Apr 2015
It is not the calm of discovery that fuels my expression,
but the fury of shedding the tightly wound cocoon I didn’t ask for,
knowing that I will not have wings once I set myself free;
knowing the climate is not for an indigenous refugee in his own world;
knowing I may be eaten alive the moment I open my eyes;
by predators who neither appreciate my troubles, or
the fact that I am aware of their existence
They didn’t expect to see me so soon; a lamb is supposed to die young,
or at least degenerate into a bitter fool who can only reach for a bottle,
his cigarettes and pictures in some magazine of lipstick masquerading as lips
How can words be so black that you dismiss them though they breathe as you do?
It’s never going to be comfortable to make you feel the way I do;
except possibly the moment you realize you were strapped to a gurney too; but it’s only because nobody can understand you anymore; why should you care?
The world is moving too fast for the one’s living in the comfort
of their own insults and views of a world they have dimmed
by shooting illuminated silk fabric bags that ask questions nobody
cares to hear anymore because they have already decided that
what a man has on his table is either of his own choosing or what
he deserves
Is change only for malleable children who listen intently to those who have given up?
You gave it away before you knew you had it; they wanted you to think like them; and because you love them you had no choice; but now that you do you find the darkness that clings to you more comforting than crackling bones who do not wish to walk above ground for they have become accustomed to the feeling of not feeling anything because alliteration is not a word for artists but instead the way those who have given up describe vapid, languid submission because it is easier to suffer quietly than to be ridiculed for thinking otherwise
But these things are not relevant if we cannot share them yet we are so far apart; so I must make them hurt; the words must penetrate into your cloth skin because you do not know that it can be removed; and when you feel what I tell you, do not cry or if you must then know that I have already cried and the river of my awakening has not yet crested; there is room for you my friend; listen not for direction or guidance; but instead for purpose and free will
You forgot about that didn’t you?
You can make a new mistake; but it will be your own for who has not almost suffered their own death being born into another world?
The judgments of man are for their own benefit and as soon as they destroy you they will forget you; make them remember and soon they will fear themselves; because they will now know that their own darkness cannot extinguish the darkness that you wish to explore; your darkness; the darkness that may be light in the world that awaits your courageous journey
When will you begin?
but the fury of shedding the tightly wound cocoon I didn’t ask for,
knowing that I will not have wings once I set myself free;
knowing the climate is not for an indigenous refugee in his own world;
knowing I may be eaten alive the moment I open my eyes;
by predators who neither appreciate my troubles, or
the fact that I am aware of their existence
They didn’t expect to see me so soon; a lamb is supposed to die young,
or at least degenerate into a bitter fool who can only reach for a bottle,
his cigarettes and pictures in some magazine of lipstick masquerading as lips
How can words be so black that you dismiss them though they breathe as you do?
It’s never going to be comfortable to make you feel the way I do;
except possibly the moment you realize you were strapped to a gurney too; but it’s only because nobody can understand you anymore; why should you care?
The world is moving too fast for the one’s living in the comfort
of their own insults and views of a world they have dimmed
by shooting illuminated silk fabric bags that ask questions nobody
cares to hear anymore because they have already decided that
what a man has on his table is either of his own choosing or what
he deserves
Is change only for malleable children who listen intently to those who have given up?
You gave it away before you knew you had it; they wanted you to think like them; and because you love them you had no choice; but now that you do you find the darkness that clings to you more comforting than crackling bones who do not wish to walk above ground for they have become accustomed to the feeling of not feeling anything because alliteration is not a word for artists but instead the way those who have given up describe vapid, languid submission because it is easier to suffer quietly than to be ridiculed for thinking otherwise
But these things are not relevant if we cannot share them yet we are so far apart; so I must make them hurt; the words must penetrate into your cloth skin because you do not know that it can be removed; and when you feel what I tell you, do not cry or if you must then know that I have already cried and the river of my awakening has not yet crested; there is room for you my friend; listen not for direction or guidance; but instead for purpose and free will
You forgot about that didn’t you?
You can make a new mistake; but it will be your own for who has not almost suffered their own death being born into another world?
The judgments of man are for their own benefit and as soon as they destroy you they will forget you; make them remember and soon they will fear themselves; because they will now know that their own darkness cannot extinguish the darkness that you wish to explore; your darkness; the darkness that may be light in the world that awaits your courageous journey
When will you begin?
