time and time again
i feel the fury seeping in
this blind hot rage
swivelling throughout the page
burning me
night after night
I pretend it's alright
submerging myself in falsitute
but the edges still protrude
decaying
always the same old ******* habit
of reaching and flailing but failing to grab it
surrender
everywhere new, I see potential
yet I do not notice the sentinel
until much later when everything is old
and everything is cold
and each familiar face
is drowning in folds
at first, their art is inspirational and true
enticing me to create, anew
but it always ******* frays and fades and melts away
leading my admiration astray
their judgements, their fears, lay before me, bare
yet I have not ever, not even once, dared
to uncover their eyes, to pull them through
for what if that's how they see me, too?
that thought alone I cannot stand
to be at their mercy, to kiss their hand
begging they take back their words
already lost in flight: carnivorous birds
intent on devouring the rotting corpse
that once was a haven for my creative hopes
perched in the treetops, peering through the night
awaiting any movement, ever so slight
waiting
to attack.
but these vultures will be disappointed
by the cadavre they were appointed
there will be no meat left to hide,
it will be rotting from the inside
to their surprise as much as mine,
from the ashes will rise a pine
whose cones will fall, those bristly gems
and it will start all over again
the anticipation.
the inspiration.
exposure.
and deceit.
lying crumpled at my feet.
but i have the power to walk away
to climb the mountain my own way
farewell you folks of forlorn fantasy
i'm off to paint my own soul's tapestry
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 1:03 AM UTC
'If' is the core to life; an infinity of possibility. Only two things can render the passion stagnant:
fear and negligence, addictions to comfort.
Addictions to slavery.
But if the 'lie' is removed from life, we are left with the 'f', we are left to be free.
Freedom itself is infinity, for an idea never dies.
It goes on and grows on, the hope shining in your eyes.
Yet freedom is not achieved in a flash, to stay with you forevermore. It must be sustained,
it must be fed.
It is not easy.
But what does ease bring, in the end?: temporary satisfaction hoarded with dormant passion
(passion and possibility)
Work - hard, grueling, exhausting labor - leads to the ultimate ease,
a satisfying ease that you feel
you deserve.
And that is the greatest freedom.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 12:48 AM UTC
We think we're so different.
because we have piercings
or an iphone/blackberry
wear jeans not skirts, skirts not jeans
only shop at local markets, only buy the brands
eat organic
or vegan
or total junk
wash our hair with what's cheap
or environmentally friendly
or not at all
because we listen to folk, not rap
ska, not rock
talk a certain way
or partake in certain hobbies
have skin, instead of fur or bark
see more colourfully, but have **** nightvision
because we have warm blood
because we are human.
We think that this is individuality, but it's really all a lie.
A lie to keep us docile and passive..
To keep us buying **** we don't need,
but making us believe
that we do
Guarding us from that destructive unpredictable mother
of ours
until we don't even think of ourselves as animals anymore.
Until we think we're Kings.
To be you, you just have to be you.
Scratch that.
You just have to be
Because what is "you" anyway?
A pronoun
to keep you
away from me
and we
and us
together.
To force you into the lie of language,
because we all know that what truly speaks is our hearts
but we would never admit it
because then we would be too emotional
too sensitive
not cold or impersonal enough
to fit in.
And that's all we really want, right?
To belong?
Well, I'll tell you something:
there is a way to fit
to belong
to live.
And that is to not fit.
Don't define yourself by these labels
or this music
or that boyfriend.
Define yourself through your ideas
your ambitions
your immaterial desires.
Take out the you and become a we,
and we will be,
just be,
together.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC
Silhouetted against the dark landscape of what I once knew
lies a baby
in a basket
with a crow
I wait
and wait
for the crow to fly
up, up and away from childish cries
but they are shadows;
a disloyal memory of my loving upbringing.
***
Rooted with fear,
I reach for the sky.
My heart wants to stay,
but my soul wants to fly.
Just one more big stretch,
the stars, they are nigh!
But it's too late, I know,
for soon,
I will die.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 11:06 PM UTC
[time is not on our side but it is up to us to be on times side]
pulsing.
pulsing with the quickened
heartbeat of disappointment
failure on the first day
but i dont have to look at it
that way.
how rare to succeed on the first try
so instead of asking why
im going to ask when:
when will i be ready to re-
begin.
the answer is now: now or
never. act out, dont just think
of things that are
clever.
face the brewing storm the inner
weather.
reach up to the sun to catch the eagle's
feather.
bury it inside, wrapped in a clod of dirt
blood and mud, parents of rebirth
bursting from my eyes, back to the skies
where she belongs
the eagle now carries my hurt
and when she flies
and fishes
and dies
we'll be making compromise.
branches and roots become one, the same
reaching out to muffle the cries
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 11:00 PM UTC
Arms woven tightly
across my anxious chest
My legs are spun together
protecting the nest
I am ready.
There is excitement, nervousness
euphoria fear.
I feel the world's array
flying over me,
pulsing around me.
The hearbeat of the stingray
throbbing throughout the sea.
The current, she is cold
but the heartbeat keeps me warm.
I am a fetus of the ocean
My mother is the sea
My father will not let me drown
For he's the music guiding me.
Leading me to adventure
to creation
to love
preparing my mind to see.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 10:47 PM UTC