when you are new, consequences seem minuscule
authority is a foreign concept, maybe too close to home
a repercussion to fear
the day your light enters the world, rules border your actions like the lines on a freeway
who’s to say that rebellion is a bad thing
expression in its greatest form.
acting out to show discontent.
but the underlying causes are beautiful.
with experience, things become so real.
one mistake and you can be sent away for a lifetime.
acting out is no longer to show off
development at different times, yet 18 years to decide
mens rea vs actus reus.
shouldn’t it be the intentions that decide?
authority to shut down rebellion, self expression if you will
own up to the reaction of our action.
its a bit distorted.
in other words over the top
how many rules there are.
but whats the point in breaking the rules if there were no rules to be broken.
we find ourselves in this given situation.
the animosity for authority; yet the lust towards rebellion.
if there was no authority to implement the proper etiquette to fit the social norm, would there even be a point to committing heinous acts that are considered “illegal”.
living to find a meaning to match with the experiences.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
fulfillment becomes a foreign concept
nothing fills the void
the search for acceptance seems to near impossibility
the door won’t stop swinging
beings constantly walking in
walking out
words lack meaning
anything that used to be finds its own ending
a frigid cut in warm tender flesh
each word
each step
the heat escapes leaving me in livid shivers
all i am is open wounds and loose salt
rapidly decreasing as every moment passes
the time is seeping out from under me
can’t seem to grasp any solidarity
can’t seem to find anything genuine
this lump in my throat has become a constant reminder
on the verge of something
on the edge of my own cliff
the only difference now is the fear in my stomach has morphed into an intense hunger for flight
the fear of falling is no longer valid
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 6:33 PM UTC
i sip continuously on this luke warm coffee
the withdrawing heat slowly seeping into oblivion
how the summer was meant to be
the heat from last years sauna season left memory of warmth in my bones
the cold from last winter froze me over
with the arrival of spring, the cold didn’t ease up
i spent May waiting for the steam to rise
by June the frost rose to my flesh
no longer buried underneath
stripped of any shred of strength that once inhibited my tender muscles
the frigid bullet shot through my veins, numbing all in its path
all I’m left with is the shrapnel.
with the tang of metal on my tongue
i disguise the anguishing flavour with each drag of this cigarette.
the chemicals leave a subtle fragrant veil of desperation on my lips. my fingertips. each strand of hair.
the fire of the burning stick between my lips ignites my insides for a few moments, but leaves me colder than before.
such power given to such a insignificant habit.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 12:34 AM UTC
it seems the more i think i know you, the less i mean to you.
I wish i could be right, but all i was to you was a warm body.
a distraction.
you were still caught in the cold of this last winter, yet all you seemed to do was warm my cold brittle bones.
you said i always felt cold.
all i was concerned about was the heat of the moment.
you refused to feel the warmth, you were lost in the cold that swept you over.
you told me you needed to take time for yourself, but i think you were just trying to defrost.
as the hands spun, you found another spark.
a beautiful flame that ignited your soggy match heart.
the way she danced in the light warmed you in ways i never seemed to be able.
when you left i found myself in the same winter I found.
but now the summer is over, and you are gone and i was wrong.
i guess all we ever were came down to two brittle bodies trying to find warmth in each others solitude.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC
it was all so much better when you were here
putting my thoughts through my pen is nearing impossibility
its like my emotions are clustered at the front of my brain squeezing their way out, making themselves known.
thats all fine, but i have a ******* headache.
you made flowers grow in the darkest corners of my insides
but you didn’t tend to the seeds you planted
they grew out of control
now i can’t ******* breath
you left me, careless and cold.
maybe we never were anything
maybe we never could’ve been.
but when you touched me i could swear you were turning back on the light switches which had grown dusty and forgotten.
now all I’m left with is smashed light bulbs and and untended garden.
you just got it.
at least i thought you did.
i was blind sided
too distracted by how happy you made me to notice how untouched i left you.
i put my ***** hands on every inch of your body, but you came out clean
I’m still the one stuck with ****** knuckles and white linen to sleep in.
you may hate yourself
but i think i feel it harder
every word you say hits me like a sharpened rock
right now I’m caught in the landslide.
“you don’t know me”
and you're right.
i dont.
and you made **** sure.
mk
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC
i am a tile of the carpet on the soil
nothing matches quite right
not stuck in any in between
either good of bad.
very bad.
nothing makes sense.
forever lost in my own mind
the universe that consists within my skull
holds me in like the rich wine into crates, all they know
everything is wrong
i don’t know how to handle it
my arms don’t seem the same
they can’t lift you up like they’re supposed to
you’re all i desire
i couldn’t ask for more
but right now i couldn’t feel like less
you raised me up then dropped me from the cliff
my heart is pounding so hard i wish i could pull myself apart rib by rib
toss them on the old tile
then i could embody the way it should be
**** you in the worst way
then leave you
lost and insecure
then we could feel the same
i can’t find my way home to who i am
i can’t find who i used to be
she left a long time ago
she isn’t existent
all there is left is broken shells waiting to shatter for whoever is willing to pickup the delicate remains
cracking at every touch
i thought i could save you
but i can’t even save myself
i wish i could be better, for you
you are so good
so so so good
i am so bad
so so so bad
but i wish i could be good,for you
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 9:09 PM UTC
I can't seem to learn to be content existing in my own skin. With each insignificant mistake, i find myself even deeper in the state of defeat which has become so familiar. was it something i did? to deserve feeling this self loath. what happened to what i could've been; so full of life and joy. how did i find myself here? worse than ever before. how can i make this house a home if i don't even belong in my own skin.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 10:29 PM UTC
its 2:24am and I'm terrified that you have become the only drug i crave. before it was much easier, much more concrete, much more discrete. i could fill a void with a glass, a bottle, a joint. now the only mind altering act I crave is you next to me with your arms wrapped around my waist, your lips on my neck, your warm chest sheltering me. its so simple, yet so intriguing and more fulfilling than any drug I've tried. its hard to seem sincere... my whole life ahead. but right now theres nothing else i want. at first i thought i had it under control. but oh god was i wrong. the power that pulses through your touch is indescribable. maybe I'm just naive, but you can illuminate the darkest of thoughts. I think I've come to terms with it now, the power your touch has over me. All i know is before i wanted to get drunk off liquor and now the only thing that i want to get drunk off of is your lips. I never did believe in shooting stars , but you're starting to flip the ground I stand... and i think I'm ok with it.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
if ones value was determined by their self worth;
i wouldn't be an insignificant crack on the cool moist pavement that you walk on your daily commute.
i would be a crevice of the guitar strings you use to orchestrate beautiful melodies.
i would be a single leaf on the tallest tree in your jungle
I would be a piece of thread bound into the sheets on which you dream.
if ones value was determined by their self worth i would be nothing.
not even a ripple in the tsunami of your existence
how am i to expect to amount to anything if i can't even come to terms with the skin that surrounds me.
all I've ever done is try to escapt this skin.
this insignificant reality I've been faced with.
every part of me is laced into you...
thats what it comes down to.
if it weren't for the pavement, there would be no where for the crack to lay.
if it weren't for the guitar, what would be there to stretch the wire string wide against its body.
if it weren't for the trees, there would be nothing to give the leaves life; just a lifeless piece of matter on the earth floor.
if there was no bed, what purpose do these sheets hold.
its a metaphor
its the same as you and i.
I have found myself wound into ever facet of your existence.
without you who am i?
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
i’ve never gone by my first name.
maybe that says something about who i am.
my parents said it didn’t suit me.
do you see the connection.
I’ve been set up since my first days.
i never fit who i was meant to be.
i wish i could say that i have a grand story to share with the world.
but everything has just been mediocre.
although i have had moments of disinterest in the city i was born in, the family i was blessed with, the skin i reside in, i still have moments of love and lust.
when air fills my lungs, the sun shines through my window and everything seems like a new bright beginning.
through time theres always still been something not quite right.
like this house isn’t a home.
this skin isn’t meant to be my own.
this city isn’t meant for me.
the concept of time has never really sat well with me.
the idea that no matter what, you can’t slow down or speed up experiences.
I’ve never been able to decide whether its a blessing or a curse. perhaps a toss up of the two.
my mom always told me that these years would fly by and i brushed it off like the dust on the shelves that hold the books that told the stories of my child hood.
those books flew by almost a quickly as my youth.
everyday i get closer to the end.
or perhaps just getting closer to a new beginning.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC