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Hop
.
(20 minute poetry)

What gives that we lack when we fall through the crack and I drop through the mirror again?

It must be he that I see stood back from the crack, the mirror just laughs or could that be me, each imperfection is magnified and the reflection dare I say it is sanctified or should that be mortified?

So I pick at it
kick at it
I am
altogether sick of it.

And if I squint at it or
add a tint or a hint of a smile to it,
It mocks me and
takes the ****'

It's level one,
out with the toe hold
and put a beveled edge
on it,
time to be bold.

Secret committees to squander,
the crack in which through falling I wander.
It doesn't make sense to me either
neither to you I suspect,
But
that's what gives when we
lack turn our back on the pack and introduce a joker to the deck.

So I pick at it
kick at it
I am
altogether sick of it.
And if I squint at it or
add a tint or a hint of a smile to it,
It mocks me and
takes the ****'
It's level one,
out with the toe hold
and put a beveled edge
on it,
time to be bold.
Secret committees to squander,
the crack in which through falling I wander.
It doesn't make sense to me either
neither to you I suspect,
But
that's what gives when we
lack turn our back on the pack and introduce a joker to the deck.
Head bent, thoughts cramped, doing
the motions again and again and one
more time, I heard a car honk, and a
guy yellin' somethin' in Italian  at some poor
old lady, who wanted to drive slow,
and take it easy, now that she'd done
all she wanted to do, and seen all she
wanted to see. I looked up at the clock,
saw that it was five fifteen, and I knew that my
boss would have a fit, and probably lay
me off, if I left now, but after givin' the
matter some careful thought, I decided I
just didn't give a ****. I walked out,
slammin' doors as I went, and walkin'
with a long stride that wasn't permitted
in the building, on account of all the noise
it made, which bothered all those good
christian folks, who wanted to slave away
the best part of their lives, working for a
**** boss, doing a meaningless job, all to
put money in the fat mans pocket. May
be, I thought, all that noise might wake em
up. I slammed open the front doors, and broke
flat out into a dead run towards where that ****
Italian guy was still giving that old lady trouble
and lookin' to be enjoying it too. I stopped beside
the guys car, and, seein' that it was a convertible,
I just reached in, grabbed him by his shirt cuffs,
and just yanked him right out of it. It was
some pretty slow movin' traffic anyways. I
lifted him up, so that his face was right about
level with mine, and I said to him,"Buddy, I don't
wanna hear anymore of this **** from you,
ya got me? She's an Old lady just trying to
get home in her own good time, and if I hear
anymore about you harassing those as make you a little
late, well there's lots more where this came from."
After that I proceeded to give him a beating
I don't think he was likely to forget in a hurry.
He was a pretty big guy, but I guess all the stress
of the job must have got to me, because after a
few hits to the jaw he just went limp and just took
it. When I was done I went over to the Old lady,
who was just standin' there stock still, I guess from
the shock of seeing a little guy like me take on
a big guy like him and coming out on top. I wiped the
blood from my split knuckles off on my shirt tails
and asked the Old lady what her name was, and if I
could do anything for her. "Marianne" she said, and
she said that if I really didn't have anything better
to do I could take her home, if I knew a faster way to
get there. It was a simpler time back then I guess, and
folks were a lot more trusting back then. I told her I
could get her out of town and out into the suburbs in about
the time it'd take her to say "Jack Robinson" fast, if that
was where she was heading, and she said that
sounded just fine. I took her to my car and opened
the door for her, and then I got in and we took off.
On the way she thanked me for givin' that guy who
was yelling at her what was comin' to him, and I
said it was my pleasure. When we got to the suburbs
I dropped her off at the address she told me, and told
her to take care of herself. She told me she would.
Then she hugged me, and told me her house was
always open to me, and I thanked her kindly, but I
told her I probably wasn't going to impose on
her hospitality just yet, seein' as I was going on a
little trip and wouldn't be back in a while. She said
she understood, and kissed me on the cheek before
turning away and going inside, and I watched her until
her big yellow front door slid shut with a click.
I stood there for awhile, and then I turned and got
back into my car and drove away, off into the sunset,
just like they do in those old westerns. And I laughed
loud and long as I drove away into that shining golden sunset.
And if that isn't the best, most prefect ending to a
day that started off as dreary as you can ever imagine, then
I don't know what is.
Trying out a new style, tell me what you think.
 Jan 2016 Sethnicity
The Jolteon
When you think what you see
Is wrong and not meant to be
When you think what you feel
Is wrong and done stupidly
When you think your hair
Is not the way its supposed to be
When you think your eyes
Are the wrong shape making you funny
When you look at your skin
And question its color
When someone calls you one thing
But you know youre another
When someone calls you an other
And you know it hurts
When youre in a room
And you feel like youre alone
When you apply for a job
And know why youre ignored
When you try and find your place
But find theres no place for you
 Jan 2016 Sethnicity
Maya Angelou
A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.
I've always been afraid to be ******
Never wanted to be a raging hormonal beast
Loving her parts but not her whole
Perverse thoughts staining my soul

But wanting her skin AND mind is fine
An appreciation that ages like wine
Thinking of your body while feeling your light
Wanting to make love then hold you tight

To please is to love
Learned that from above
Your comfort is a priority
*** is wanted but part of the minority

No scheme or plan
Coming before you a bare man
Offering the radiant tangible feelings in my hand
Fighting to stay when other ran

Drowning in the depth of her essence
Overcome by your totality
Unable to exist with you in reality
Hence why he's the latest fatality

But I'm here on demand
Trust me, I'm your biggest fan
Don't worry, it'll be alright
I'll be here when you greet the morning light
A very personal poem that explains my anxiety around women who are beautiful. Inside and out.
 Jan 2016 Sethnicity
m i a
dear future lover,

please know that i'll forever be immature

i'm pretty good at literature

oh, and i'm a lover of nature

and i love finding the cure for boredom.

so ta-dum!

with love,
h
e
   r.
ooooO future lover, this is going to be a daily thing i actually like writing it. c: <3
Try then fail, then try once again. Repeat and alter just slightly from the first time. Become frustrated then break through the problem. Solve one puzzle and discover another. Go back to the beginning, then return to the middle, before deciding that the end is actually the beginning after all. Such is the path of discovery, such is the way of life. Mistakes and reversals, trial and error. This is what makes discovery a journey unto itself.
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