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Lennox Jones Aug 2015
do this they will instruct,
and you probably will.
do that they will drill into
the marrow of your bones.
get in line, stop fooling around.

and you probably will.

soon enough you’ll stand
up straight all by yourself.
worse still – spend your whole life
a puppet.

the moment you say, "**** it,
i’m reclaiming my soul.
i give myself permission
to do what I want, on my terms,"

that is the day you will
truly be free, and know how
good it feels to walk the earth,

no strings attached.
Lennox Jones Apr 2015
sometimes
i go
to bed
at night
and hope
i never
wake up

problem is
when i
feel like
this i
can't get
to sleep
Lennox Jones Apr 2015
the rest are good,
but there's nothing
quite like that first kiss.
Lennox Jones Apr 2015
Oh well
That didn’t quite
Go as I expected.
The soul doesn’t grow from what ifs.
It dies.
Re-cut into a cinquain
Lennox Jones Mar 2015
Never would I have found you
If I’d never died inside
and buried that person
I used to be.

You would never have
fallen in love with him.
Lennox Jones Mar 2015
She rifled through me like a set of old drawers,
clothes strewn all over the bed and floor.
My eyes gouged and thrown there,
my ears pulled off and tossed there,
my skin peeled and slung there,
my head decapitated and kicked there,
my mind bent and twisted right here,
but my heart surgically removed and dumped over there,
at the foot of the door, all alone.
She stomped on it as she walked out.
It bled all over the carpet
and never looked like stopping..
------------------------------------------------------­----------
That was then.
I’ve a new set of drawers now,
beautifully laid out and boy has
she’s got killer green eyes, and the
kind of love that put me back together.
A revised version of a poem I posted a few days back called "What A Mess."
Lennox Jones Mar 2015
Crush these tired old bones,
squeeze the sadness from the marrow,
grind to dust the pieces of me
and toss it to the wind…
for I am nothing without you

I would rather be crushed
By the plight of humanity than
succumb to the subservience
of apathy.

Let us be the architects of our flesh,
rebuild the house of our souls.
Let’s create our own fingerprints
so that when you come searching for
me beneath the rubble of humanity
I know which hand to reach for.
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