Confessional Poetry - Hello Poetry

Feb 2021

Graff1980

Once, I broke through,
into a world view
of stranger colors
and proportions;

A place
where a cold
winterhold
held up
with bright
white
blinding lights
searing
and impeding
occasionally blocked
what I was seeing.

Where yellow banners,
and other
strange standards
stand *****
then collapse
losing their
regal effect.

Where parades of green
shades shimmering,
sway to
their own
rhythm,
the art of
growing
and living.

Where purple flecks,
blue floating
bits of paper
dance and waver
in the wind.

I embrace
this strange place,
but in the end
will go out the same
way I came in.

Feb 2021

Graff1980

Untitled 666

I wasn’t expecting the perfecting of empathy,
just hoping that we could learn how to be
generally, a little gentler with our humanity;

But what I am watching is beyond crossing
the borders of insanity, the lines in the sand we see
are so far behind us it isn’t even a memory,
more like some mystical fairytale,
a lie that we tell to ourselves
to believe we were once decent people.

None of this is appropriate or adequate,
but if you take a generation and add a bit
you might start a bad of habit of thinking up
a way to remix this acid trip in which we exist,
cause this hallucinogenic fix has had the opposite effect,
instead of expanding it has caused a loss of intellect.

So, the warrior goes on, while the poet is gone,
the killer is strong, but the dreamer is wrong.
Up is down, back is forward marching on toward
a black bitter beastly legend we named lord,
history imbued with the blood of love
on the tip of a poorly formed sword,
as the slant of the blade reflects and distorts
the value of life lived, given, and sacrificed
to all of those ridiculously profitable lies.

Feb 2021

Graff1980

Untitled 664

I may never be
a mainstream
attraction,
marvelous
man of steel
and heroic action,
or a midnight
web swinging
theme song singing
warrior bringing
hope back in.

I know I am not
the villain laughing
at human suffering,
never bothering
to try and solve
anything.

I hope I’m not adding
anything bad
and perhaps
putting back
a little good in
this human equation.

Maybe, I am
over explaining
struggling without
really saying
anything.

I’m pretty much
a middling,
poet spewing
verses that
are not doing
much of anything
but falsely inflating
my tiny ego.

Feb 2021

Graff1980

Untitled 663

This poet is not divine,
but some may find
the lyrical mind
omnipresent.

All bodies in
conversation
are a manifestation
of his unconscious.

First person,
second person,
or third person
narrator,

in the world
of words
the poet is
the greatest creator.

Not magical,
though it feels
that way sometimes.

Not perfect
that is why
lines fly
but sometimes
even angels
stumble in the sky.

Working verses,
fixing impressions,
twisting perspectives
while being introspective.

It is all a part
of the art
and creative process.

Feb 2021

Graff1980

Untitled 658

*******
Prageru
Robert E. Lee
does not
deserve to be
put up as a hero
in modernity.

Vicious,
treasonous
piece of trash,
slave owning
confederate,
a generally
disgusting general
of other
seditious
degenerates.

A response to this moronic video.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N839Z38w_AU

Feb 2021

Graff1980

The Fighter

There is beauty and danger
in the body of a fighter,
not something of ****** desire,
but a physique and discipline to admire.

The martial artist moving fluidly
like a dancer of destruction,
finely tuned definition,
with deft and swift movements
made to disable opponents.

Self-defense,
aggressiveness,
barbaric chest beater
enemy defeater,
history maker.

The intellectual may scoff,
the poet and painter,
may laugh off,
but the dancer probably gets its,
cause she knows how to move
and not get hit.
She can see the spin in this
body that moves with
a similar flow.

I am in love
because
though I seek to exist
peacefully
there is a destructive artist
inside of me,
a caged beast
that I never let free.

A funhouse mirror man,
without a clear plan,
who adapts and improves,
takes hits and advances,
striking back in my own way

Jan 2021

Graff1980

Untitled 654

You better believe
the bitterly deceived
will not be relieved
to receive
any poultry back payment,
cause all these political layman
have been laying the foundation
for exploitation and the disintegration
of our social safety net,
the one that does not forget
those who have been let down.

It is like watching a crowd
of cruel dancing clowns,
corporate killers who have found
the best way to break down
our defenses,
while taking our expenses
and spending them
on extravagant meals
and other ridiculous expenditures.

As the state takes dissidents
from so called radical movements
and imprisons them
in a sick system
that is designed to demonize leaders
who speak truth,
and urge the youth
to move towards a freer and fairer society.

Jan 2021

Graff1980

Untitled 653

I was uncertain seeing
other human beings
with their feelings
moving fluidly,
seeming constantly at ease
while I was always overthinking these
intangible things.

Now I am learning,
this deep yearning
to understand
what other humans
take for granted
is a fool’s errand.

Most people are
sick and disgusting
gut busting
heart farting,
mind belching,
and squelching
any common senses.

They seldom think about,
are able to comprehend,
the thoughts and desires,
the sadness or elevation
of being so grandly inspired
that my heart aspires
to write love and understanding
into this cold reality.
Sadly, they are just reactionary.

Jan 2021

muteD

a beautiful masterpiece

I
am
at war.
with my heart and my brain.
my soul and my mind.
it’s a free for all battle
right in front of my eyes.
but instead of attacking each other,
they only attack me.

I can feel my heart beating.
Too hard.
Each pump pushes
not only the blood throughout my body
and the air in and out of my lungs
but it also
unleashes doses
of pain.
lethal in high amounts
and unfortunately for me
it feels like the whole bottle has been emptied into my system.
As I close my eyes, I can hear the words
my damaged heart whispers into my ear.

A plea for me
to cut away
all the ties
of this world
and to curl up
with the only one
I know means peace..
Me.

But, my brain is intent on interrupting those thoughts.
It has its own need to manipulate the feelings swirling inside of me.
It has its own agenda,
one where it leaves me standing over a ledge
overlooking my own downfall.
stranded and wondering,

why do I tear myself down?
because my mind tells me to.

the words that wiggle themselves down my eardrums have one and only one goal in mind.
and that is to torture me for the rest of my time.

and it’s working.

a storm is brewing within my head.
Rain and hail beat down on my brain
like they’re the hands
and my brain is the drum.

the sound it makes is enough to bring a man to his knees.

a beautiful masterpiece at the price of a life.

but I guess that’s okay
because that life never mattered anyways.

or so my mind tells me.

who am I to listen to, when both want me dead?
A heart that is tired of beating?
Or mind that is tired of thinking?

(Either way, I’m *******.)

I wrote this based off of a picture and I wish you his could see it .. but I’m in the process of launching my blog and I will have ALL of my recent poetry on there ..

#depression #heart #mind #battlefield #war #anxiety #masterpiece #art #storm #rain

Jan 2021

Graff1980

Untitled 651

I have frequently had a
cold functional detachment
from the mindless moronic masses,

Those self-damaging idiots
walking around with
no introspection,
hurting other people while
trying to acquire status,
love, and material success.

I have been fuming
with a legitimate sense of high self-regard
and disdain for the so-called plain folks
with no desire to expand their understanding
or just be decent in general;

But what if I become the *****
who has to be fake nice all the time
just to manage my minor interactions with people?
Will I witness a slow disintegration of my ideal self,
that kind and attentive helpful healing artist,
that deep empathic intellectual, master of compassion?

How superior could I be if I subtract empathy
from my tired and frustrated being,
if I became the cog replacer in this
multinational machine, while sacrificing
my own inner honest decency?

Jan 2021

Graff1980

Untitled 650

His power was rooted in darkness,
but he constantly fought his thoughtless urges.
Being kind with tiny purchases,
opening doors, asking others
what they are searching for
in his poetic type pleas
that he typed out for strangers to read.

Perhaps it was his need
to be here, to plant seeds,
to breathe deep of this sweet air,
and speak loudly to be heard clear,
because it was his own obscurity he feared.

Sometimes he felt like a parody
or a pale reflection
of human emotion.
He couldn’t tell if in his expressions
he was just a mimicker those around,
or if these deep feelings were truly his?

His smile and gentleness
hid the gravity of violence
that he had lived in,
and most of the time he thought
the goodness he was giving
was in direct opposition
to the pain he once existed in
and his desire to never see
another human being
suffering.