all these chords that compose
the song that is you
the F of the way you hide your face when embarrassed
the G of the way you look at people across the street
the C of the smell of your breath in a Thursday afternoon
I'm not a poet, a musician even less
but I may be kind of a beggar
when I beg of you
don't forget me
or let your music fade out
of my rainy days

A boy once jokingly asked me,
"If you could **** anyone in the world, who'd it be?"
It took me almost an hour to reply
because despite the question's joking nature,
the only answer I could think of was "me".

And he was beautiful
Within his scars
and within his bones
and within the labyrinth, his mind
There was a terrifying beauty
that she could never see or understand


She didn’t deserve to.

1 Gone are the days when my heart was young and gay,
2 Gone are my friends from the cotton fields away,
3 Gone from the earth to a better land I know,
4 I hear their gentle voices calling 'Old Black Joe.'

5 [Chorus] I'm coming, I'm coming, for my head is bending low:
6 I hear those gentle voices calling, 'Old Black Joe.'

7 [Solo] Why do I weep when my heart should feel no pain
8 Why do I sigh that my friends come not again,
9 Grieving for forms Now departed long a go?
10 I hear their gentle voices calling 'Old Black Joe.'

11 [Chorus] I'm coming, I'm coming, for my head is bending low:
12 I hear those gentle voices calling, 'Old Black Joe.'

13 [Solo] Where are the hearts once so happy and so free?
14 The children so dear that I held upon my knee,
15 Gone to the shore where my soul has longed to go.
16 I hear their gentle voices calling 'Old Black Joe.'

17 [Chorus] I'm coming, I'm coming, for my head is bending low:
18 I hear those gentle voices calling, 'Old Black Joe.'

She’s at a loss.
Her voice quietens, weakens.
She’s not herself.
She’s been transformed, absorbed into someone else.

She’s a fishing boat in a stormy sea.
Stormy then calm.
Stormy then calm.
Her mind is a whirlwind of easy offences.
She is a pit of jealousy;
a lustful late-teen.
Her mind is a television
broadcasting her desires:
Eight red lines upon a pale back,
Shoulders indented with two curved rows
from clenched teeth.
Morse code embossed on sweet flesh.
Love bites around *******,
on thighs, on buttocks.

A fictional programme.

Turn fiction into non-fiction
and rescue her mind; a mere sailor.
Reach the shore and rescue her.
Find her again.
Find her voice, her strength.
Evaporate the stormy sea and leave her,
wholly herself.

You, who for some infallible reason, was weeping, said-
"You are lying, and that makes me sad."
"But I never told you a single lie."
As soon as I said that, you started crying once more.

I used to reassure myself,
When the paper airplane that I threw-
Full of my foolish whishes that seemed so beautiful at that time-
that didn't reach the sky, but instead
came back down to my feet-
"It was just too far away.
That's all.
That's all."

And-
there was a time when I climbed the side of a radio tower,
repeating desperately to myself that the stars up there were not a myth.
At the top,
overlooking the city,
I tired to reach those lights.
"..I'm just not tall enough."

Now,
I think to myself,
my beliefs are just a mirror,
Reflecting my repeating delusions of a perfect world.
But when that mirror,
that sick fantasy,
that desperate,
oblivious
illusion shatters-
There is nothing but shards of dust left on your palms.

Did you know?
I am scared of the moon.
Mainly,
because I think, sometimes,
"That could be me, up there."
With no light of my own to shine upon the world, only reflecting what others saw.  
But, still.
The sun's warmth was too brilliant and bright,
my pupils couldn't help but dilute every time I faced it.

I've almost given up on the exuseful theory,
that everything in the world is masked
beautifully.
And that only the gifted,
and few,
could unveil that ugly screen,
and see the true façade underneath.

Until I have found a warmth untriumpthed by any other,
until I find a kindness that lets me say-
"Thank you, Thank you, Thank you-"
Over and Over and Over again,
Until I find a feeling that makes me feel like the world,
is somehow,
sometimes,
beautiful,
I guess,
I'll try to stop making excuses for everything-
and accept the fact
that the world
has its secrets too.

So you left and I got into a car and drove up to the hills.
I drenched my eyes in the green hues of the trees and
drank the misty air.
I filled my lungs with fresh emotion and said,
"Oh boy, where have I been?"

I put my feet in the water, and felt the feelings gush in.
I felt my cheeks turn wet and my eyes raining
and you come flashing into my mind--
yes, I regret it--
I regret you.

You arise from phoenix ashes and hide beneath the bed.
You are a knife stuck in my chest, twisting in with every heart beat.
You are a lost opportunity and a scar on the wrist.
You are my lost love.

So what if you are sorry, you think I care that I have become
a part of the dust neath your carpet, struggling to revive.
Yes, I would like to hurt you, and hurt you so badly
you feel the need to caress me again.

I drove up to the hills, a place where you are not
and I realized, that happiness is really just sitting down and eating
cheap Chinese out of melamine plates and putting your feet in the water
and thinking we'll learn from our mistakes.

“You’re perfect.”
“You’re worthless.”
                                  *“You’re able.”
  “You will fail.”                                                          ­                                  “You’re empowered.”
                                                    ­      “You’re weak.”
    “Be you.”                                
                          ­                                                “Let us fix you.”      
          
This is just the start to the plethora of lies that constantly contradict themselves through lustful eyes that objectify and ads that give the “flawless formula” that may just grant you one glance from that wayfaring guy.
One second it’s edification and the next it’s an abundance of filthily crippling lies; most have ceased to even recognize the truth among these fables. I’ve noticed that the paradox of perfection that we are feeding this generation has poisoned them.
They’ve lost their direction because the messages endlessly alter and they are now left with the enchantingly eerie tune of rejection. The consistency they long for is constantly being drowned in the depth of the repudiation brought on by this culture and its lies.
It’s reached the ****** at which they no longer know what it is they should despise.
So they despise themselves.
Heartbreakingly unaware that they are loved,
Wanted,
And free.

me...
you attempt to

contempt
i am subjected to

sent from the nether
repent YOU!

spent like the decrepit
i resent you

crazy as the daisies
"I'll love you"

like the devils water
will ignite you

like the temptress you are
I resent you

like the temptress you are
I will tempt you.