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 Nov 2013 Derek Yohn
Bogle
Who Am I?
 Nov 2013 Derek Yohn
Bogle
Well in socio,
I was asked what is my identity?
I thought,
sure I know plenty,
but actually,
what the hell do I know,
am I build up of what people think around me?

Well this is what I think,
you don't have to agree,
I don't really know who I am to you.

To me I'm a unique bloke,
physically short and strong due to painful labour and exercise,
mentally I'm ****** up due to obsessions,
visions and life experiances,
I don't hate much,
danger,
drugs,
wankers,
and body modifications,
so you're alright with me if you keep yourself clean.

I'm a contemporary saxophonist,
with a bit of old school classical,
my ****** dyslexia is my downfall.

I'm a moral monster,
just remember that,
I still have some faith,
so cut me some slack,
I just want you to be gorgeous and safe,
whoever you are,
I may have a large mouth,
but it's a wise one,
my real name is Jack.
 Nov 2013 Derek Yohn
September
Sanity   within   sanity
Sanity   with   insanity

So   vain
So   vein
I understand why they talk about a fine line.
It hurts my heart to look at you,
A physical pain
Manifesting in palpitations.
The western way to deal with pain
is to excise what hurts, what has malfunctioned,
What has gone bad within us.
In order to excise you,
I must force myself to hate you.
The alternative damages me.
I have to cut you out.
Such a. . .
Simple world in which you place your question
The one time you had ears perk up to listen
You had mentioned bodies (bodies)
Bodies. . .
Would you learn if I cut your lips for you?
Would you
stop, stop, stop or continue. . . if

You read all the spineless lines
spineless staring up so sad
from a page in the rain left fading fast?
I was really trying to work out another verse for this, but it's not coming to me, so I figure this is what was meant to be for now. For now. . .MWUAHAHAHAHA.

~ JaymiAK <3
When you look for it,
it evades detection.
When you listen for it,
it remains silent.
When you think about it,
it puzzles you.
When you stop pursuing it,
it stops fleeing.
When you sit with it,
as if for tea, on neutral ground,
it sits with you.
As if as friends, on neutral ground.
If you stop demanding of it
it reveals itself to you
and then with any luck
you shall see it, hear it,
exist through it, and just be it.

Once you can be it,
you see how everything is it.
Always was. Always will be.
Inseparable, yet scattered.
One, yet many. Me, yet you.
My pencil and my paper.
My reality, yet yours. Yet hers
and his and theirs and ours.
All at once, yet forever.
Ceasing when we die, yet continuing.
Changing each instant, yet forever the same.

Then you see the suicide in hostility.
The reflective nature of sabotage.
The reciprocation of respect.
The beauty and power of love
in all it's ambiguity. For all, yet for one.
An old poem of mine,
figured I should revive it.
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