matthew-james - Hello Poetry

The pointless emptiness of everything. I’m stood here in this field trying to feel, Trying to remember what it felt like to feel. Trying to feel my way around this field and follow my feet Follow my feet through the field to feel again I feel the wind blow and I follow I feel the dog pull and I follow Stumble and follow Follow my feet I look to the skies for direction This looks like a face... of a dog... if you squint and look at it funny That looks like a hand pointing ... but it’s pointing to nothing, nowhere, no one. There’s nobody there There nowhere to go except where I’ve already been Spent half a life looking and found nothing Nothing to tell me I’m on the right track Nothing to tell me that all of it - or any of it - had a purpose I don’t know what I’m meant to do Where I’m meant to be I feel/see/hear things and wonder if it’s a calling But there’s nothing there Nothing that makes any sense. So I just go home. Cold. And lost.

0

Nov 6, 2018

Nov 6, 2018 at 5:41 PM UTC

matthew-james

Lost

The pointless emptiness of everything. I’m stood here in this field trying to feel, Trying to remember what it felt like to feel. Trying to feel my way around this field and follow my feet Follow my feet through the field to feel again I feel the wind blow and I follow I feel the dog pull and I follow Stumble and follow Follow my feet I look to the skies for direction This looks like a face... of a dog... if you squint and look at it funny That looks like a hand pointing ... but it’s pointing to nothing, nowhere, no one. There’s nobody there There nowhere to go except where I’ve already been Spent half a life looking and found nothing Nothing to tell me I’m on the right track Nothing to tell me that all of it - or any of it - had a purpose I don’t know what I’m meant to do Where I’m meant to be I feel/see/hear things and wonder if it’s a calling But there’s nothing there Nothing that makes any sense. So I just go home. Cold. And lost.

25

Matt... get up Not in an angry tone, but in that slightly disappointed tone that your mum uses. The tone I use to myself at times like this. Get up. But how shall I "get up"? Do I simply climb off this sofa and clean up that Lego my kids left? Seems so... basic... Or is this something else? Does "get up" mean I need to "get" something that's missing from me? And what is this "up" anyway? Up is higher, better, stronger, more positive, more productive, more useful, more, just ... more... more than I am. Scary thought being more than i am. Not because I have to do more than I am doing. Just because I haven't done it already. That I already wasted so much time when I could have been doing more. When I could have tidied up the Lego and be using this very time reflecting on a job well done. But the Lego is still sitting there. "It's not going to pick itself up." There it is again As I watch this Lego, still not picking itself up, I reflect on the lessons you learn from Lego. One brick at a time. Think outside the blocks. Create something great from small beginnings. Or, in the words of Clutch Powers "we build on each other". Valuable lessons, if I get up. Up. The opposite of down. The opposite of where I am on this sofa. Unless you consider my position relative to the ground. I'm not rock bottom. There are people starving in the world you know? No. I'm on a sofa. Looking at some Lego bricks. Which still haven't picked themselves up. Get up. Get UP. Up UP down? No up. Ugh Ok I'm up. At last! Now get dressed.

0

Jun 4, 2017

Jun 4, 2017 at 7:07 PM UTC

matthew-james

Matt... get up

Matt... get up Not in an angry tone, but in that slightly disappointed tone that your mum uses. The tone I use to myself at times like this. Get up. But how shall I "get up"? Do I simply climb off this sofa and clean up that Lego my kids left? Seems so... basic... Or is this something else? Does "get up" mean I need to "get" something that's missing from me? And what is this "up" anyway? Up is higher, better, stronger, more positive, more productive, more useful, more, just ... more... more than I am. Scary thought being more than i am. Not because I have to do more than I am doing. Just because I haven't done it already. That I already wasted so much time when I could have been doing more. When I could have tidied up the Lego and be using this very time reflecting on a job well done. But the Lego is still sitting there. "It's not going to pick itself up." There it is again As I watch this Lego, still not picking itself up, I reflect on the lessons you learn from Lego. One brick at a time. Think outside the blocks. Create something great from small beginnings. Or, in the words of Clutch Powers "we build on each other". Valuable lessons, if I get up. Up. The opposite of down. The opposite of where I am on this sofa. Unless you consider my position relative to the ground. I'm not rock bottom. There are people starving in the world you know? No. I'm on a sofa. Looking at some Lego bricks. Which still haven't picked themselves up. Get up. Get UP. Up UP down? No up. Ugh Ok I'm up. At last! Now get dressed.

30

He said to type into Google "why does school make me" Search results - Why does school make me... Sad Tired Depressed Cry Wanna die Educating the mind without the heart is no education at all. Aristotle The function of education is to teach one to think intensively and to think critically. Intelligence plus character - that is the goal of true education. Martin Luther King, Jr. Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world. Nelson Mandela Bright new buildings, Inspirational quotes, Like Aspire and achieve and dream and believe! Opportunity knocks? Opportunities missed. Opportunities lost. This new building, less like a blank canvas, More like a sterile factory. Sad, depressed, cry, wanna die Here's your target, here's your grade Here's the progress that you've made. Here's your number, here's your label, Here's the proof of what you're able. Step it up, you must try harder! Learn to be better from your face partner! Sad, depressed, cry, wanna die Here's a pen, this ones blue, For all the work you've got to do. Here's a pen this ones green, For all your errors are obscene. Here's a purple, this one's progress, For all the errors you've got to address. Here's a pen, this ones a sword. Stab your neighbour when you're bored. Sad, depressed, cry, wanna die "I wanna be a poet" But you can't back a laureate. "Art keeps me on the right path" But your pathway leads to double math. "I need music to understand my existence" You need a Humanity in your condition. Aspire to what we want. Achieve what we allow. Dream of a future where everyone's the same, And always believe in what we say. Sad, depressed, cry, wanna die Here's some music to calm you down. Now get up and move around. Give your partner a big high five, Lets show ofsted how you thrive. Catch the ball and answer this, Miss the ball, then take the **** "What a loser, you can't catch." Next time, you catch it. "Here's the question..." Loser didn't learn the lesson. "Next time learn it, do it better, You're an A grade, that's your letter" No more letters now a number. "I'm a person not a number!" "That's your third strike." Going under Sad, depressed, cry, wanna die Now you're out and down the PRU. "You didn't do what we told you to, Now we'll give you extra Art, Let's go out and race Go Karts" Not because "Every Child Matters" "Now your progress doesn't matter." Sad, depressed, cry, wanna die False. Fake. Fraud. Green for growth but no room to grow. Thinking time but no time to think. Forced reflection but no space to be. Safeguarding but never free. Every child matters? Every child... except you

0

Apr 1, 2017

Apr 1, 2017 at 4:25 AM UTC

matthew-james

Why does school make me?

He said to type into Google "why does school make me" Search results - Why does school make me... Sad Tired Depressed Cry Wanna die Educating the mind without the heart is no education at all. Aristotle The function of education is to teach one to think intensively and to think critically. Intelligence plus character - that is the goal of true education. Martin Luther King, Jr. Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world. Nelson Mandela Bright new buildings, Inspirational quotes, Like Aspire and achieve and dream and believe! Opportunity knocks? Opportunities missed. Opportunities lost. This new building, less like a blank canvas, More like a sterile factory. Sad, depressed, cry, wanna die Here's your target, here's your grade Here's the progress that you've made. Here's your number, here's your label, Here's the proof of what you're able. Step it up, you must try harder! Learn to be better from your face partner! Sad, depressed, cry, wanna die Here's a pen, this ones blue, For all the work you've got to do. Here's a pen this ones green, For all your errors are obscene. Here's a purple, this one's progress, For all the errors you've got to address. Here's a pen, this ones a sword. Stab your neighbour when you're bored. Sad, depressed, cry, wanna die "I wanna be a poet" But you can't back a laureate. "Art keeps me on the right path" But your pathway leads to double math. "I need music to understand my existence" You need a Humanity in your condition. Aspire to what we want. Achieve what we allow. Dream of a future where everyone's the same, And always believe in what we say. Sad, depressed, cry, wanna die Here's some music to calm you down. Now get up and move around. Give your partner a big high five, Lets show ofsted how you thrive. Catch the ball and answer this, Miss the ball, then take the **** "What a loser, you can't catch." Next time, you catch it. "Here's the question..." Loser didn't learn the lesson. "Next time learn it, do it better, You're an A grade, that's your letter" No more letters now a number. "I'm a person not a number!" "That's your third strike." Going under Sad, depressed, cry, wanna die Now you're out and down the PRU. "You didn't do what we told you to, Now we'll give you extra Art, Let's go out and race Go Karts" Not because "Every Child Matters" "Now your progress doesn't matter." Sad, depressed, cry, wanna die False. Fake. Fraud. Green for growth but no room to grow. Thinking time but no time to think. Forced reflection but no space to be. Safeguarding but never free. Every child matters? Every child... except you

76

Pin. Here's a pin. I know this pin is tiny, Much smaller than me, Inanimate, Not capable of moving without my help. I'm aware of all those things. I'm realistic. When I talk about the pin; When I hold the pin; When I show others the pin; When others hold the pin; I show my awareness, Outer calm, Rationality. This is just a pin. I show this because I'm afraid. Not just of the pin. (With its tiny but incredibly sharp point, that a person could place carelessly or deliberately so that it could pierce, several inches, into the soft part of my foot.) But also because of how foolish I will look, in front of you, when you know how much I am afraid of this ... One ... Tiny ... Pin. Instead, I tell you of the pin, of its dangers, of how I manage its dangers by being aware of the pin; By my knowledge of its sharp point; by the knowledge of how to put that pin away, so that I can not stumble upon that pin as it pierces into that vulnerable part of my skin. But I'm disorganised ... and in reality, when things are busy, I don't always have time to put away pins. I have bigger things to deal with, and... at the end of the day... I enter the room, aware of the pin, afraid of its sharp point. Focussed on the pin, On the pain it would bring, Were I to stand on it. I step close to the pin. How close can I get without that sharp pain? I want to live, Without being ruled by a pin. So shiny. So sharp. So small. So insignificant. So painful. Ouch! I'll put that pin away now so that nobody can see how much it hurts.

0

Mar 5, 2017

Mar 5, 2017 at 7:04 PM UTC

matthew-james

Pin. Here's a pin. I know this pin is tiny, Much smaller than me, Inanimate, Not capable of moving without my help. I'm aware of all those things. I'm realistic. When I talk about the pin; When I hold the pin; When I show others the pin; When others hold the pin; I show my awareness, Outer calm, Rationality. This is just a pin. I show this because I'm afraid. Not just of the pin. (With its tiny but incredibly sharp point, that a person could place carelessly or deliberately so that it could pierce, several inches, into the soft part of my foot.) But also because of how foolish I will look, in front of you, when you know how much I am afraid of this ... One ... Tiny ... Pin. Instead, I tell you of the pin, of its dangers, of how I manage its dangers by being aware of the pin; By my knowledge of its sharp point; by the knowledge of how to put that pin away, so that I can not stumble upon that pin as it pierces into that vulnerable part of my skin. But I'm disorganised ... and in reality, when things are busy, I don't always have time to put away pins. I have bigger things to deal with, and... at the end of the day... I enter the room, aware of the pin, afraid of its sharp point. Focussed on the pin, On the pain it would bring, Were I to stand on it. I step close to the pin. How close can I get without that sharp pain? I want to live, Without being ruled by a pin. So shiny. So sharp. So small. So insignificant. So painful. Ouch! I'll put that pin away now so that nobody can see how much it hurts.

44

This repetitious revery is fluffy and flowery but LOVE is REAL... It's formed by us and fitted to our forms. By us. But its form is defined and real. It may have started off as fluffy as the air we breathe, filled with light and butterflies. But now it's mostly solid. It fits to me and fits to you and it doesn't float away when you blow it. It has weight and substance. I think real love is a practical thing. Love is a miner, not an artist. It works hard. It grafts. It digs deep into you. It gets ***** but it keeps going. It's honest and straightforward but at the end of the day it still wants a cuppa 'n' a cuddle wi' its Mrs. Love does change. It grows... but like a bramble, not a rose. A rose gives up too easily. A bramble pushes through, even on hard ground. It works it's way into every nook and cranny until you feel totally loved. It may die back in a hard winter, but it always stays strong and true and bears enough fruit to make a good pie at the end of a hard day's graft down t' pit. Love is a feeling but it's more than that. It's knowing that when I'm a stress head, you're concerned but not stressed. It's knowing I make you smile. It's when you text me in a morning and say exactly what I say to you. It's that even though we're miles apart and haven't got a *** to **** in, we still make do It's when you watch me sleep... and don't complain about me snoring It's knowing you want tos duck me as much as I want to duck you And our kids... Our kids get along. I think yours are ace and my kids like you. But it's even more than that... I don't feel scared now. Not now I've got you love. Not now I've got you. Because I love you **

0

Feb 13, 2017

Feb 13, 2017 at 1:03 PM UTC

matthew-james

I love you isn't enough

This repetitious revery is fluffy and flowery but LOVE is REAL... It's formed by us and fitted to our forms. By us. But its form is defined and real. It may have started off as fluffy as the air we breathe, filled with light and butterflies. But now it's mostly solid. It fits to me and fits to you and it doesn't float away when you blow it. It has weight and substance. I think real love is a practical thing. Love is a miner, not an artist. It works hard. It grafts. It digs deep into you. It gets ***** but it keeps going. It's honest and straightforward but at the end of the day it still wants a cuppa 'n' a cuddle wi' its Mrs. Love does change. It grows... but like a bramble, not a rose. A rose gives up too easily. A bramble pushes through, even on hard ground. It works it's way into every nook and cranny until you feel totally loved. It may die back in a hard winter, but it always stays strong and true and bears enough fruit to make a good pie at the end of a hard day's graft down t' pit. Love is a feeling but it's more than that. It's knowing that when I'm a stress head, you're concerned but not stressed. It's knowing I make you smile. It's when you text me in a morning and say exactly what I say to you. It's that even though we're miles apart and haven't got a *** to **** in, we still make do It's when you watch me sleep... and don't complain about me snoring It's knowing you want tos duck me as much as I want to duck you And our kids... Our kids get along. I think yours are ace and my kids like you. But it's even more than that... I don't feel scared now. Not now I've got you love. Not now I've got you. Because I love you **

17

We're stood on a blacked out highway going to who knows where. A floodlight shines on a group of workmen in road, slow. A passive aggressive sign says "Slow, My Daddy works in here". Gaz, Frank and Jim are gathered under the floodlight. "That ****** lads dad never worked ere! That's bosses lad!" "Mmmm..." "Anyway, what's this hole for do you reckon? Gas? Telephone? Electric? Dead bodies? Haha!" "Hope not" "Hopeless more like! Why ARE we digging it anyway?" "We? I'm digging! You're just talking **** **** off Frank! What about owd Jim over there? Old ****** never does owt!" "Grunt" "Leave Jim alone! He's seen it all and done it all a million times! Poor guy must be knackered! If I still have to work at his age I'll ope you young uns gi mi some ****** respect!" "Respect?! ******** Who's getting respect ere?! Not me! I'm in the middle of nowhere at night digging an ole in a highway for god knows what reason!" "Look, Gaz, 'oles need to be dug. It's not our job to fill em. We just dig em up!" "Yeah, but don't you wonder why? Like, we seem to be diggin up constantly! Same ****** area of the same ****** highway! Dunt anyone plan it oot so thi can do it all in one go?! Water, cables, all of it?! Its like we're makin work for t sake on it!" "At least you've got ****** work! There used to be 20 odd of us on this stretch o road. Are you gonna dig or what?" "Keep yer air on frank! I'll ****** dig, but I'm only doin it for you!" "Well ****** me! I'm honoured! Shut up n dig will ya?" Scrape, heave, scrape, heave Sigh Scrape, heave, scrape... "Yer know what else...?" "Oh, for ***** sake!! What?!?" "These shovels are **** "You're **** "Nah mate! Look, handles are loose and shovel bit's weak as **** If you lift too much thi just bend! It's like thi want us to ave to work twice as ard for t same bleeding job!" "Well there's no worry o that wi you is there?! You lift ****** all!" "Whatever..." Heave, scrape, heave, scrape, heave ... crack!!! "Told you!" "Shut up smart **** "Don't ya get it though?! We're nowt t them lot! Thi just use us n **** on us! Wi dunt even kno' where this place is do we? We just get a lamp post number and go! Where does this ****** highway go?!" "Look, I don't give a **** I just want to dig this 'ole then go ome and watch some TV and maybe get a **** before bed! There's a ****** sign over there anyway..." Sign reads "He..." The rest of the sign is broken away, probably hit by a car. "Jim. Jim?! Jim!! ****** hell I think Jim's dea..." "Consarnid!! Thundering eejit!! I int banna be deed, tha ****** loony! I wor banna geet some shuteye! Tha lod banging on abaat ****** why thar ****** shovlin ***** Carnt tha led an owd bloke sleep?!!!" "Sorry Jim. Just worried mi for a minute there. Are ta alreet?" "Nah am nod! I wo avin a reet dree-um befoore tha wakened us! Megan ****** Fox wor sat o mi fay-us!" In unison - "Hahaha! Tha owd dog Jim!!" "Sorry Jim, It's Gaz, e's got more questions than a ****** 3 year owd!" "Shut up ya miserable get! Why do you reckon we're diggin this ole Jim? You've been doin it a long time." "Aye... I wor yer wen thi started fixint roo-uds. It wo differnt then. Thi gi'd us reet too-uls n ad t reet ideas. Thi jus wanid us to dig reet. Bud thi dint like us knowin moo-ur than them lod! S thi gid us ****** all n wi started wokin unner leets i t deark. Nah ****** con see us then. Thas askin t rong quetsion lad! Ids nod why aar wi diggin t oil! It's why aar wi doin id int deark?!" "Why are wi Jim?" "Because we're expe...." Beeeeeeeeeeeeep!!!! Thud!!! Vrooooommm!!! "Oy!!!! ****** "Es dead Frank! What the **** What the **** What the **** "What?!? Jim?!! Did tha get 'is number?" "What the **** What the **** What the **** "Gaz!!" "What the **** What the **** What the **** **** Gaz, yer reet! ****** this **** I'm not diggin any more! I'm off ome!" "F..f...fr.... FranFrank?" "What Gaz? That were ****** up Gaz!! Jims dead!" "B..b....bu... bury J..J..J..Jim" "Gaz, tha'll ave t do it tharself, I can't dig anymore. Sorry. Im calling t ambulance n goin ome. You should too! Bye Gaz. Good luck." "B..b....by... bye J..J..J..Jim..." Scrape, heave, scrape, heave, scrape, heave Slow. My Daddy works in he...

0

Jan 9, 2017

Jan 9, 2017 at 9:33 AM UTC

matthew-james

Black out

We're stood on a blacked out highway going to who knows where. A floodlight shines on a group of workmen in road, slow. A passive aggressive sign says "Slow, My Daddy works in here". Gaz, Frank and Jim are gathered under the floodlight. "That ****** lads dad never worked ere! That's bosses lad!" "Mmmm..." "Anyway, what's this hole for do you reckon? Gas? Telephone? Electric? Dead bodies? Haha!" "Hope not" "Hopeless more like! Why ARE we digging it anyway?" "We? I'm digging! You're just talking **** **** off Frank! What about owd Jim over there? Old ****** never does owt!" "Grunt" "Leave Jim alone! He's seen it all and done it all a million times! Poor guy must be knackered! If I still have to work at his age I'll ope you young uns gi mi some ****** respect!" "Respect?! ******** Who's getting respect ere?! Not me! I'm in the middle of nowhere at night digging an ole in a highway for god knows what reason!" "Look, Gaz, 'oles need to be dug. It's not our job to fill em. We just dig em up!" "Yeah, but don't you wonder why? Like, we seem to be diggin up constantly! Same ****** area of the same ****** highway! Dunt anyone plan it oot so thi can do it all in one go?! Water, cables, all of it?! Its like we're makin work for t sake on it!" "At least you've got ****** work! There used to be 20 odd of us on this stretch o road. Are you gonna dig or what?" "Keep yer air on frank! I'll ****** dig, but I'm only doin it for you!" "Well ****** me! I'm honoured! Shut up n dig will ya?" Scrape, heave, scrape, heave Sigh Scrape, heave, scrape... "Yer know what else...?" "Oh, for ***** sake!! What?!?" "These shovels are **** "You're **** "Nah mate! Look, handles are loose and shovel bit's weak as **** If you lift too much thi just bend! It's like thi want us to ave to work twice as ard for t same bleeding job!" "Well there's no worry o that wi you is there?! You lift ****** all!" "Whatever..." Heave, scrape, heave, scrape, heave ... crack!!! "Told you!" "Shut up smart **** "Don't ya get it though?! We're nowt t them lot! Thi just use us n **** on us! Wi dunt even kno' where this place is do we? We just get a lamp post number and go! Where does this ****** highway go?!" "Look, I don't give a **** I just want to dig this 'ole then go ome and watch some TV and maybe get a **** before bed! There's a ****** sign over there anyway..." Sign reads "He..." The rest of the sign is broken away, probably hit by a car. "Jim. Jim?! Jim!! ****** hell I think Jim's dea..." "Consarnid!! Thundering eejit!! I int banna be deed, tha ****** loony! I wor banna geet some shuteye! Tha lod banging on abaat ****** why thar ****** shovlin ***** Carnt tha led an owd bloke sleep?!!!" "Sorry Jim. Just worried mi for a minute there. Are ta alreet?" "Nah am nod! I wo avin a reet dree-um befoore tha wakened us! Megan ****** Fox wor sat o mi fay-us!" In unison - "Hahaha! Tha owd dog Jim!!" "Sorry Jim, It's Gaz, e's got more questions than a ****** 3 year owd!" "Shut up ya miserable get! Why do you reckon we're diggin this ole Jim? You've been doin it a long time." "Aye... I wor yer wen thi started fixint roo-uds. It wo differnt then. Thi gi'd us reet too-uls n ad t reet ideas. Thi jus wanid us to dig reet. Bud thi dint like us knowin moo-ur than them lod! S thi gid us ****** all n wi started wokin unner leets i t deark. Nah ****** con see us then. Thas askin t rong quetsion lad! Ids nod why aar wi diggin t oil! It's why aar wi doin id int deark?!" "Why are wi Jim?" "Because we're expe...." Beeeeeeeeeeeeep!!!! Thud!!! Vrooooommm!!! "Oy!!!! ****** "Es dead Frank! What the **** What the **** What the **** "What?!? Jim?!! Did tha get 'is number?" "What the **** What the **** What the **** "Gaz!!" "What the **** What the **** What the **** **** Gaz, yer reet! ****** this **** I'm not diggin any more! I'm off ome!" "F..f...fr.... FranFrank?" "What Gaz? That were ****** up Gaz!! Jims dead!" "B..b....bu... bury J..J..J..Jim" "Gaz, tha'll ave t do it tharself, I can't dig anymore. Sorry. Im calling t ambulance n goin ome. You should too! Bye Gaz. Good luck." "B..b....by... bye J..J..J..Jim..." Scrape, heave, scrape, heave, scrape, heave Slow. My Daddy works in he...

61

I I'm trying t' find my ID. I think I'm missing it. This thing, This bright, shining light, It's hiding in my blindsight. I'm swimming in mist, Trying t' find ... "I" First I'm living In my crib; Clinging wrists. Flitting my crib, I'm Shy Crying, whiny twit, missing bitty, With stinky kids, kicking kitty. I'm missing my crib. I'm piling thinking bricks with big kids. Slimy, smirking ***** hiss 'n' spit. I'm sitting still in ill-fitting shirts, shirking sight. Hiding might blind ****** kids crying, "It's billy!!! Skinny **** 'n' smiling in fits. "Try finding kind kids x" Finding "whys" in rising minds. My mind grinds. I'm kicking tins, spilling drinks. Sitting in IT, Sir chillingly insists "it isn't "fly" spilling drinks! "Shy" brings skills. "Why" brings ills." I'm still shy. This crib's tiny. Tiny minds, blind by bling. Fit chicks with big **** Thick ****** thinking with ***** I flit this Brit **** Brisk flight, I find "I" Simply shimmying "ir(o)n lik(e) li(o)n in zi(o)n". In Brit, I'm still shilling it, Finding thrill in it, Hiding 'til it lifts. I'm brisk fixing it, I'm hiding in drinks, Finishing in clink. Trying things, High by night, Slinking by, finding light. Thinking "this is it!! I'm in!" Tricky light. Light trick. Sight trick. Lying in my mind It's still **** Is it? His birth... This child is my kid! This brill kid! I'M in this kid! Big grin :D First kid is big kid, Mid kid is silly kid, Quickly hitch my Miss. Third kid. This kid, this girl is my girl. Brill kids! I bring my bling by flipping kids thinking bricks; Fixing bits in thinking ink; I'm finding it stinks. Kids drink slick skills. My mind chills with mind filling drills. Kids grinding, crying spills - "Sir, it's **** innit? With missing mining, missing mills, Im plying skills by filing bills." I'm plying skills with mind pills. Mrs "I" is criticising my id Im minding my Ps n Qs Biting my lip Fists tight, shifting slightly Slinking nightly This is **** Hit slight hitch Hit BIG hitch "'kin ***** I finish with my Mrs Kids split 'twixt cribs. Kids trips fix splits. Kiss lips *** "Night night x" "Light?" Click light. Right, "night!" I'm hiding my ills in girls. IT pimps, swiping right. Primp **** Minging swill. Fit chick. Swift flirt. Flirt, kiss, flirt, kiss. Big **** Tight slit. Milky spit. Wiping **** Hiding ***** sight in mind, I find it sticks. I drift Stick tight Fighting my plight Grin "It's 'right" Missing my crib My ID I'm finding my mind Sticking with it Fighting silly flirting **** Try finding inspiring sights My kids My crib My Inking My Writing My mind My eye I'm kind I'm "I"

0

Oct 28, 2016

Oct 28, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC

matthew-james

I

I I'm trying t' find my ID. I think I'm missing it. This thing, This bright, shining light, It's hiding in my blindsight. I'm swimming in mist, Trying t' find ... "I" First I'm living In my crib; Clinging wrists. Flitting my crib, I'm Shy Crying, whiny twit, missing bitty, With stinky kids, kicking kitty. I'm missing my crib. I'm piling thinking bricks with big kids. Slimy, smirking ***** hiss 'n' spit. I'm sitting still in ill-fitting shirts, shirking sight. Hiding might blind ****** kids crying, "It's billy!!! Skinny **** 'n' smiling in fits. "Try finding kind kids x" Finding "whys" in rising minds. My mind grinds. I'm kicking tins, spilling drinks. Sitting in IT, Sir chillingly insists "it isn't "fly" spilling drinks! "Shy" brings skills. "Why" brings ills." I'm still shy. This crib's tiny. Tiny minds, blind by bling. Fit chicks with big **** Thick ****** thinking with ***** I flit this Brit **** Brisk flight, I find "I" Simply shimmying "ir(o)n lik(e) li(o)n in zi(o)n". In Brit, I'm still shilling it, Finding thrill in it, Hiding 'til it lifts. I'm brisk fixing it, I'm hiding in drinks, Finishing in clink. Trying things, High by night, Slinking by, finding light. Thinking "this is it!! I'm in!" Tricky light. Light trick. Sight trick. Lying in my mind It's still **** Is it? His birth... This child is my kid! This brill kid! I'M in this kid! Big grin :D First kid is big kid, Mid kid is silly kid, Quickly hitch my Miss. Third kid. This kid, this girl is my girl. Brill kids! I bring my bling by flipping kids thinking bricks; Fixing bits in thinking ink; I'm finding it stinks. Kids drink slick skills. My mind chills with mind filling drills. Kids grinding, crying spills - "Sir, it's **** innit? With missing mining, missing mills, Im plying skills by filing bills." I'm plying skills with mind pills. Mrs "I" is criticising my id Im minding my Ps n Qs Biting my lip Fists tight, shifting slightly Slinking nightly This is **** Hit slight hitch Hit BIG hitch "'kin ***** I finish with my Mrs Kids split 'twixt cribs. Kids trips fix splits. Kiss lips *** "Night night x" "Light?" Click light. Right, "night!" I'm hiding my ills in girls. IT pimps, swiping right. Primp **** Minging swill. Fit chick. Swift flirt. Flirt, kiss, flirt, kiss. Big **** Tight slit. Milky spit. Wiping **** Hiding ***** sight in mind, I find it sticks. I drift Stick tight Fighting my plight Grin "It's 'right" Missing my crib My ID I'm finding my mind Sticking with it Fighting silly flirting **** Try finding inspiring sights My kids My crib My Inking My Writing My mind My eye I'm kind I'm "I"

119

Nothing's left but it's alright Have a voice Give an opinion Express yourself Lay yourself bare I'll tell you a story of a boy His family are farmers - conservatives At the bottom of the lane, the pub used to burn a cross on bonfire night. It held the letters KWW - Keep Waterside White His Grandma is agoraphobic, xenophobic and racist who told him in no uncertain terms not to marry a black girl Before he passed away, his grandad would shoot at people searching for magic mushrooms on their land His father liked Thatcher, criticised the miners and the unions and was a casual homophobe His mother judges women by appearance and thinks Nigel Farage is a decent bloke. Her place is in the home. His brother works for the police His sister rides horses One uncle is a millionaire and CEO The other believes that mental illness does not exist and its treatment is dangerous The boy is christened, confirmed, went to an all white, Christian primary school and predominantly white, Christian secondary school. He left secondary school and college with no qualifications through the arts. Only the important subjects. There is another story about this boy but for now we will look only at these facts. It may create an image in your mind It would be easy to condemn this story Sure enough it was condemned By those who held the moral right Opinions stronger than people The boy grew fearful of people Tried to hide his story Became silent Shut off from the world Thought of the ways he could end the pain Sought to become a different person To deny his past Outwardly this worked Inwardly... People believed the moral of the story was that he had overcome They missed the point Inwardly... Sometimes, the majority ... Can feel like the minority If I said all of that, could I still express myself? Would you listen? Or would I be condemned?

0

Aug 19, 2016

Aug 19, 2016 at 7:38 AM UTC

matthew-james

Nothing's Left but it's Alright

Nothing's left but it's alright Have a voice Give an opinion Express yourself Lay yourself bare I'll tell you a story of a boy His family are farmers - conservatives At the bottom of the lane, the pub used to burn a cross on bonfire night. It held the letters KWW - Keep Waterside White His Grandma is agoraphobic, xenophobic and racist who told him in no uncertain terms not to marry a black girl Before he passed away, his grandad would shoot at people searching for magic mushrooms on their land His father liked Thatcher, criticised the miners and the unions and was a casual homophobe His mother judges women by appearance and thinks Nigel Farage is a decent bloke. Her place is in the home. His brother works for the police His sister rides horses One uncle is a millionaire and CEO The other believes that mental illness does not exist and its treatment is dangerous The boy is christened, confirmed, went to an all white, Christian primary school and predominantly white, Christian secondary school. He left secondary school and college with no qualifications through the arts. Only the important subjects. There is another story about this boy but for now we will look only at these facts. It may create an image in your mind It would be easy to condemn this story Sure enough it was condemned By those who held the moral right Opinions stronger than people The boy grew fearful of people Tried to hide his story Became silent Shut off from the world Thought of the ways he could end the pain Sought to become a different person To deny his past Outwardly this worked Inwardly... People believed the moral of the story was that he had overcome They missed the point Inwardly... Sometimes, the majority ... Can feel like the minority If I said all of that, could I still express myself? Would you listen? Or would I be condemned?

39

Who is this man dressed in a box who comes to me at night to unwrap and unravel the trappings of his day? His manner is pleasant. He is welcomed here. But why does he come this distance to offer me notification of such things? Things like the moon and stars that are shining. I can see the stars. I know they shine. They are beautiful and I share his love for them. He will ask me why they shine on us both when we traverse such distant paths. I answer that I do not know, we each have our path. His is by the sea and mine the fire. Sometimes he offers to help me rebuild this fire of mine. Or at least to praise me for continuing to stoke it's flames. For the warmth it creates. With my calm. My logic. Then he checks on the moon and the stars and asks me if they moved. But our paths remain. Other days he will share his tales of the sea. Show me his sketches of birds made of octopus ink. How the Dolphins played. The words he passed to the sirens. And the things he would do if I were his siren!! "My fire would burn if you did that!!" We laugh. He asks if the stars moved. I wish to answer... Alas I cannot control the stars. He jokes once more about the sirens and passes out to sea...To see. All at sea. His deep, calm sea. Sometimes he just waits. He is quiet, but the conversation and questions hang all around him like stars. I wish to ask, but know I have no answers. I maintain my fire. So he waits. Until 'You are... Special... Little star Your fire has shone on me and lit my core in ways you can never know. Yet I fear that this fire is not for me. I fear that without my own fire ...' He turns and walks away... 'It's hard to build a fire at sea. When you sleep, I can't hear you breathing... Because you aren't there. Do you think tomorrow the stars will move?' I wish upon a star that I had an answer.

0

Aug 16, 2016

Aug 16, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC

matthew-james

Seeing Stars

Who is this man dressed in a box who comes to me at night to unwrap and unravel the trappings of his day? His manner is pleasant. He is welcomed here. But why does he come this distance to offer me notification of such things? Things like the moon and stars that are shining. I can see the stars. I know they shine. They are beautiful and I share his love for them. He will ask me why they shine on us both when we traverse such distant paths. I answer that I do not know, we each have our path. His is by the sea and mine the fire. Sometimes he offers to help me rebuild this fire of mine. Or at least to praise me for continuing to stoke it's flames. For the warmth it creates. With my calm. My logic. Then he checks on the moon and the stars and asks me if they moved. But our paths remain. Other days he will share his tales of the sea. Show me his sketches of birds made of octopus ink. How the Dolphins played. The words he passed to the sirens. And the things he would do if I were his siren!! "My fire would burn if you did that!!" We laugh. He asks if the stars moved. I wish to answer... Alas I cannot control the stars. He jokes once more about the sirens and passes out to sea...To see. All at sea. His deep, calm sea. Sometimes he just waits. He is quiet, but the conversation and questions hang all around him like stars. I wish to ask, but know I have no answers. I maintain my fire. So he waits. Until 'You are... Special... Little star Your fire has shone on me and lit my core in ways you can never know. Yet I fear that this fire is not for me. I fear that without my own fire ...' He turns and walks away... 'It's hard to build a fire at sea. When you sleep, I can't hear you breathing... Because you aren't there. Do you think tomorrow the stars will move?' I wish upon a star that I had an answer.

20

Decisions decisions The butcher chose to remove the tail first today He was a teller of tails. He once told of a tail so long that he had to chop it with a French curving blade The one he bought from Trevor down by the market. Next the butcher decided to remove the left ventricle "My mother always said I should have been a surgeon" he lamented but she was a heartless old cow, unlike this old cow. He removed the ventricle. Next came it's walking boots Leather boots... Ironic These boots were made for walking, but where to? Away... Just away. Finally he decided to take the cows head, and in its eyes he saw his reflection, covered in blood, tired, rough. Doing things some people would detest him for. He looked at that man and thought to himself "Is this what I want to be? Is this all that I am?" The question hung in the air with the smell of raw beef. And he smiled and said, "This is what I am. I'm happy with this." And he hung the meat in the window to show his craft.

0

Aug 15, 2016

Aug 15, 2016 at 5:39 AM UTC

matthew-james

The Butchers Decision

Decisions decisions The butcher chose to remove the tail first today He was a teller of tails. He once told of a tail so long that he had to chop it with a French curving blade The one he bought from Trevor down by the market. Next the butcher decided to remove the left ventricle "My mother always said I should have been a surgeon" he lamented but she was a heartless old cow, unlike this old cow. He removed the ventricle. Next came it's walking boots Leather boots... Ironic These boots were made for walking, but where to? Away... Just away. Finally he decided to take the cows head, and in its eyes he saw his reflection, covered in blood, tired, rough. Doing things some people would detest him for. He looked at that man and thought to himself "Is this what I want to be? Is this all that I am?" The question hung in the air with the smell of raw beef. And he smiled and said, "This is what I am. I'm happy with this." And he hung the meat in the window to show his craft.

28