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Luna Wolfe Nov 2012
We think we're so different.

because we have piercings
                                                  or an iphone/blackberry
wear jeans not skirts, skirts not jeans
only shop at local markets, only buy the brands
eat organic
                       or vegan
                                           or total junk
wash our hair with what's cheap
                                                           or environmentally friendly
                                                        ­                                                      or not at all
because we listen to folk, not rap
ska, not rock
                                                            ­          talk a certain way
                                                             ­         or partake in certain hobbies
have skin, instead of fur or bark
see more colourfully, but have **** nightvision

because we have warm blood
because we are human.




We think that this is individuality, but it's really all a lie.
A lie to keep us docile and passive..
                                                       ­                                                   To keep us buying **** we don't need,
                                                           ­                                                but making us believe
                                                         ­                                                  that we do
Guarding us from that destructive                unpredictable                       mother
of ours
until we don't even think of ourselves as animals anymore.
Until we think we're Kings.




To be you, you just have to be you.
Scratch that.
You just have to be
Because what is "you" anyway?
                                                         ­            A pronoun
                                                         ­            to keep you
                                                             ­        away from me
                                                              ­       and we
                                                              ­       and us
                                                              ­                                          together.

To force you into the lie of language,
because we all know that what truly speaks is our hearts
but we would never admit it
because then we would be too emotional
too sensitive
not cold or impersonal enough
to fit in.
                                                             ­                  And that's all we really want, right?
                                                          ­                     To belong?
Well, I'll tell you something:
there is a way to fit
to belong
to live.
And that is to not fit.

                                                           ­          Don't define yourself by these labels
                                                          ­           or this music
                                                           ­          or that boyfriend.

                                                     ­                Define yourself through your ideas
                                                           ­          your ambitions
                                                       ­              your immaterial desires.

Take out the you and become a we,
                                                             ­    and we will be,
                                                             ­                                      just be,
together.
L  Mar 2016
Nightvision
L Mar 2016
You will be somewhere out there,
drink in hand, slightly frowning at the sound of the third string-
it's out of tune. What a terrible guitar player.
A mediocre rock band plays.
The singer isn't good.
You will sigh and wordlessly wonder if you will ever meet
a good singer,
or anyone who likes good music.
Maybe someone who enjoys the music you do.
"That's wishful thinking at best, isn't it?", you'll mutter to yourself
and take another sip
of a particularly "girly" drink. You don't care. It tastes sweet.
The lights will decorate your back; you're not facing the dance floor.
You'll glance to the side, there being nothing there to look at,
and you will decide you'll stop giving this club a chance- the music is never good enough.
It will have been the second, maybe third time you go there.

You will finish your drink
and go back home.
You will lay in bed, the sheets will be warm, the night cold.

Having gotten tired from the walk home,
you fall asleep quickly.

The universe ties us together that night
and in a club you've never been to before,
lacking mediocre rock bands,
a dj taking their place,
(a particularly good dj playing that night, he's mixing 90's french house songs)
You sit and order your sweet drink.

Ten minutes go by.


I walk in.
Jonny Angel Jul 2014
I enjoyed the work I did,
'cause those bearded-guys
were some serious *******,
constructing high explosives
& placing them near roadsides,
then detonating them
for maximum carnage,
to spill some serious blood.

Oh how I loved working at night,
especially those overcast nights
where I drew beads
with nightvision
& did some exploding of my own,
busted a lot of skulls.

Ya see, I could be a serious *******,
too.
And I was serious,
as serious as cancer.
I was the consummate
silent killer,
so effective,
they called me
"Mister Pathogen **"
& death I did spread.
A character poem written about a guy I knew.

— The End —