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  Aug 2017 Leory Santana dawn
ry
'Love is a drug'
it's a bit cliche at this point but its true
not in the sense of addiction or how harmful it can be
but in the sense of its effects
love changes people and it changes each one of us differently
for some, they become suave people with immense charms
for others, they become bumbling awkward masses that are plagued with a mentality and drive that makes them try too hard
it can slow you down
make you hyper aware
fill up every bit of you
from your toes to your hair
Love is a drug
it can make you do or think or say things you never thought you could
it's an oxymoron that turns you into everything you never were
it's every color and sound and feeling; it's everything at once
it's pure, it's evil, it hollows you out as it fills you up and gives the deepest sense of pleasure as it kills you and eats you from the inside out
Love is a beautiful thing, some might say life's greatest creation
maybe this is true, maybe it isn't but be careful
because its beauty makes so shockingly easy to overdose on when you're in it
sometimes love is a science and love songs are the equations
(michigan - brockhampton, bad religion - frank ocean, supermodel - sza)
Currently we judge,
Looking at angles to win
Just to please your own mind.

We throw insults and we fight,
We ignite fuel to our fingers
Tapping away like it's a race for popularity.

The world spins and spins,
Yet nothing really changes
Because we just keep spinning.

But it's as if we have weaved
Ourselves into a ditch of
Despairing linear paths.

As we watch, we listen, we observe
And try to become something else,
Something we're not supposed to be.

Just to let everyone know
That you watch the same things,
That you do the same things.

But then after it all we realise
As we grow older and as we mature,
We merely did nothing for ourselves.

We just followed the same road,
We followed the same destiny
And we lose ourselves in our journey.

At the end of it all we start to notice
We have taken the wrong path,
And the other roads are too far away.

So we turn into the side-roads,
Which lead to nothing but plagued floors
Broken doors and empty souls.

Mobiles have taken love out of ***,
Generations have missed out
How it feels to actually be connected.

You make love and your phone rings,
People stop to answer like your moments
Aren't precious enough with loved ones.

We eat meals at restaurants
With our families and friends,
All I see is arched necks and fiery fingers.

I wish I was in a time when we spoke
To one another about our days,
Not about a video that has gone viral.

I wish that as I grow and my children
Will walk amongst the earth I have,
It won't **** them into inevitable fates.

I don't want them to be another
White sheep hopping the same fence,
Like the rest of this miserable world.

Systems have taken individualism
Out of individuals and get labelled weird,
They give us titles like "OCD, ADHD".

I'm not either, and I don't actually have
A label to my name, yet I feel I should
I feel why shouldn't I?

After all I like to think different,
I like to think one day we will see
The clear glass in front of us.

But most of all, I truly hope one day,
We can become a better world
Instead of repetition in characters.
Just some quick thoughts I had on my brain. But this type of thing doesn't get spoken about enough. This may "offend" some, but I only speak in truths. My heart can only love so much until it gets stretched beyond its limit.
~for Catherine, the guilty one!~*

do not be shocked,
'tis a truth of mine,
after all are you not one of
my ten thousands muses?

our magnetized vulnerability is our lodestone,
of what use is a single field
without a mutual attraction,
a living opposite to attract?

your writ ready and reserved
you need only ask,
some a nouveau Beaujolais,
some deep in the cellar aging well,
but first, need to know,
do you prefer your
apple pie poem
hot or cold,
a la mode?

recall my disclaimer:
anything you have said herein,
can and will be used in a poem,
my muses...




<•>
10:30am
Where coyotes run and bobcats prowl,
back in the woods hear the growl,
enough to scare most people away,
but this is where I love to play.

Far from city lights and people sounds,
steel and concrete no longer surrounds,
nothing out here but trees and deer,
I'll just kick back and drink a beer.

Cooler in the shade under a tree,
dressed in camo wild and free,
roaming down where the creek runs,
watching for snakes and shooting guns.

Chopping down wood for a campfire,
picking it up avoiding green brier,
thorns so sharp they'll tear your shirt,
the crows start singing in concert.

Far from city lights and people sounds,
steel and concrete no longer surrounds,
nothing out here but trees and deer,
I'll just kick back and drink a beer.

Later on when the stars appear,
up above me the sky is clear,
the fire crackles and pops out a song,
completely relaxed where I belong.

Hanging in my hammock hear the creek talk,
in the distance, screams the night hawk,
closing my eyes and drifting to sleep,
no need to pray for my soul to keep.

Far from city lights and people sounds,
steel and concrete no longer surrounds,
nothing out here but trees and deer,
I'll just kick back and drink a beer.

Way out in the woods, nobody here,
no better place to just drink a beer.
I wish they understood how I see the world
I wish I understood how the world sees me
I wish they knew how hard it is sometimes to smile
I wish I knew why I smile no matter how hard it sometimes is
I wish they could feel the joy and peace so real
I wish I could feel ever full of passion and zeal
I wish they heard the cries of the poor and unspoken
I wish I could give the voiceless and unspoken a way to be heard
I wish they wanted to provide and care for the least
I wish I could provide and care so the least feel wanted
I wish I could do for for the world what I can do for one person
I with the world could do for one person what one person wants to do for it
Written in Adoration at St. Patrick's Catholic Church on Wednesday
  Aug 2017 Leory Santana dawn
Kevin
Mystery of the vanishing hills along the old silk routes.
near unused spirit houses i saw a church.
at my feet i noticed the minor compartments lie in
where the Spanish rancheros once lived and worked.

Golden fleece of dixie,
beyond wind shaped cypress trees of giants and dwarfs
aquamarine water gently washes, trapped by falling tide,
a herd of whales meets death ashore

bishops had thrown out all the devils,
man with ginger colored hair and chocolate skin,
decorated with intricate tattoos
from high in the air on the island
i crossed a channel to another part

oh yes, the spirit houses remain
but hiking trails lead to streams
valley in a winter mood; photograph
the wrinkled and gently contoured mountains

for four days we wandered
monks hope the disillusioned, skeleton of the ox.
somebody knew, i was coming.
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