bulb was flickering,
On and off.
I thought it had burnt out,
But it was just flickering,
On and off.
As I reached for the light,
A sudden sharp pain in my chest grew,
And everything went black.
Everything but you.
You still glowed, shined even.
I saw nothing but you.
In all of the emptiness,
You were still there,
Shining bright as ever.
Then it clicked me.
I know why I'm still fighting.
I know why I'm still standing.
I know why I'm still alive.
I know why I felt so empty all those years.
Can you fill this empty hole in my chest?
I think you can.
I know you can.