When people say capitalism is bad...

Well, no, capitalism is not bad. People are bad.
At least, they can be.
Capitalism is just one way of experiencing who we are as humans.

We have molded our system according to how we work together
as a species. This is who we are as a collective whole.
We could express it a different way,
but we would still get the same results:

Some people are good and some people are evil.
There will always be the lucky,
and there will always be those who run into misfortune.
But it still isn't so black & white, even then.

We cannot blame a system, or even an individual for actions.
We cannot blame a thing.
We cannot blame anything.

What happens, happens because of how
everything is webbed together as one -
both colliding and agreeing.

We will never all be the same,
until maybe we are robots, which makes us no longer human.

So, no, I refuse to agree that capitalism is bad.
It is a tool which can be misused,
like anything else in this world.

Just remember that we are all one whole collective consciousness,
so when you blame one person, you are blaming part of who you are,
though you may not see it that way.

All we can do is love and try to be pure,
in hopes that others will follow,
but mathematically speaking,
all will never follow one whole-heartedly.

sometimes, it is not about loving yourself

sometimes, it is about loving the other:
the one right in front of you, waiting to be loved;
waiting desperately,
not knowing how to make it happen,
because they've never been truly loved before - 100%.

sometimes, it is your turn to be selfless,
not selfish - and maybe even suffer a little bit,
because maybe you have been loved before 100%
and you know how AMAZING that feels,
and you want it more than anything from this ONE person,

but they just don't know how to give it to you;
they can't,
because they've never seen it before,
never felt it before,
& don't even know how to begin.

sometimes,

all you can do is show them the way,
instead of getting frustrated,
or angry,
or dissatisfied;
you show them the way,
by loving them 100%, always, whenever you are able,
and sometimes when it is far too difficult.

maybe our story hasn't finished yet
maybe it hasn't even started
because i know when i look at the cracks in the sidewalk
i still think of you
and when i get home, i hope your scent is still there
even after hours or days

maybe this is our strange beginning
we are both very strange, after all

Is love logical?
Is it topical?
I beat the tree and nothing falls.

Is it random?
Is it fandom?
I'm your biggest fan, so please sign!

Is it something?
Is it nothing?
How do we understand it all all?

Is it wishing?
Is it kissing?
You've got yours, so where is mine?

Is it easy?
Is it greasy?
Like driving a car down the highway.

Is it crazy?
Is it hazey?
Where does this road take us?

Is it fate?
Is it dates?
Let's do your way, then my way.

Is it make believe?
Is it what we conceive?
I don't think anything could shake us.

Is it ***?
Is it a hex?
Hypnosis at its finest.

Is it a look?
Is it the books?
Are our ideas the same?

Is it math?
Is it a craft?
Times. Divide. Add. Minus.

Is it art?
Is it open farts?
Could you never be ashamed?

Is it true?
Is it you?
I'm not sure, but this time: us.

Is is tame?
Is it lame?
We'll  never know if we don't try.

Is it perfection?
Retrospection?
I remember a time when we were happy.

Is it doused?
Is it when you buy a house?
Things are getting dry.

Is it news?
Is it confused?
I just want something sappy.

Is it the cat?
Is it the rat?
Which one did it?

Is it pride?
Is it a ride?
Rollercoasters are for kids.

Is it soul mates?
Is it sulfate?
Which one is it?

Is it fun?
Is it like the sun?
I just want to close the lid.

I'm in love with your mystery .

Maybe I don't deserve to be loved back . . .

I'm not very mysterious .

I am an open book .

It makes no sense ;

I want you to be open ,

but I am in love with your mystery .

What do I do ?

This is a catch 22 . . .

A dark mist settled on her lips,
and as soon as she opened her mouth,
the mist morphed into a magical shade of pink;
warmed by her angel-breath,
like falling frost in the eye, it froze her,
and everything around her went still...
She spoke sweet words of sorries and plays,
hoping to born a new day -
with new tales
and new times;
It was only then she realized,
the darkness remained,
no one heard her,
& that all this time,
she only chose to view a different shade,
from behind the curtains of a moth's wing,
posing as a rustic butterfly.
She wouldn't let the words roam now;
she would reel them back in -
like a hurt fish, like a dead wish,
she would tie them up like a bow,
and throw them in the trash,
along with Christmas Eve and the New Year
that she had imagined.
She would leave that photo behind,
and those carved things
that always looked nice on her shelf.
She finally knew
that it was time to go.

Unfortunately, opposites do attract,
& I had to learn this the hard way, five different times,
before I realized,
I need what I do not want,
& I must learn to want just that -- what I need,
or happiness will never follow fluidly;
only lust and tears
& many late nights and stomach aches.