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I've been planting the seeds
To terminate the machines
That make you believe
That you can turn hatred and greed

To proceeds

For keeping the future
rich and pristine
For your seeds

Just to grow fruit
that spoil on your leaves

Things we sense in vision
Intentions we won't speak

Spending time demented on things
We don't need
Making a commitment or promise
And don't keep

Everyone is falling
So we have to go DEEP
 Oct 2014 Ezra the Poet
Ashley
these stubborn lungs
just won't give it up
dandelions, clovers, rabbit's foot
for luck
i've been trying my hardest
not to aim too high,
to shoot for the buildings, not
the petulant sky
wide eyes, open heart
concave hopes, brand new
start
aching and craving
thundering worlds anew
awoken to beauty
among a faithful few
So, this poem is getting published... surreal.
Until today(though not as often),
in my world, I can 'hear' the mocks of people, even from animals.
When I mess up on a small thing while helping someone,
it's like I can sense that they're making fun of me in their heads.
How I can't do things right, or how maybe I do it differently.
When I'm walking alone,
I can 'hear' the mocks of people, judging on what I wear or how I walk.
When I encounter a cat on my way, I can see it starting at me. Mocking me the way  how I notice its existence. It thinks I'm stupid.
Then again, that's what cats DO. It's a full time job of theirs.
Even with friends, I can sense their mocks of people, gossiping of the way we behave or dress.
In the end,
once I've been mocked,
I'm alone in the end,
as a subconscious laughing-stalk to the eyes of others.
I believe that we all need help, and an aid from a therapist.
v.v
#firstworldproblems
 Oct 2014 Ezra the Poet
Katie
your slim volume taunts me
i am all flabby with words that wind
a convoluted sentiment
a never-ending pitch and bubble
of adjectives that collect around the waist
sag themselves down
to collect at my feet

and your spine is pin thin
straight. i am petrified at the sight
of your delicate sonnets
resting like slender wrists
that taper down to the profession of words
every word a counted fibre, lean
while i bulk up and on and become
obscene
burn
burn
burn me
on fire
hold your match up to me
as the flames lick me
inhale smoke
I feel lighter
I'm so done.
Take me to the snow
monkeys in the hot springs
of northern Japan.
Let me hold one as she combs
the water by my back over
and over.
I’ll note each snowflake
that settles on her fur
and i’ll really
be––

Let me get lost
somewhere near ocean.
I want to ask the wandering albatross
where to go.

Maybe when the trees float unsuspended
I can sit atop a mountain goat and
finally stop thinking.
We'll watch the morning sun
clear the fog.

(from the time my mother dressed
me, my little legs drumming the
air. From the time I stepped on
to the yellow schoolbus
and waved to my parents
goodbye;) They knew that one
day, I’d learn to break out of my body
and fly into the starry night.
He tried to find it between her legs,
he tried to find it on the news,
he tried to find it in yoga poses,
but he found it with the blues.
c
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