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we all heard the earth is not flat
   and it's true...
               that the earth isn't
           but that hardly matters
when reading a map rather than
succumbing to the ease of g.p.s.,
but as any barren sailor will
tell you:
             orientating your vessel
according to stars,
         just invoke the idea of the heavens
to be flat...
       the flat sky argument to move
from (a) to (b)...
             the earth is flat, on foot,
   but ulysses the sky is flat,
         once a man's foot steps onto a ship
   and rises above poseidon's
  upon the seas, the sky is flat,
       upon the earth, the earth itself
  is flat...
          with regards to the effectiveness
     of reading a map, and plotting
         a vector...
             no neil armstrong image from
the moon will give me effective planning
to move from point (a) to point (b)...
   the pride of the london black cabbie,
infuriated by the fact that
    the knowledge has been made
the earth is flat, for the sake of "argument"
or rather...
         for a perfection of navigational
                    the sky is flat upon a ship.

Brendan Thomas Aug 2014

Such a humorous man
A kindhearted soul

His fame it does seem
Had taken it's toll

All his money and fame
Could not bring him peace

Behind laughs and smiles
Lay his demons , his beast

The world a little dimmer
With another bright star gone

We'll definitely miss him
Though the world will move on

In memory of Robin Williams

There is so much of you
on my mind

that everything else
seems buried

and I feel like
I am too

But standing next to you
all my thoughts just float away

and I am unable to tell you
what I’m thinking

but please,
take my hand..

Unbury me

In regards to missing someone when they aren't there. And when you finally see them you can't find your words. Almost like you're content with just being next to them. Lol
KxBird May 20

Do you ever meet someone who has a messy room
clothes scattered everywhere knickknacks empty food wrappers piled so high you can't even see or find the floor because it's buried under miles of a mess
and when you ask the person why they don't clean it up they say
I know where everything is
I like it this way
it's comfortable
I'm used to it
comfortable messes
we make those a lot in our lives maybe not in our rooms but certainly in our minds
we the ones that feel too much
spending our whole life fighting for just a scrap of attention
that falls from the table of the normal ones
the holy gods
who know what love without doubt reflection without disgust
friendship without fear
life without a façade feel like
because they aren't being constantly traumatized by their thoughts.
I am on a first name basis with depression and anxiety
They come over nightly and are the first ones that greet me in the morning. Trash talking me to sleep and warping my perception when I wake. Apologizing with every inhale cursing me with every exhale but at least they hold me and say "I'm here" an abusive comfort but it's comfort none the less since nothing else offered it's hand when I asked
Its front door is my ribcage
its favorite place is my cheeks.
I became a home
letting sadness fill the vacancy tragedy put in my chest
and I guess being needed was nice when I didn't think anyone else did.
I was unaware of renovation they had in mind
Replacing my passions with paralysis
My deity with doubt
My social scene with solitude
My self esteem with sharp objects
And the persuasive whisper that it will feel good I promise replaced my cry for help and turned me into an addict with the pink flesh to prove it.
I even get to wear short sleeves cause nobody notices
Cue the incessant bullying of being an attention seeker
Because I didn't pull down the curtain of long sleeves over my struggle
I was honest and you said I was weak
But you're right
I am not sick
I do not need a doctor
I am a circus act
And the ringmaster is suicide.
I did all I could
I asked and you denied
I verbalized and you said it was an illusion
Well how about a disappearing act
Where I will hear the applause of my consistent companions depression and anxiety and all the boys and girls who mocked me and even you who kept going even though I said no
You took my worth by the roots and planted deception in its place and deception became truth because worth had already withered away
I am standing in a room and I cannot find the floor
It is a mess but I am used to it
This is how I was raised
Drowning in the sorrow and it's comfortable.

But you'd miss the colors wouldn't you?
The green of the grass
The blue of the water
The pink of bubblegum
The red of roses
You'd miss the sunsets wouldn't you?
For every time you went on a walk at dusk and said "this can't be the last one I see"
And you'd miss the future wouldn't you even though it seems incredibly dim right now and the pointlessness is the point to a pen of grief with which you'd scratch out every what if and possibility
But the pens not in your hand
And the right king can put Humpty Dumpty back together again
Your life doesn't always have to be held together by a safety pin
It will take time but there is always the option of a needle and thread
So once more will you extend you hand if I told you that hope is willing to reach back
And it has scars just like you
And bullied too
Hope isn't ashamed to associate with you it
It's favorite sound is your voice
So you have a choice  
Will you let the reasons win or will you let hope in?
You can still be a home
You have a garden inside you but you now have a gardener that knows how to let worth grow
And it's only renovation plan is to evict the
Identity you've been
Living in
Because you may be on a first name basis with depression and anxiety but they are not your friends
Because they never fed you love they made you overweight with lies instead
But hope has a scarlet thread and it knit a sweater for your heart because it is fragile and hope never wants to tear it apart and I promise you that redemptive love says you're enough
And it washes over you like the euphoria of a kid going to Disney for the first time
Acceptance without alteration
Kindness overthrows isolation
You are so much more than the stress that got to you, that's why Hope died on a cross, to say I love you.
I am standing in a room
It's a mess that's im used to
But I'm finally uncomfortable
I'm willing to risk starting again
I'm on a first name basis with Jesus
And as he clears it all away
The weight of freedom falls
My sadness doesn't own me anymore
I can finally see the floor.

I was again commissioned by Encounter Student Ministries to write this as the opener for their 13 Reasons series discussing hard topics such as suicide, depression, self harm and rape.
Aaron LA Lux Jun 2016

The slap stings more than it probably should,
scratch that like a cat’s scratch on the back of a mattress,
the slap stings more than I thought it would,
because it was a surprise that was deserved but not expected,

and as she tries to explain herself,
with tears streaming down her cheeks and loving anger in her eyes,
I begin to think what every abused person forever thinks,
maybe I deserved it…

She’s small,
physically unthreatening,
but emotionally a serious liability,
like a stealth bomber,
aeronautically beautiful,
but destructively deadly,
a suicidal sexy savage,
a carcinogenic princess,

she is,
as cute as she is hard headed,
stubborn trouble that’s hard to argue with,

so I don’t argue,
instead of engage I ignore,
silence can be more of an insult,
than even the worst words ever are,
when words are replaced,
with the silence of space,
all kinds of assumptions and truths can occur,

so I don’t argue,
I don’t debate or retaliate,
I just politely remove myself,
from this situation when it escalates.

I’ve been in abusive relationships in the past,
and the bones of the skeletons in my closet,
barely rest buried just below the surface,

and that slap,

that fckn slap,
almost awoke the demons,
so loud it almost disturbed the devil,
it almost brought about a most unholy resurrection,

that slap,

was like a shovel digging into the dirt in a graveyard,
almost uncovering the sinful skeleton bones buried just below the surface…

But I refuse,
to let this hysterically temperamental gorgeous Gravedigger,
unearth a past that's sentimentally painful and totally traumatic,
and even though I’m unnerved by the slap because that slap hurt,
I refuse to give in to her drama and become all melodramatically dramatic.


she’s sweet as Halloween treats,
at the same time still bitingly bitter and distasteful,
so instead of engaging in here arguments,
I remove myself and my emotions from her Self that’s so ungrateful,
she calls me a player and a slut but I find that her labels are mislabeled,
so no I don’t give in to her taunts I refuse to engage in something so shameful,

instead of engaging,
I leave her alone with her tears,
I exit out the balcony,
and make my way down the stairs,
I take myself to the ocean,
walking barefooted along the path,
I am not responsible for her heart,
so I refuse to endure her wrath,


domestic abuse hurst both,
the abuser and the abused,
especially when the two are in love,
and they are all out of options to choose,

there’s a very thin line between love and hate,
and those dividing lines can sometimes fade,
mistakes can be made good intentions misplaced,
a kiss on the check and a held hand can turn into a slap in the face!

The slap stings more than it probably should,
scratch that like a cat’s scratch on the back of a mattress,
the slap stings more than I thought it would,
because it was a surprise that was deserved but not expected,

feeling rejected,
and disconnected,
feeling both affected,
and disaffected,

I exit,

I exit the bungalow,
and ascend down the winding staircase,
I get outside and get away from there,
staring out into star lit space,

I breathe,
and think,
fresh air is so underrated,
I see my favorite star,
thanking me because I made it,
twinkling vibrantly she has me sedated,
not the girl,
but the star,
she is such a seductress,
shining in such radiant hues of electric light,
she twinkles vibrantly and violently,
she does not go gently into that good night,
she is the good in a good night,
twinkling vibrantly as other stars shoot across the Night's sky,

she rages against the dying light,
and I give thanks that I am still alive.

I walk,

barefoot and bare chested,
down to the beach,
where the dry desert sands of southern Baja,
meet the wet ocean waters of the Pacific,

bottle of wine in one hand,
book and pen in the other,

I marvel at the stars,
and remember that I am never really alone,
for as long as I can see the sky,
I’ll always see the way to get back home.

The constellations are stellar interpretations,
maps to guide us home to our final destination.

I arrive,
at the beach,
several shooting stars later,
and wash away the ache on my face and in my heart,
with waves on my feet and wine in my throat,
I record some more emotions on this paper,
because poetry is my form of emotional art,

and by the light of the full moon,
I write for as long as I can write,
my pains won’t be in vain,
and everything will be worth it even what happened tonight,

I will take all of our collective abuses,
and place them on these papers,
transforming them from form to thought,
then from thought to words on these papers,

I will take all of our collective abuses,
process and translate them into messages to be read,
I will take all of our collective abuses,
and process them through the headaches in my head,
so hopefully these messages,
will help others who have been or are being abused stand strong,
and hopefully these messages,
will help others who abuse or have abused realize that they are wrong,
because at the end of the day what we can say to relate,
is it’s all about love and hate it’s not all about right and wrong.

And just as I lose hope,
and ethereal angel appears,
wearing a white linen robe,
looking like a ghost holding laughter and tears,

she sits next to me,
here on the sands,
and takes the warm bottle of wine,
from my cold still writing hands,

she observes as I finish,
writing these last few lines,
she watches me with interest,
as if she can read my mind,

and she smiles even though it’s a painful world,
because she knows we’re both survivors so we will survive,
and she knows we’re both riders so we’re always ready to ride,
and we both shine way too bright to ever be able to hide,

and then we make love,
our passions rising along with the tide,
and maybe that’s why the girl back at the bungalow slapped me,
because she was mixed up with hurt feelings and hurt pride,
she was frustrated that she loved me but that here love was not enough,
but what am I to do I can not control how my heart feels or even control myself.

I hurt her,
so she slapped me,
and I guess that’s fair,
though maybe not exactly,
either way I care too much to care,
and either way that damn slap kinda stings,

even when I know it’s deserved…

The slap stings more than it probably should,
scratch that like a cat’s scratch on the back of a mattress,
the slap stings more than I thought it would,
because it was a surprise that was deserved but not expected…

– ∆  Aaron La Lux ∆ –

'The City of Fallen Angels'; available worldwide 7/7/16

ouch! I probably deserved it...
Luna Casablanca Sep 2016

The memory that dominated my time at the time
to take out my iPhone 6 and shoot an image
of whoever whatever wherever.
I sit at my computer and I look at all the pictures
and why we can’t have these moments again.
What did I do?
Was I mean?
Can we have it again?
Why not?
If you saw me crying this very moment as I type
these words on the same laptop I keep the photographs saved,
would you want to be saved as well to be a part of my life?
I will never try and make you stay,
I won’t beg,
but I continue to cry, for this is the power of a photograph.
Never thought I would want to belong so bad.
At least in a photo with us standing together and our
arms around each other,
I had it once,
and I know I’ll have it again.
Even if it isn’t you,
someone can help me.
You’ll be making new memories,
and I’ll be alone making a
collage of the photos I saved.
This is me now,

You can come back to me anytime. I'll be good. I won't be obnoxious or goofy, I promise. I want you back, please trust that I have changed and I am aware of my problem. I can be better than I used to be, and I won't make a fool of myself to get your attention. I miss you, will you let me in again? If you ever want me, you can come to me anytime. I need you now.
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