we are bound by crepe paper chains
and fooled into thinking they're steel.
and we allow these things to hold us back,
and prevent us from really knowing how to feel.
happiness is in the distance
when it could be at our feet.
we struggle with these paper chains,
then foolishly face defeat.
our personal view is distorted,
with a vision so blind to our light.
we constantly live with a beauty unseen,
keeping our souls from taking flight.
whenever we try to stay built
we end up being nothing but broken.
bottled up, these feelings burn the mind,
but we keep them with struggles unspoken.

****** up your dissonance,

(your discontent, your dissent,)

hold it to your breast like a child,

hold your truth to be

(self-evident)

though they will ignore it.

Your passivity is here, some

days and they will mock you.

Let it be,

let yourself stand for that ultimate,

for that good

that you know is riddled with

the newsworthy “bad intentions” or

“ungodliness.”

Shelter your cooing,

let the body see, let the people see

humanity

as it is

will care for what it can.

Some have hearts as vast as oceans.

Some hold all of space.

Others carry with them a tiny ceramic vessel,

or the eye of a needle,

or a small brass bowl.

They can only love

so much.

Carry the weight, if it matters.

Carry that ****, that ****, that bristling anger.

Snake it where it matters.

Show them.

You don’t have to forgive them,

(maybe you should)

but

show them.

When she entered the room, it was the same way a song gets stuck in your head.
Dressed like a new born nebula, blooming from a blossom few saw flourish.
She wore a gown the hue of Heart-Break and Deepest Desire.
It looked a lot like Comfortable Misery.
The same Comfortable Misery she slid over her skin, day out, day in.
But the rhythm to which she moved was Romance.
She looked like every valentine card ever bought but never sent, lost chance.
She never had a secret admirer, only the secrets.
Never sent is never seen but if you could’ve known what it would've been if she'd been able to dance barefoot without stepping on shards of her broken heart.
Each piece a jagged reminder of another side-winder hidden in the sands of days gone by.
She promised herself just one night she wont cry, one night that she'll close her eyes and finally realize
She's beautiful.
Realize that she's spinning to the music played by Dreams and dancing in the darkness of Destiny is all she’ll ever need.
If she slow danced to one more moment, she can preserve it, hold it,
until the times when she forgets how much she meant to me.
She'll remember the song, and the grace, bringing her back to this time and place
where she wears her features and flaws like medals and scars.
Some she'll tell you about while she weaves her words 'round you, holding you close in a story that makes you want to rewrite your own tale;
Triumph or fail.
Others, she wont tell.
The memory itself hurts like hell, so if just the thought of sharing is scaring her to the bone.
You’ll never hear about the girl you’ve never known.
She doesnt want to dance alone.
But that’s all there is,
a tiny dance floor called Life to call her own.
Nothing less and nothing more,
So she makes her hips sway,
Taking your eyes away from Ideas to Feelings,
She’s erratic, not ****** in her motion,
She makes Love feel like a puddle compared to an ocean.
And she just doesn’t want to dance alone anymore,
Yet she’s left like tears again on a cold stone floor
In the dark basement she calls existence.
And in this instance, she needs to see sunlight,
to see a sun that’s up at dawn every day and only dims at dusk,
Because for all things rest is a must.
So for a few quick steps we tripped the light fantastic,
and she did not dance alone.
She had a throne fit for the queen she is,
She was held through the night while tears trailed down her cheeks,
While she said that she never wanted to weep,
Because it made her feel so weak.
It’s like the tears trickled from her soul,
Draining her before her story had ever been told,
Before her flesh grew old and her hairs turned grey,
Before she felt she’d truly really had a good day.
But then she smiled,
And she said so sweetly that,
No matter how neatly she’d try to put the world into white and black,
She always had that one strange night she could come back, where her confusion calmed
To little more than a breeze she felt tickle across her heart.
And all it took was that one
slow
dance
That kept her world from falling apart.

Wounded fragments of shattered dreams stain the pavement and sidewalks while we all move in a pattern unknown and unseen.
Poised perfectly in the sky are the ends of strings that pull us along, and we follow, apathetic to the vile disgrace of not being in control.
The sun neither rises nor falls, we circle around to have him stare at us with curious and diminished eyes.
The stars wink and shine like diamonds in a fog, long after their reign has ended and their souls have departed.

Half forgotten synapses and faded photographs are the pinpoint of realization in the half written tragedy and comedy of man.

Can we feel the shattered slice into our feet? Do we drink of the cup of color or our we drowning ourselves in a cesspool of grey?
Frayed and patched we are.
The wolf is ignorant while the sparrow is enlightened. They chase each other. Dream by dream, thought by thought, reaction by action, into the depths of our souls. Neither can triumph over the other and perhaps that is the design. Blueprints hidden carefully by an architect far beyond comprehension of morality and sustenance are the makings of an encore, a time for roses after the curtain falls.
For none can know the beauty and mystery behind the short circuit of synapse and the ceasing of beats.
Perception of dimensions beyond us our limited and jaded, causing lies disguised as truth. Fear of the mystery causes fear of us all. We are all that is here. We are the tourniquet and we are the axe.

Oh child of wonder… Oh traveler of distance. See us all.

We are two sides of a spinning coin. We are everything and we are nothing. Perhaps the strings will be cut. We will overcome the misfortune of breathing in that which is farthest from the truth. Be the crack in the pattern. Be the narrow path.

Be better than us.

White,naked,realizations.
A moment of breaking dawn.

Today
Two bright slits
of blinding light
pry open
these tired kohl-lined eyes
smudged black.
Javelin rays
trespass fences of barbed wire,
her mascara-ed lashes,
playing fortress to
teary lakes
of dreams and lullabies.

Though yesterday
She lay
so breakable in his marble arms.
her porcelain breast,
her delicate heart,
so fragile.
His breath on her neck, cold,
colder than December ice.
Alcoholic kisses
slow anesthesia in his eyes.

A cascade
of ebony curls
darker than the midnight sky
holds a constellation
of beauty spots.
But she
holds her universe,
his face
between her tiny palms.

A pair of snow white wrists.
His fingers,
long shards of glass.
A single teardrop on her cheek,
pale moon,
the consequence of a million scars.

One afternoon after
Two thousand years of unending strife
Three stubborn blades
of a forbidding ceiling fan
Orthodox curtains,
and the guarding yellow walls
were joined
by a mirror
too shy
to watch,
her indiscretion,
his blatant lie.

I'm one pack of cigarettes away from being broke.
Color me broke.
Color me smoking.

I know that she finds safety with me,
though i'm unsure of how she decided that.

It's be lying,
they,
they lie,

saying don't ask
but,
please do tell?
you want the truth,
when it's,
convenient,
a fast food convenience,
not when its real,
not when it's raw.
you take the jersey shore,
to the feel of the jersey shore,
and ilk seeks out ilk,

and I become disgusted with your stance,
who'd you ****** with that crucifix today,
you wear white to herald your purity,
but you're covered in blood,
sticky matter that messes up your picket fence lifestyle,

"a lady in the streets, but a freak in the sheets"

and you are dying while your lying,
saying you're free of disease,

and what of the disease of your jealousy,
and it's eating at you.

You're a bitter wasteland of broken down homes,
and the shame isn't being broken,
were all walking 'round,
asunder,
blood drips off the things,
not already dead,
we've all got slivers splintering the ***** of our heart,
No judgement lies in the your fear, in the hypocrisy of your life.
You're so afraid to be seen,
you repress the memories,
to numb,
to destroy,
the humanity
  that could save you
    from the fall.

There are no stars in the city.
The street lights are bright like the bright lights illuminating the night as the steady stream of cars pass by.
Steady like dreams.
Dreams are the wishes cast from the deepest window of your soul left ajar,
The kind of wish one would never dream to admit upon a star.

please
let things be beautiful
just this once
I do not ask for much
just the flowers
in the garden
and the salt
in the sea
please
oh, please
let things be beautiful.