When I despair of my country
And it's terrible hypocrisy

I listen to its music
And dream we can break free

My grandpa
             Words he gave
                            To me once upon a full moon
“Son” he said
            “When you go into this life”
“Remember, that love is a language “
             “So find, my son, find someone”
                     “Who speaks your language “
      “So you don’t have to translate your soul”
                                   Hmmm.

Paint the future
Paint it bright
Young ones don't deserve
The path of plight

Speak the future
Tell the tale
Speak the future
Take back that vale

Live the future
It's not that dark
Live the future
Be that spark

I learned
to plant the seeds
of happiness.
There are flowers
blooming
where the scars
used to be.

R.M.

You twist my words
       into forms I don’t recognize
it’s almost like
                           art

Sky’s feathers
shedding on earth’s
burned umber skin
in a drifting dance spelling
away the winds,
with penetrating kisses
slowing down earth’s temper,
cooling in between its layers,
touching gently its crisp
unfreezing its heart,
bringing back on earth
the sublime.

Snowflakes
Make the earth feel loved by the sky

That's why,
I believe in snowflakes,
Even if you would say,
anyway, they melt.

If I could
I'd take your smile
put it away until times weren't kind
I'd add it to the wink you left behind
That would carry me through most anything.

If I could
I'd preserve your kiss
Keep it safe until times of loneliness
Reminds me distance keeps you from me
I'd open the lid and let the touch
Carry me to you

The sand shifts beneath your feet,
Your heart relaxes to a quiet beat,
The waters seem to breathe day and night,
Close your eyes take it in do not fight,
The wind satisfies your soul,
Just relax now you've played your role,
Touch the sand now scoop it up,
Hold it in your hands and form a cup,
Now let it seep through towards the sandy ground,
Your soul was lost but now its found,
The weather you desire will come your way,
Just stand closer to the bay,
Soon life will be eternal for you and me,
Look beyond the ocean and tell me what you see.
                          -open heart poetry

I FEEL LIKE I AM DROWNING
IN THE DISGUSTING, ****** MUSH OF MY BRAIN
HELP
HELP
HELP
I'M SCREAMING
but people laugh it off like it's a funny joke
i laugh too
because life is a joke

MY BRAIN IS BLENDED
MY LIMBS ARE DISMEMBERED
MY TORSO IS IS GUTTED
AND I'M LAUGHING

I know
You care about me
10 more people do
Yet I can't get rid
Of this feeling
Of doom

I know
I have you
10 more people too
Yet I can't find a person
To talk to
late at night

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

Your current reality
is the gravity
of age-long mentality;
Change your mentality
and you'll see the gravity
as expressed by a new reality.

As for me,
because of her,
I shall grow old
and fat
and shall soon die
with only memories
of what love
could have been,
because of her.

It’s not the cage or the perch but the feeling of being a thing that’s so smart and so social, surrounded by - ironically- an infinite misunderstanding
From beings who think that they know you
It’s novel to speak but not to be heard,
to have wings but not fly,
to be smart but not think,
to have the beak and the claws
but only if they’ve been dulled to a reasonable human comfort-
the saddest thing about being a parrot is to be loved only when you’re restrained, and desired/admired only until you are had.


God forbid she ever bites

I ate the cake,
        the lemonade
Cool and sweet
        but left the pain
In the back of my throat
        like an aftertaste

Not everything needs a poem
Sometimes
it’s already

good enough.

Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.

If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems like *******.
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.

the forming of substance 03
Stephan W
(fallen, from grace)
~

"I have just come back from a party
where I was the life and soul.
Witticisms flowed from my lips.
Everyone laughed and admired me—
but, I left,
yes.. that dash should be as long as the radii
of the earth's orbit ———
and wanted to shoot myself."
~Soren Kierkegaard
~ ~

It is not enough...

It is never enough--
we need too much

But, here on earth
we have to make it work
so we call good-enough, "good enough"
and with gratitude, we
learn to take in what it's available to us.
But the truth behind it all remains--
the fact that we need so much;

Where is one that is complete..
and if so, complete--

compared to what?

There is a perfection- cloud-hidden
within everything that is human
The spirit within the body that carries it--
b r e a t h e s  out perfection's truth,
though- we may only experience it
in the moments between awake and asleep-

the human psyche is bent on survival--

and in a broken world, the thought of an
inherent perfection brings on too much--
our own condemnation even.
In our minds we fall too short of even the
concept of it.

Or do we?


The gravitational pull towards Muse
borderlines on that of addiction;
its stirrings touch what is primal in us--
once-inexpressible words, suddenly find expression;

And a Beethoven finds musical notes
that lead to a symphonic masterpiece.

"Words from Heaven" is not saying too much
concerning the poet, or lyricist.
"Music from Heaven" is easier to say,
when concerning a Mozart or Beethoven.
Or a Tchaikovsky.

Perfect reaching into the imperfect?

How about 'imperfect'- feeling, and then
expressing pieces of its own long-forgotten
perfection--
things experienced within the sphere-
made tangible again through the flesh,
simply in a moment of remembering..
and also that of a temporary forgetting--
of limitation.

The beauty of despair is in the heartbreak
of finding out that what is right in front of us
is never truly enough

or worse yet--
possibly even harmful to our own true needs.

What we need most is all and everything
that helps us remember--

That we came from perfection,
and were loved there first,
and now, within the imperfect-
are unable to be denied by the perfect that is
forever inherent in us--

It is completely unable to deny that
which is of its own.

If we were to never despair over what is in
front of us, we might never be compelled
to find the strength to remember-
flashes of the primal--
that of our own history, of perfection.

And if there ever were ever an evil,
or a Darkness-
it would be hell-bent on keeping us
from finding that very thing.


Sometimes.. just sometimes,  death
looks just like love.

It might be said:

That is why they do not like me;
I do not speak much,
And when I do, my voice protrudes
Beyond their desire.
I do not speak of myself,
But if I were to do so, they
Would assume I relish the epiphany of egotism.

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.

𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠?
𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚙𝚜
𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗
𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠
𝚠𝚑ich 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝
𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑ich 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝.
𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍
𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜
𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚜
𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠
𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜.
𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚙𝚜
𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗
𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜
𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎
𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚝,
𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠
𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎.

Cuts, cuts everywhere
All over my hands, my wrists, my arms.
Bleeding, bleeding.

Thick dark drops of blood.
Blurring my vision, clouding my mind.
Oozing, oozing.

The cuts dig deeper
Into my soul, my shattered soul,
Bleeding, oozing.

Just one more cut to end it all
A deep cut, digging into my throat, to end it all
And my throat shall bleed with my last drops of blood.

No more cuts
No more cuts
No more oozing and bleeding
No more dark red smudges in my mind
Just black
and black
and black.

have you seen the flowers breaking through the dawn
rising from there beds as they begin to yawn.

standing up so proudly to face another day
showing of there splendour  making life so gay

giving off a scent growing wild and free
growing there so proudly for all of us to see.