Mar 2013
Bright lights stare
as they whizz down the street in pairs
Judging me, not seeing me
I walk alone, head down.
my feet pass quick and steady as if a river and
Like a curious child I see below the bridge where I stand
Wishing to know the meaning of existence
Yet content with the view
And wanting to jump in.
No one can see me crying
Its too dark
Just to be safe I pretend I have something else on my face every time I wipe it
The fresh tears mix with the aged aqueous
And disappear with those of the past.
Their bodies of steel are cold,
Their eyes are sharp, their words easily glide through my skin like a razor held by a hopeless addict
Their man-made mistakes
Become by most feared and hated.
People with labels and names,
Are but just that
I’m alone within the voices
I push them back with my chair and whip.
Trying to tame the temptress
that seduces my escapist muses
But she growls and snarls and I feel the scratches slowly turn to scars and wounds on my inner most soul
How long can someone keep their chin up
Before they are simply just ignoring reality, ******* up their ‘control’
Should I tell myself again, “its’ gonna be okay”, or is it alright if I take time and break down
How many more drawings can be?
with the colors of black and white spilling from me and outside the lines
How many words regurgitated from my mind
Scrambled in a way they might be defined.
How many more patterns of vibrations will I need to resound to match my frequency
How much more art must spew from me that is otherwise calm and quiet
Should I open up and try this thing called talking?
Though I have tried.. I stutter, I get lost, I bore
I move my lips but the blank stares flare a hole in me like the Sun through glass on a scurrying ant.
I know they're not listening
My art listens
But it cannot talk
Just display to me what is inside
Escape that which I have been imagining
Or creating, or thinking.
Though it can speak, profound
Without making a sound
But I would like a voice
Not one of mine, of another
Who will listen
Not just talk
Introvert, shy, stuck-up, I’ve been called all the above because I don’t express easily what others say so freely.
Nervous, intimidated, Insecure
Sensitive, what will they think when I say something?
“I’d rather be thought of a Fool , then to open my mouth and remove all doubt”..
but maybe an open mind cannot be,
without an mouth willing to open.
My arms spread wide for all who need, my heart is displayed.
But please don’t be greedy
Stepped on, used, abused, have I
Been because of my gratitude and compassion
I wish someone would listen to me, as if it were a silent pupil to a master whom only speaks the truth and only when he feels ready
Bright lights, blank stares
Water, moving, flowing, going, nature vs machine
Nature vs man
Spirituality vs reality
as they whizz down the street in pairs
Judging me, not seeing me
I walk alone, head down.
my feet pass quick and steady as if a river and
Like a curious child I see below the bridge where I stand
Wishing to know the meaning of existence
Yet content with the view
And wanting to jump in.
No one can see me crying
Its too dark
Just to be safe I pretend I have something else on my face every time I wipe it
The fresh tears mix with the aged aqueous
And disappear with those of the past.
Their bodies of steel are cold,
Their eyes are sharp, their words easily glide through my skin like a razor held by a hopeless addict
Their man-made mistakes
Become by most feared and hated.
People with labels and names,
Are but just that
I’m alone within the voices
I push them back with my chair and whip.
Trying to tame the temptress
that seduces my escapist muses
But she growls and snarls and I feel the scratches slowly turn to scars and wounds on my inner most soul
How long can someone keep their chin up
Before they are simply just ignoring reality, ******* up their ‘control’
Should I tell myself again, “its’ gonna be okay”, or is it alright if I take time and break down
How many more drawings can be?
with the colors of black and white spilling from me and outside the lines
How many words regurgitated from my mind
Scrambled in a way they might be defined.
How many more patterns of vibrations will I need to resound to match my frequency
How much more art must spew from me that is otherwise calm and quiet
Should I open up and try this thing called talking?
Though I have tried.. I stutter, I get lost, I bore
I move my lips but the blank stares flare a hole in me like the Sun through glass on a scurrying ant.
I know they're not listening
My art listens
But it cannot talk
Just display to me what is inside
Escape that which I have been imagining
Or creating, or thinking.
Though it can speak, profound
Without making a sound
But I would like a voice
Not one of mine, of another
Who will listen
Not just talk
Introvert, shy, stuck-up, I’ve been called all the above because I don’t express easily what others say so freely.
Nervous, intimidated, Insecure
Sensitive, what will they think when I say something?
“I’d rather be thought of a Fool , then to open my mouth and remove all doubt”..
but maybe an open mind cannot be,
without an mouth willing to open.
My arms spread wide for all who need, my heart is displayed.
But please don’t be greedy
Stepped on, used, abused, have I
Been because of my gratitude and compassion
I wish someone would listen to me, as if it were a silent pupil to a master whom only speaks the truth and only when he feels ready
Bright lights, blank stares
Water, moving, flowing, going, nature vs machine
Nature vs man
Spirituality vs reality
