time and time again
i feel the fury seeping in
this blind hot rage
swivelling throughout the page
                                                          burning me

                                   night after night
                                   I pretend it's alright
                                   submerging myself in falsitute
                                   but the edges still protrude
                                                                                           decaying


                                                                      always the same old ******* habit
                                                                      of reaching     and flailing     but failing                to grab it
                                                                      surrender


everywhere new, I see potential
yet I do not notice the sentinel
until much later when everything is old
and everything is cold
and each familiar face
is drowning in folds

                                   at first, their art is inspirational and true
                                   enticing me to create, anew
                                   but it always ******* frays     and fades         and melts away
                                   leading my admiration astray
                                                                      
                                                                      their judgements, their fears, lay before me,         bare
                                                                      yet I have not ever, not even once, dared
                                                                      to uncover their eyes, to pull them through
                                                                      for what if that's how they see me, too?

that thought alone I cannot stand
to be at their mercy, to kiss their hand
begging they take back their words
already lost in flight: carnivorous birds
intent on devouring the rotting corpse
that once was a haven for my creative hopes
perched in the treetops, peering through the night
awaiting any movement, ever so slight
waiting
to attack.




                                   but these vultures will be disappointed
                                   by the cadavre they were appointed
                                   there will be no meat left to hide,
                                   it will be rotting from the inside

                                                                      to their surprise as much as mine,
                                                                      from the ashes will rise a pine
                                                                      whose cones will fall, those bristly gems
                                                                      and it will start all over again

the anticipation.
the inspiration.
exposure.
and deceit.
lying crumpled at my feet.
                                                                      but i have the power to walk away
                                                                      to climb the mountain my own way


farewell you folks of forlorn fantasy
i'm off to paint my own soul's tapestry

'If' is the core to life; an infinity of possibility.  Only two things can render the passion stagnant:
          fear and negligence, addictions to comfort.
                                                                                        Addictions to slavery.
But if the 'lie' is removed from life, we are left with the 'f', we are left to be free.

Freedom itself is infinity, for an idea never dies.
It goes on and grows on, the hope shining in your eyes.

Yet freedom is not achieved in a flash, to stay with you forevermore.  It must be sustained,
                   it must be fed.
                           It is not easy.
But what does ease bring, in the end?:  temporary satisfaction hoarded with dormant passion

(passion and possibility)

Work - hard, grueling, exhausting labor - leads to the ultimate ease,
             a satisfying ease that you feel
                                                                   you deserve.

And that is the greatest freedom.

We think we're so different.

because we have piercings
                                                  or an iphone/blackberry
wear jeans not skirts, skirts not jeans
only shop at local markets, only buy the brands
eat organic
                       or vegan
                                           or total junk
wash our hair with what's cheap
                                                           or environmentally friendly
                                                        ­                                                      or not at all
because we listen to folk, not rap
ska, not rock
                                                            ­          talk a certain way
                                                             ­         or partake in certain hobbies
have skin, instead of fur or bark
see more colourfully, but have **** nightvision

because we have warm blood
because we are human.




We think that this is individuality, but it's really all a lie.
A lie to keep us docile and passive..
                                                       ­                                                   To keep us buying **** we don't need,
                                                           ­                                                but making us believe
                                                         ­                                                  that we do
Guarding us from that destructive                unpredictable                       mother
of ours
until we don't even think of ourselves as animals anymore.
Until we think we're Kings.




To be you, you just have to be you.
Scratch that.
You just have to be
Because what is "you" anyway?
                                                         ­            A pronoun
                                                         ­            to keep you
                                                             ­        away from me
                                                              ­       and we
                                                              ­       and us
                                                              ­                                          together.

To force you into the lie of language,
because we all know that what truly speaks is our hearts
but we would never admit it
because then we would be too emotional
too sensitive
not cold or impersonal enough
to fit in.
                                                             ­                  And that's all we really want, right?
                                                          ­                     To belong?
Well, I'll tell you something:
there is a way to fit
to belong
to live.
And that is to not fit.

                                                           ­          Don't define yourself by these labels
                                                          ­           or this music
                                                           ­          or that boyfriend.

                                                     ­                Define yourself through your ideas
                                                           ­          your ambitions
                                                       ­              your immaterial desires.

Take out the you and become a we,
                                                             ­    and we will be,
                                                             ­                                      just be,
together.

Silhouetted against the dark landscape of what I once knew
                                                                                                             lies a baby
                                                                                                                                 in a basket
                                                                                                                                                      with a crow

I wait
and wait
for the crow to fly
up, up and away from childish cries

but they are shadows;
a disloyal memory of my loving upbringing.

*


                                                                                                      Rooted with fear,
                                                                                                      I reach for the sky.
                                                                                                      My heart wants to stay,
                                                                                                      but my soul wants to fly.
                                                                                                      Just one more big stretch,
                                                                                                      the stars, they are nigh!
                                                                                                      But it's too late, I know,
                                                                                                      for soon,

I will die.

[time is not on our side but it is up to us to be on times side]

pulsing.
                 pulsing with the quickened
                 heartbeat of disappointment
                 failure on the first day
                 but i dont have to look at it
that way.
                 how rare to succeed on the first try
                 so instead of asking why
                 im going to ask when:
                 when will i be ready to re-
begin.
                 the answer is now: now or
                 never.  act out, dont just think
                 of things that are
clever.
                 face the brewing storm the inner
weather.
                 reach up to the sun to catch the eagle's
feather.


                                  bury it inside, wrapped in a clod of dirt
                                  blood and mud, parents of rebirth
                                  bursting from my eyes, back to the skies
                                                                                     where she belongs
                                  the eagle now carries my hurt

                                                   and when she flies
                                                                                    and fishes
                                                                                                      and dies
                                                   we'll be making compromise.
                                                   branches and roots become one, the same
                                                   reaching out to muffle the cries

Arms woven tightly
                  across my anxious chest
    My legs are spun together
                                       protecting the nest
I am ready.

                                                                                  There is excitement,                            nervousness
                                                             euphoria                                              fear.

                                                                                          I feel the world's array
                                                                                     flying over me,
                                                                                pulsing around me.
                                                                         The hearbeat of the stingray
                                                                                                                           throbbing throughout the sea.

The current, she is cold
                                  but the heartbeat keeps me warm.

I am a fetus of the ocean
My mother is the sea
                                                              My father will not let me drown
                                                              For he's the music guiding me.
                      
                             Leading me to adventure
                                                                                   to creation
                                                                                                                   to love
preparing my mind to see.