Why do all my poems sound like a cry for help?
Like iam so desperate for someone to come and save me
Is that normal
Or have I become abnormal?

Times are tough
Life in the rough
Doors are closed
Go to your core

Biggest enemy
Lies within the personality
Core one of rigidity
Cause of all the difficulty

Resistance to opposition
Strengthens your weakness
Followed by immature decisions
Complicates the equations


Survival of the fittest
Is not the strongest
Definitely not the smartest
Its time tested

Flexibility is the key
Unlock the doors of opportunity
You are your own enemy
Blocking your own prosperity

Mind being restless
Decisions naturally reckless
Stops self progress
At your own doorstep

Be one with contradiction
Solution lies within
Softer you are
Harder to break

Flow with it
In harmony with
Take from it
No more a bottom less pit

Limits put on you
Are only by you
In tune with the limits
Then there are no limits

Come to desist
Anything the ego resists
The weight of its baggage
Cup full of garbage

Lighter the mind
Receptive and kind
Emotional fulfillment
Life led to heart's content

Learn to flow
With the highs and lows
Everything within reach
Softer you are easier to breach

the
cause of atrophy,
government policy.

and about the football
yeah!
what about the football?

did England deserve to win,
did Italy?
and now
someone's telling me
to
put a sock in it
probably
a disgruntled fan.

I think Jesus had a hand in it
and
God put ten grand on it
oh! man did it
****
but
the best of luck to Italy
next time
we'll win.

I met a woman
brutal in her mercy.

Her embrace was a clinch
to prevent hard blows.
She pulled me close to push me away.
Seeing my nakedness
she leant me a dream
of chainmail and shield.
Taking love from me she gave a reprieve
to a mind resigned to the slow death of feeling.

Ignoring my words she heard
my faint silent heartbeat and
understood that it was music
too quiet for the world to hear
and turned it up louder
than I could stand.
I wept in my deafness
as she danced.

every line that I say would be the words
of the man they wanted to see,
hung on the wall in a golden frame.
I was on the edge of the precipice—
but it was you I accidentally dragged with
because the minute we kiss,
I can feel the tip of my tongue
bleeding from the pain of a bliss.