i dream of you most perfect girl
intelligent and patient eyes
with legs caressable as clay
world-weary and naive in turns
sharp of tongue yet never lies
nor turns a starving heart away

most perfect girl in dreams you'd be
so strong and joyful to submit
your nature suits duality
enjoys your wicked, smiles your wit

one whose soul outshines the sun
and darker than obsidian
i pray to be when i am done
one most unworthy perfect man

I have been taught
by those much wiser
and more experienced
that if I am disturbed,
I have in some way
caused the disturbance.
Whether by ignorance
or inaction,
intent or mistake.
I am responsible
for the actions
I take; no one
can "make me"
do or feel anything.

Practice does not make perfect;
practice makes permanent.
Be ****** careful, then,
what you practice.

I'm not a perfect person
I still have rough-edged vice
Although I've sought and I've been bought
By the Lord Jesus Christ

On my last poetry venue
I was sure a geek
I made many enemies
On the website Poetfreak

I was green as new-mown grass
On the internet
I also dropped my med therapy
Was as crazy as it gets

I posted several poems
Of suicidal bent
Not one person commented
Not one message sent

So I said I was in hospital
For suicidal thoughts
I even had an alias
Who said that I was caught

In a cycle of depression
That I needed help
I needed people loving me
Yes. I did this in stealth

Then I felt so guilty
That shame had so much clout
I posted an exposé of what I'd done
So the truth would come out

Most people were quite good and kind
They understood my pain
But some were mean and hateful
And my guilt remained

So I made another alias
His name was Steelrelease
I wanted for to be a man
So I'd have respect at least

And boy did that become the case!
You know how males are
They respect their stronger ***
It looked like I'd go far

But there were flies in that ointment
As it did ensue
I became so popular
The women liked me TOO!

I met a little teenager
Who was suicidal
A little waif of a girl
And I could not be idle

And so I befriended her
I had her full respect
I should have known the outcome
Due to my male ***

When I did discover
What she began to feel
I could no longer lie to her
And so the truth revealed

Again some stayed by me
For they understood
But others were quite vicious
In that poetic neighborhood

I knew that I would never have
Chances to write free
So I made up other avatars
Other people I could be

Again and again I was found out
And I became blamed
There was a poet "Lucifer"
Who thought I should be shamed

He made several postings
Detailing my sins
Had many of his own
But poets he did win

Though I was repentant
He hounded me no end
I tried to get away from him
But he posted again

Then all of a sudden
Some ****** SPAM APPEARED!
Under my own avatar
It was very weird!

Somebody had hacked me
And posted that foul spam!
I know I didn't post it
FOR I KNOW WHO I AM!

I guess it didn't matter
That I posted again
That I had not done it
But that poem did not trend
It really mattered not
I tried to make amends

I had written poems
For poets on that site
No less than 50 people
Got a special write

I did not do that out of guilt
For I found that I enjoyed
The gratitude of people
From my work so employed

In the end I left Poetfreak
For he kept up his stuff
Lucifer was ruthless
And I had had enough.

So that is my story
I have now come clean
Some folks are unforgiving
Some folks are downright mean.

But I was in the wrong, you see
So they still laid claim
To my very character
They still rail and blame

Here on this good website
I'm friend to age and youth
I don't do what I did before
And I tell the truth

But you all know that there is talk
By a crazy one
That I still have aliases
In many minds has won

I don't support this person
But neither do I blame
He is bold and he's a troll
But he's totally insane.

Please forgive me people
I want for you to know
Now I am quite honest
Wherever I go

I am a minded writer
And I am a part
Of the HP community
And I have a HEART!

So can you have compassion?
I want for you to see
I have a arranged to be so changed

Please folks. Forgive me.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 7/8/2016

He’s a spoiled rich kid
In the land of the one percent.
He feels no remorse for
Those who can’t pay their rent.
He’s popular with fools
And a bunch of toothless boozers
All the while laughing
And calling them all losers.

The favorite son of the GOP
Says nothing with specificity.
He just makes vague promises
He has no idea what his platform is.
He only knows if he stirs up hate
He will win certain delegates.

He won’t be held to the fire
Half-truths work for him just fine.
He’d prefer you not inquire.
Nobody makes him toe the line.
He is paraphrasing fascism
Like he’s the one who invented it.
It’s like Germany in 1930s
They could have easily prevented it.

The favorite son of the GOP
Says nothing with specificity.
He just makes vague promises
He has no idea what his platform is.
He only knows if he stirs up hate
He will win certain delegates.

Here’s the way to make it
Work the best for a new dictatorship.
You take the populace along
On your traveling one-man ego trip
After your party has published
Scurrilous big lies about the opposition
Then spread a lot more rumors
Which gives the voters their ammunition.

The favorite son of the GOP
Says nothing with specificity.
He just makes vague promises
He has no idea what his platform is.
He only knows if he stirs up hate
He will win certain delegates.

I want back what I have lost.
To be whole once more,
To find the piece that fits.
I can't feel much;
But what I can,
Is just enough
To get up again.
The hope that tomorrow,
I'll find someone new,
To help me place the pieces;
To show me love again

One need only look to the four winds
to find four frowns;
eight sad eyes
straining to see
through stained glass tears.
The man said "I die daily" but
he didn't have a constant stream of
status updates
to maintain.
I define myself daily.
Being special has
thus far
not protected me from
the unbearable weight
of today.
All of the analog cigarettes and
old fashioned daydreams
in the world
cannot save me now.
If I'm not seen
am I really here?
Heavy hearts and weary heads
reside respectively in the chests and on the necks
of everyone I encounter.
The gas station attendant
feels empty and
is bereft of a sense of irony.
The world ends
not with bang OR whimper,
but
with a deep and baleful sigh...
with a deep and baleful sigh...
with a deep and baleful...