Log in and lose all sense of what and who you  truly are.
I see the ******* numbers and even  more egotistical statements from people I would consider more typist than writers.

A child with the understanding how to play the game and cheat the system .
I see your trending yet again because your fake ID reposted your newest crap fest while others seem to avoid your work like ***** on the floor of a frat house party.

Ego you have my friend.
Talent for bullshitting well in check.

But as for the page your a child who stares at the ocean scared shitless from the shore .
It must be fantastic being the greatest swimmer never to set foot in the pool.

This write is dedicated to a certain poet who if I mentioned .
Well his ego would just tell him hey at least someone's paying attention.

Your trending yet again and at the end of the day .
When you step away from the comp your just a ******* with a overinflated ego and some fake *** numbers .

And if are paths ever cross you may ask.
Hey aren't you?
And my only reply will be .

Yes I will take fries with that.


         Fin

In my complacency and distraction
I over indulged
Allowed myself too much of the things the make me happy
And spiralled out of control

As a human
A system
Built on balance and order
I tilted
Tipped the scales
And my self punishment
Will endeavour to fix me again

Today I poured away my favourite beer
for the long awaited tomorrow's already here
tomorrow I dust my feet and wipe sweat off my face
because finally I've finished running this race
tomorrow I bend down to my shoes and free my lace
pen and paper down, in honour of the moment I rest my case
tomorrow I pat myself in the back and wish myself luck
for seemingly bright is a future that was once dungeon dark,
After writing the very last word in Human Resource Class
tomorrow I'll finally take a deep breath and out, alas!
Another beginning for preference of not using new
tomorrow I've got tops to pop goat's meat to chew
tomorrow I'll dance to the rhythm of momentary serenity
I'll shout out loud from a three years' pent up insanity
to set free the monsters that had sieged my psyche
tomorrow my life changes because I'll start another hike
an adventure to nowhere for that's what I call everywhere
this life hasn't been my cup of tea, neither has it been my food
so tomorrow I say goodbye to calculus, albeit probably not for good
I've learnt not to think that the last page means the story is over
No! Happily ever after doesn't mean no more rolling in the clover
tomorrow for once in my life I shed a tear of relief
it wasn't a record breaking hike but I've overcome the cliff
tomorrow I credit tension and debit nonchalance
I've lost a drink today but I'll make up tomorrow
****** drained and deadbeat till the bone marrow
forget the agony of the fateful arrow of sorrow
tomorrow I'm the man with the whip, the legend of Zorro
A butterfly ready to fly straight out of the cocoon
the air caught within an overinflated balloon
tomorrow I start sailing the high seas once again
in the rocket ship of ambition, space bound shine or rain
for this isn't one of those stories of escapes so narrow
but one of years in a fortress from whence I get acquitted tomorrow

I see those words of trite frivolity
Words of surface anger and childish spite
Words written to hurt others instead of relieve their own pain
Defended by your words of seeming righteousness
I see your words that seem to propagate
The overinflated egos of the tedious, tiring, and mundane
Yet attack just the same the differences that make life interesting
I see the truth in your hypocrisy
I see the lies in your delusions of grandeur
I see popularity has been mistaken for true friendship
You lead your flock of insipid sheep to decimate the poetic landscape
Without acknowledging the beauty in the jagged rocks
Words hurt just as much to read as to hear
Even when they are not meant for my ears
I feel those words that have been seen as heroic
I feel their truth in an honor perceived by the selfish and vapid
There are no apologies for defending those who have already defended themselves
It breeds a mob mentality that works against what you claim to stand for
Freedom in all things
Free speech, free love, free artistic license
Yet censoring the unwanted by force feeding your opinion as fact
Spewing repeated derision, contempt, and disdain
That is not peace in poetry
That is not an honorable act
And it is not an oversight, sadly
I prefer peace and tranquility
To an eye for an eye
Vengeance has no place here

In the Grandest Scheme of Things, the Ego-Sense of Self seems Overinflated.

We are Sparks materialized in prescribed form of Primordial Source...

We are All the Sacred Wounds of her Original Innocence.

The greatest, most Honorable Occupation One can give to this life is the refinement of the Self.

In so doing, the raising vibration affects as ripples in a pond.
Effects Rate of Energetic State of Being~

        *Everywhere      All Around

Blake has written it all and written it
in perfect clarity and beauty
and Baudelaire topped it
with decadence and forbidden pleasures
and  Kerouac took it on the road
and gave it a beat
and Bukowski redefined and simplified
and told all its ugly truths
and got it drunk on beer and women

yet still we sit here poor men and women
and boys and girls
scratching away in our journals
and typing at our refurbished vintage typewriters
and cheap plastic keyboards
attached to overpriced laptops
made of fruit and ego

trying to add to the vast pile of treasure
left behind by Coleridge and Thoreau and Whitman
and Mother Maya Angelou
trying to write ourselves in and out
of the corners of solitude and madness
following in the echos of Plath and Dickinson and Poe

we pickpocket dead myths
and dig up their bones
and dance in the fields of their deaths
and claim their prayers as our own
and play the part of god
as we invent new ways to sin
and feel shame for walking naked
in our own bodies
and daring to enjoy lust
and desire and love

it’s all worthless garbage
and it’s all priceless time well spent
shouting into the void of our meaningless existence
and all the vast emptiness of space takes no notice
no matter who loudly we bash our pans
and pound our fists
and ******* our overinflated sense of self worth

we are helplessly alone
stuffed in overcrowded tin containers
packed tightly in our human misery
willing to sleep with one another
but afraid to look each other in the eye
and see who it really is
we’re sharing our beds with
because we would rather
just imagine it really is love
and not find out if its the truth of love
we’re trying to define
within the fragility of our hearts

we wait till our beds are empty
and our hands are cold
and then we pick up our pens
and strike our keyboards
and lay down lies over the truth
we are afraid to uncover
and we treat it poorly
by doing this again and again

yet it defies us still with its volume and weight
and no matter how many times
are how many ways
we re-write the same poem
over and over and over
the heart stays the same
no matter what color we paint it
red or black or bruised sky blue
what tear lost in the ocean
or ocean trapped in a tear
it remains within the grasp
of the same endless heart beat
coming from the same eternal heart

no matter how many times
a new giant or new lord or new king
or new queen or fool are crowned
and wether they type streams of garbage
or write on leafs inlaid with gold
we will always be connected
by the necessity
of the painful beauty of poetry

who are we without are ****** egos
without are overindulgent narcissism
without are overinflated *****
in our own mouths
swallowing our own pride

how many selfies will it take
before we know our selfs
how much self pride will it take
before we realize we have nothing
to be prideful for

nothing more than civilized savages
of casual cruelty

so quick to anger
so willing to hate
so willful to ignorance

so blind to love

love

the only thing that makes
our miserable existence worthwhile
the only thing that makes our suffering
worth breathing through

yet we sit blind gazing
at our brief moments of eternity

trusting the lust of our eyes
over the truth of our hearts

giving into the desire
of instant gratification
to avoid the fear of being alone
the desperation of feeling lonely

pretending to know love
as we sit side by side
while drifting miles apart
strangers speaking different languages

smiling through the pain
******* away the time
as our flesh erodes
as our bones weaken
as our hearts fade away
from what we could become

how hollow is the echo
of what was once the song
of our hearts
how shallow of a river bed
have we made of our blood
is there anything but oxygen
filling our empty lungs and

if we let go of our egos
if we threw away our vulgarity

what would we find
what would we become

if we closed our eyes
and saw with our hearts
would we feel then
that we could be beautiful
without the cruelty of our narcissism

She is an amazing writer.
A Little One delighter.
And a kick *** demon fighter
When she appears my day gets so much brighter.

Her name, I have discovered, can be used as an acronym for the phrase; Sun And Moon.
When was I hit by this new revelation? Why some day during this week, maybe late afternoon.
I think that it is almost, if not, the perfect way to define what she honestly means to me. Oh how I love my nonbiological big sister; the awesome loon! :D
Seriously! I mean it guys, she is killer! Whackier than the best possible cartoon!
I can tell you guys this one thing.
When she gave me my nickname.
I felt so high, like I was standing on the tip of an inflight airplane wing. 
With a smile that just might put the Cheshire Cats' to shame.
So happy that I wanted to sing.
My heat nearly burst, as if it was an overinflated hot air balloon.

I want to write but cannot find the words to craft a line
The tales of hurt, or beauty, love, of how one day you’ll be mine
The rhymes have all been done before, originality’s dead
Another overinflated art, a hideous beast we’ve fed

Perhaps if I
Changed the rhyme
Each time the stanza changed
Then maybe I
Could buy some time
With this plan so feigned

Why do I continue? God only knows
I have no story to tell
No tales of encounters with angels
Nor trips through fiery hell

I have a love, who greatly inspires me
But the way my heart sings forth
Is not in verse; it is quite plainly

I can write a poem that get’s on everybody’s nerves
Nothing new here; just reused words
I can write a poem that we’ve already heard
And that’s all I can do