“I feel very dependent on people’s mood and that’s a really bad addiction because you’re always expecting something good when it’s not up to your own actions.
You think people can make you happy but the thing is
They don’t even know how you feel about them and most of the time, they just don’t fucking care.
They like you for a day and find you annoying.
When they see you, they’re smiling but they hate you in secret.
They wanna make you believe you’re a nice person
But stab you in the back when they talk to other people.
What’s gone wrong I wonder and who are they?
I found out they were closer than I’d like to own up.
My neighbors, my classmates
Former friends or students I’ve talked to once cause they asked for my help.
They’re everywhere and think the same.
They swear on truth but their mouths speak poison
Their eyes are snakes and whatever they say, it’s a lie that comes out.
How can they be honest when they’re lying to themselves?
They don’t know about love, about trust.
I hate how they pretend to be free when they’re just lost but they don’t know it
They’re ignorant and they’re mean and I’m so sick of their tricks
I’d do anything to make them see it.
It’s hurtful and destructive
The anger won't wear off
And I wanna stop believing they know what they’re capable of.
Someday they’ll wake up and realize it’s useless to claim they don’t care
Cause they don’t know it but they do.
That’s a thing they hate to admit but they should.
And it’s alright to be weak
Being true isn’t a flaw.
Stop kicking your heart so hard
It’s just waiting for you to grow".
Chastised flies buzz high
Beguiling wildly wind whipped window washers
While presumptuously floating on CO2 currents
Sprayed streaks criss –cross the sky presenting
Atmospheric cubism for the lonely bystander
Representatives regurgitate revolutionary stories
From broken stairs on weathered monuments
Crushing oppression fills flared nostrils breathing deep
Reigning terror from the empire which birthed us all
Media propagated horror show, three meals a day
…………….none withstanding, nothing withheld
Closeness replaces character and huddled victims
Hungrily eyeball each other’s flesh
Sweat covered dirt coated quadriceps glisten
As if to beacon a bite
Gnashed teeth clench against fists flown from children
Bent on self-destruction and socialized hate
Forever consumed by the goal of individualism and liberty ideologies
There tears create new inland seas
Justified lies perpetrated by powerful provocateurs
Looking for the next big score
Seeking the last vestige of person freedom
Loss costs the unhappy Boss
Whitey…. The man….. Corporate America as an individual god-head
Watching with predatory diligence
Us as we struggle
The laughter can be heard through-out the cosmos
Joy expressed so freely knows no bounds
We are the enslaved masses without hope
Without the knowledge that we are slaves
Smiles widen while the truth becomes clear
Eyes light up at future prospects
Hands clap and feet stomp at the spectacle
Humanity hates itself
my humble coat of truth
as smile of pouring skies
which moment dots the scape
curves upon a prize
for speaking tints of red
rainbows in disguise
flashing trod her dreams
kiss her sky goodbye
linger as fog of dead
which seems to keep alive
through strings of steely charms
memories of yesternight
i ache as boiling pain
as pleasure fill my eyes
seep in the tears of past
as moments tranquil fly
i risk the heights of sun
through rumblings of our lives
what breaks upon as rain
as poem it survives
I heard you on the news today.
You shot and killed,
Your classmates, your teachers,
In the hallways, by the lockers,
On the ugly tile floors that the janitors are always mopping,
But don’t ever actually look clean.
I heard you on the news today,
And every time I hear those things,
I always sit down and cry.
Sometimes I don’t even mean to,
But there’s always a moment that I’m just sitting around,
And it hits me like a ton of bricks.
And I just cry and cry.
If you knew me,
You’d know I cry at everything.
Birthday cards, sad movies,
Because it’s Tuesday.
I guess I’m just sensitive like that.
But I cry when I can’t contain the way that I feel about things,
I make sure I let it pour out,
No matter how big or small,
Because bottling it in,
I’ve only held a gun once.
I fired it at a pop can and it exploded,
And that recoil was a bitch.
It was a neat and scary feeling though.
I don’t like blood or death,
I can’t watch horror movies.
You might laugh at me,
But I cry at those movies
Because I hate the thought of people suffering.
I sit down
And I cry and cry.
But I make sure that I cry,
Because bottling it in,
Because when I bottled up the pain I was feeling,
I woke up in the hospital,
Puking up charcoal.
I swallowed so many pills,
There was a pharmacy in my stomach.
And maybe in your mind you ask,
“What could a girl like you be so sad about?”
Same thing as you, sweet baby, same thing as you.
They pushed me and kicked me and called me names too,
They called me slut and whore and took my things,
They did worse sometimes,
And they left some stain on every day good enough that I didn’t kill myself at the end of it.
Sometimes I had the rage in me to hurt them,
But it mostly fizzled into blaming myself.
Truth be told,
I more than understand how that rage and anger to hurt them,
Combined with that scary, neat feeling of a gun,
Lead up to me standing in my living room,
Where I heard you on the news today.
There’s a piece of my heart that goes out to you,
I don’t blame you.
If I were there,
I would’ve been your friend.
I would’ve sat with you at lunch,
Even if people threw things at us or called us names,
I would’ve been just fine.
Because those things don’t bother me anymore.
I know you wouldn’t have wanted me to feel sorry for you,
But I would’ve.
But that’s not why I’d be your friend.
I’d be your friend because I’m a good one,
And you needed one,
And believe me,
I get you a lot more than you think.
We could’ve sat in your basement,
And you could’ve shown me all your books and cards and games,
All the things you like,
The things that make you special,
Things you could’ve been remembered for,
Rather than this.
I would’ve loved to hear it, baby.
I would’ve loved to have known you.
I would’ve loved to tell you,
That high school ends someday,
And it feels like a weight lifting that sets you free.
People cry at graduation because they’ll miss their friends.
I cried at graduation because I knew I could finally move on.
I sat down and cried and cried.
Bullies are raised by bullies,
And they feel pain too,
They’re mean to you, to me,
Because we’re different,
And we’re targets for the ammunition
That has building in them for so long.
And then they are targets for our ammunition.
You know how it is.
But in real life,
They’re burnouts at 20,
And they don’t get very far.
I’m going to be a doctor,
Which you probably think is funny
Since I don’t like blood.
But this is what I will be remembered for.
Not a troubled kid, a shooter, or an inmate.
I would’ve loved to known you, sweet baby,
I wish I could’ve held you while you cried,
I wish I could’ve stood up for you when no one else did.
I wish I hadn’t heard about you on the news today.
enormous elephant in the room
his fat ass blocking the shrooms
i can't see the fucking moon
ahh this is that
finger that tap taps at the scaled skins
on the shapely layered fins
of the crated barreled tins
of my dainty figured limbs
that cross bows into the muscle
that beats a hollow hustle
a rhythmic monotonic tussle
that in which keeps this alive
this thing i call the enigmatic tide
this wussy like mind
this funk-du-funky found
that that idiotic lice that lied
in which I figure is the only thing left to kill
the mind that is not the vicarious blinds
that cover the truth in various skills
to which I cannot shallnot reveal in lines
I swim in cursive
across a page
then I get converted
into the digital age
Ones and zeros
across the screen
seeking truth beyond his means
Welcome to the cerebellum
of Jeremy Bean
I speak of darkness
and I am far from subtle
but I leave bread crumbs
that lead to the light at the end of the tunnel
and a trail of blood
that strays the other way
which direction you choose
makes no difference to me
These are just my thoughts
you can keep your pennies
its exploration of self
and that is fortune a plenty.
Do you know that years; two to be exact
passed by, with shame and pain, but I was in act?
Did you see that I've felt so small beside them all,
and the ground was all I've found?
That I've met the other side of me,
the one I never knew I had,
the one I started to trust, believe, and put my joy to?
I forgot how to smile,
Or how to see the genuine beauty around,
I spoke my heart to you,
with twisted letters hoping you'd sink to,
and understand it, at least the half of it,
but you blew my hope away, and couldn't even hear what I said
You never listened, and I mentioned that out,
but you said otherwise,
you said you know it all
I'm not the little girl I used to be,
no short hair anymore, no more that pink floral dress,
I thought you knew that, or at least I left you to guess,
You never saw the tears,
you couldn't see them because I never let you be a part of me, of the new me
I hated what I've become,
but I assure you that now I'm all I ever wanted to be,
When I said I want to put make up on,
you said no darling you're too young,
but thirteen was so young,
is sixteen between that too?
When I say, I'm growing up,
Can you see that?
Can you hear my words now?
Don't look at me as the one with short hair,
You can call me names,
but dear mom, I plea, not to put pain again
I only need your comprehension,
Ask a mother, is sixteen too far?
Look me in the eyes, and tell me the truth,
that you only miss your little baby girl,
and can't let me move.
The song of the ney blends
with the dunes:
as ancient paths
follow footsteps out,
into the wilderness of the desert,
seeking a truth greater
than constricted life settled allows;
The percussion of the drum,
stopping at wells
dotting the scape, where,
the earth pours her agony forth
from her sorrowing depths,
the prophet's sons wept for God.
The grieving oases mourn
wound, of long
a heart searching the
sands, for one who gave his life
for the love of his Lord
here and his humble fellow man.
The allusion is to the Holy Land, where long ago, patriarchs wandered into the desert, seeking a greater Truth. Where by many wells, they settled seeking God. And where, an illustrious descendant transcended kin and race, to preach a universal gospel of love: 'Before Abraham was, I am' ...
Context and commentary here: http://sineinverse.wordpress.com/2013/12/06/the-thirst-for-redemption/
The ney is a middle eastern reed flute, long associated with spiritual traditions of the region.
The urge to drink not giving
Will not consume or be consumed
Numb to the world hoping to be normal
Past due like the bills feeling cut off
Inner peace turns to rage and hate
You don't want to hurt anyone
Self destruction is no longer an option
You walk away wishing you could stay
The heart and mind conflict the truth is blurred
Mostly denied not the official plan
Only if everything would fall into place
The truth can't be lit with a candle
Flickering with fragility
A pale effigy
Of your appollo
And the mighty glow
In which you bask
Those stinging eyes
Cold Stones that block
The sockets of your mind
The monstrous beauty
Words can't quite describe
Soft like a summers day
Or the smile of a child
But That cold mask
Will not fall
Like the flame
which fades into
A dark corner of your cave
The real monster
Rubs its bones together
And Tries to stoke a fire.
But Melts in the light
When morning arrives.