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Bottle of pills to cure my depression.
Bottle of pills to take away the sadness.
Bottle of pills to take me high.
Bottle of pills to give me sanity.
Bottle of pills to take my life.
Isn't it funny how we underestimate the power of our voices?
this sound that emanates from our throats, formulating words...
...are not just noises

Right?
I'm guessing it's pretty silly to assume that our voices are just perfectly placed noises, combining to converse with others, argue with others, woo others, defend others, offend others...

And it occurs to me that my voice, is not used the way I want it to be
instead, it's being limited. Limited to the sombre pleasures of others
entertaining people who probably don't bother, much about me
instead my voice is caged up, way up in my own thoughts

They say talking to yourself is the first sign of schizophrenia
do people who fear talking talk to themselves? Glossophobia they call it.
I say talking to others contributes to our enraging insanity
the society that conceals my voice, taints the will to be heard.

One day I got up from my seat in class to say a speech
I was surprised with what I was about to meet.
first came the silence, then the bafflement
people for the first time got the chance to hear my voice

Bewilderment? yes, Endearment? no
for what they heard was not the sound of a nightingale in the forest
but rather the sound of an emancipated prison screaming to the reaches of the farthest

The scene made me sit back and assess
my life looking back needed to be addressed
A voice isn't supposed to be internalised, is it?
But why do I struggle to break out?

Why is it so hard to let people hear my voice?
Why, why, why

My answer?

That's what you get when you underestimate the power of your voice.
To be Loved
is mostly
temporary and at
times a lie.

But to be missed
to be remembered
lasts as long as
a memory
and is about as
real as it's ever
going to get..
 Mar 2014 Azrael-Always
Jeanette
Every single time I think of you
it is never directly of you.

It always is the red potatoes
sprinkled with rosemary.

It is lit cigarettes on fire escapes.

it is record players,
and scrabble matches.

It is the look on the cab driver's face
as I forced you in his cab
when you got too drunk
on the fourth of july.

It is the ride back home,
over the Brooklyn Bridge.

It is Fireworks exploding
into chandeliers of light,
in the distance,
as you're passed out,
and I'm crying
because I miss my mother.
In hindsight this too was beautiful.
Suddenly,
all the love songs
on the radio
were about him
and then
just as suddenly,
the radio
stopped playing
all those songs
replaced them
with heartbroken ballads
and yet,
they were still about him
he always had to be the center of attention
As I grow older, Melody, my only Love,
I remember young desire
And thank my only God above.

It was you who made me croon,
Paw the dirt,
Howl at the moon,
And burn.

So it is as we are growing old:
You light the fires
Deep within
And stoke the flames
We've long been in.

I would not have another,
Wife,
Though hard has been our
Life.
I find you everywhere,
It seems...
Asleep, awake, you're there,
Girl of my dreams.
Hiro, the Kamikaze,
Happily lives just over the hill,
Sleeps every night quite calmly,
So proud of his never a ****...

Hiro, the Kamikaze,
Veteran flyer is he,
Flew back from 33 missions,
Dropped his payloads in the sea.

----------------------------
(I know the bombs were mounted permanently on the Zeros that men like Hiro flew, and that returning or jettisoning were impossible, but still I have been thinking what peaceful men might do.... Perhaps a peaceful Taliban, or drone-flying American...might learn a lesson from Hiro...and do what he can.... Teach us peace.)
 Mar 2014 Azrael-Always
Danni
Home is where five taught me life,
told me its tricks,
and showed me its hidden secrets.

The artist who showed me secret passageways,
who inspired me to capture memories,
to capture one at a time.

Focus on one thing at a time;
too many focal points is messy.
One thing at a time, you’ll make your
        masterpiece.

Capture the time in multiple shots,
you’ll find the winner.
Capture the moment in time.


The astronomer, the birder,
who taught me to take a step back,
and look to the sky from the ground.

Look for the patterns of far away suns,
listen for the melodies sung by small singers
        in the trees,
pay attention to the beauty of every pattern,
        every song.  None are the same.

So listen when the singers sing,
look up when the sky is dark,
and bask in the beauty that is all around us.


The historian who helped me remember the
        past,
and move on from it.
The historian who held me when no one else
        would.

Remember back to the day.
Feel it, remember it,
put it behind.

It won’t do anything for you now.
The past only shapes you.
Learn from it, grow from it.


The speaker who gave me new eyes,
more perspectives,
and respect for all.

We all come from different backgrounds,
different cultures,
even at home.  We’re all different.

Judgment for differences is foolish,
because we’re all different -
no one is the same.


The reader, the writer, who taught me
        individualism,
to be myself with no fear,
who gave me my dreams.

You can do whatever you set your mind to,
no one can tell you otherwise.
Do whatever makes you happy,

because you’re the only you in this world.
No one person is a waste, a no one, or a
        nothing;
we’re all somethings.  Sometimes it takes
        time to find

what we are, who we are,
but that’s the adventure of life,
and it never ends.


Soon I’ll be brought back to them:
the artist who taught me patience,
the astronomer, the birder, who taught me
        gratitude,
the historian who brought me back to bring
        me forward,
the speaker who spoke words of wisdom
        that taught me kindness,
and the reader, the writer, who showed me
        me.
 Mar 2014 Azrael-Always
PrttyBrd
Gazing out the window at leafless trees
Seeing not, but feeling what the heart believes
Trying hard to clear the fog the mind still sees
Trapped within a broken heart as it bleeds
copyright©PrttyBrd 21/02/2011
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