Here is a story, not different from others,
just to confuse you and make you wonder,
it is not much, so dont expect anything at all,
its a story about a joker and his downfall.

well lets begin from the beginning,
before the start,
lay a joker, thinking about his past,
He kept on laughing at his own jokes,
decided to become a comic for the good 'ol folks.

He kept on laughing and made others laugh,
he finally made a name but got caught in a raft,
the wind was agaisnt him and so was time,
the water rose high and destroyed his climb.

Now the smile turned upside down,
its just a demise of another clown,
it was the same, everyone kept of laughing,
except the joker, who wouldnt stop crying.

his identity became a horror,
a waste of society,
his existance was now
a story of gory heirarchy,

Irrational being in an imperfect world,
he is a reflection of some of the whirls
he is the one with no possible partner,
a looser in life but a skillful carver.

he is the joker, a killer,
a master, a cheater,
he is the joker near his end
he is the joker.......

Creates the economy
Also there comes a heirarchy
It's also something I care very little about
The obsession with it makes me want to scream and shout

despite popular belief
your hands do not bend the light of the sun
your lips do not pour truth and sugar
and there are scissors in your gaze

sitting next to your decisions
i let them hold my hands
and hold my mouth on your command
six pounds of fine print
six pounds of guile
you only love me when im silent

i am not stupid
i am not a fire prince
nor will i live to earn something that you refuse to give
however there are other factors, always,
like survival

kaleidoscope collage
your cuts are carefully connected
fingers of precision and denial
this was your causing and creation
and yet your language is laced with words as if you would be hurt by my exile

perhaps it will come that you understand love
but as it stands you believe it is hunger
to love is to know to demand and control
i pity your vision of family

a sliding scale of humanity
what gives you the idea it is a choice
what makes you think there is a weight difference in voice
like you have the right to someones needs
and reserving them for trials
performance should not be required
for simple decency

and yet here we stand
in front of the pyramids
like women perhaps
but no human for miles and miles

Don't tell me to shut up and be grateful,
For the rights "given" to me.
Nobody "gave" me my sovereignty.
It is mine, inherently.

To say that I should be grateful to possess more rights
Than the women before me,
Is like to say I should be grateful to the theif
Who only steals twenty dollars, when he used to steal fifty.

As long as I live in a society that blames a **** victim
For being too ****,
As long as I live in a society that creates an institutional
Gendered Heirarchy,
And as long as I live in a society where people feel trapped
By their ****** identity

I will not shut up and be grateful.
I will be loud and angry.

The world is grey.
Well...slightly more so now.
The nerve endings have healed.
Yet the numbness has lingered.
I stumble on my own feet getting out of bed.
Is it that hard to believe I’m simply.
Average.
I get more lost with compass in hand.
Although I can tell you how to find north.
Theoretical knowledge always worked in school.
But my life mentor is absent.
What happens when there is no teacher in gym.
A bunch of kids wandering the grounds.
Some fighting.
More aimlessly wagging their tongues.
Trying to figure out the social heirarchy.
Then there is me.
Smoking a cig at the edge of the property.
Day dreaming of past events.
Even then I secluded myself.
Unknowingly laying the ground work for the next ten years.
Countless routines repeated with different faces and surroundings.
Sometimes even the words would transition into the other.
In those moments I was living faux dejavu.
Losing my mind to my own reflections shadow.
If only I had read the letter My past self had written to my future self telling present me to listen to the mistakes I already made.
Maybe things would have been different.
The possibilities is what destroys the intellegent mind.
Not pain.
It’s the “why”.
The only question that will truly have no answer if asked enough.
And I can’t seem to stop asking.

i'd like to suggest a new lesson
for kids to learn to write
about heartbreak;
and how to navigate the waters
and chop down the saplings that grew from the
precious seeds of promises
that we planted in the warm dirt
that stained our shirts

and a chapter about hurt
about how it's coming
but it's ok
cause there was never a question about how much he loved you
it's just that we were too young to hold up our expectations
and too blind to see the faults
that cracked open to reveal our cowardice
that we filled in with volume, growing louder with every tremor

i didn't mean to tie you down
but my hair is so long that sometimes even I get caught up in it
I want to write you a chapter of apologies in any language you can understand
I'll bind it with maturity and print it on parchment so you know that it is not to be taken lightly

the heirarchy of words is so hard to uncover
I know that my blunders are what you heard
and my heart is what you missed

She was born in this world unable to see.
Her chubby cheeks complement her very large eyes.
She was an angel, indeed. Adorable.
I know I wasn't there but I can tell from the very moment I saw her eyes.

Her eyes...
The only part of her that stays the same, from the moment when she was a child until now that she is a woman.
Her skin is no longer the same, nor her mind, nor her heart.
But her eyes... her eyes speak of eternity.

Her irises shame the bluest skies,
and when they turn gray the wolves realize that the moon is nothing to her gaze.
And when I read the scriptures stating God makes me lie in green pastures and leads me to still waters,
I need not to read them again, for her eyes tell it all.

Your eyes show me the evergreen fields, your face is tamer than the peaceful waters.
Tell me then, what else do I need, when you're the best that God has to offer?

Now what do the seekers seek,
what do the doubters ask,
what do they decipher,
when your eyes have answered them at last?

Why did they spend their lives looking at the stars,
why did they waste their time breaking down atoms,
why did they put themselves in an endless search for the understanding of infinity,
when the second they gaze upon your eyes, they shall know immortality?

I can see. But I was blind, like a bat lost in the middle of the day.
Seeking purpose, seeking essence, seeking all the answers to all the questions.
I have dropped belief, I have dropped faith, I have dropped hope,
and so I have dropped love.

And I have never been this lost.
It's a shame when the thing you were searching, was with you all along.

But fate is so gracious to give me the answer,
and I cannot believe that it would be much smaller,
The summary of everything, of the cosmos, of my existence,
Lies within your pupils, your lenses and your irises.

Your beauty has quantized the irrational,
you made the skeptic trust for the very first time,
you have shamed the atheist for making him believe in God,
for he was convinced that your perfect existence must have a perfect creator.

You have proven that Copernicus has wasted his time proving the earth's revolution around the sun,
when it was crystal clear that the universe revolves around you.
You have proven wrong Maslow's heirarchy of needs,
when it was your words that shall make a man truly live.

Your eyes became the window to another world,
Through it I've seen the beauty of your soul, the hope of us all.
This foolish man has even been proven foolish,
searching the answers in all the places, despite the fact that you're beside me.

And still I remain blind. I can see everything, but still I am blind.
But now I shall cease my needless wandering and just stare at your eyes for the rest of my life.
Until I am in my deathbed, with your cheeks chubby no more, and your beauty defied by time.
Your eyes remain the same, and the radiance of your soul forever young.

And I shall tell you my final words,
to the eyes of my goddess, forever divine,

*"I have seen the all the beauty of the world, through the eyes that weren't mine."

Reality is what separates the real me and what you see
Reality is what we call it
but how come we can never be real in this world we call reality?
In order to survive reality
we must change, conform to the standards set by this "reality"
we must hide the "real" us. Lock it up inside the box we call the mind
The real me only now exist in an imaginary world made by my mind
Facing reality another persona is created
A fake who lives in Reality
Someone who is kind hearted and good.
Always pleasing people.
Praisng the one's higher in heirarchy.
Never forgets good manners
Always says thank you
when the "me" inside my mind just shouts out
"*******"

Reality is what separates the real me and what you see

Many have wondered
How the first heirarchy came
Into social life

I'm no expert, but
With my life, I'd say it was
Due to coconuts

That thought
Knowing that you're not smart enough
Knowing that you're not good-looking enough
Knowing that you're not as awesome as people around you

You're in the bottom of the social ladder
You're in the bottom of heirarchy
But you continue with college and work
'That's how it's done,' they say
You know you can do more
You know you can live more
But rules, family, consequences
They stop you. Cold
Crushing your hopes and dreams
Making become like them
Sooner or later...you're one of them
Sooner or later..you'll crush the hopes and dreams of the next generation
Sooner or later...you're the demon that you hated once

Every step you take, every move you make
Comments. Opinions. Feedbacks.
Casually ignoring them...
LIES! They haunt you. Stalk you. Get ahold the better of you
Comments turn to regrets. Opinions turn to truth. Feedbacks turn to problems

You drink the wine of depression
Hoping that someone sober enough will help you
Drink with you
But you can't...
They don't deserve your pain
They don't deserve your sadness
They don't deserve YOU
So continue. Drinking it.
It fills you and in the end...
You want to quit college
You want to quit dreaming
You want to quit your ambitions
You want to quit life

Though you still hope for change...
You can change it but they stop you
It's a cycle
Desire change. Try to change. Change. They stop the change.
Rinse and repeat.

the word came involutarily,
others were stuck, yet i knew
them to be beautiful, and
so they are.

powers and dominions,
virtues, re search them.

it was cool there,
we learned about protection,
quiet spaces.

there is an heirarchy, yet
some words remain faultless.

some need to be remembered.

angel.

sbm.