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I am a nomad
my mind is my home
I take it with me
wherever I go

woven together
with poems and songs
deep in the wherever
a place I belong
 Mar 2019 solace and sorrow
Chris
Are they a marking of pain?
Or a sign of growth?
Enjoy
.. .. ..


Leaves fall, and people fall
In love with people
Who will eventually leave


.. .. ..
When she was 7
She believed in a heaven
She believed in a God
When she was 8
She was oh so great
Her destiny was a date
When she was 9
Oh she flew so high
Mother so proud
Thought she would never fall down
When she was 10
She started to lose some things
Tantrums over and over again
Light starting to dull every night
When she was 11
She wanted to go to heaven
There was no light left in her eyes
All she wanted to do was say goodbye
A scream and a cry
A shout but her words were as quiet as a mouse
Lie to the doctors
To get out quickly
Despite her mind being so sickly
As she got older
The boulder on her shoulders
Became a little less heavy
She could bare more
Sometimes she'd still cry
But she'd find a way to make herself alright
Though sometimes it's a little difficult
She's 16
And her mind still isn't clean
But will it ever be?
She went through her own little hell
But the bright bell rang
Her strength sang
Though her heart is scarred up
Trust isn't quite there
She'll make it
Through the mean words that little demon puts inside her mind
Prove them all wrong
Cause mama didn't raise someone who would give up
Mama raised a girl who will always find a way
To keep her head up
So afraid of the hurt that comes after love
I push away anything that could become
Making a mess of feelings attractions
Hiding from anything that could be real

You came to me like a little child
Opened eyes pure soul a big hug
So fragile so innocent sadly
exactly my fear, kicked myself into
the dirt before anything else could

How could you possible understand
Me and the things I do when even I
Question myself every single day why
Chasing a could of insanity straying
From the peace and the calmness

Presented infront of you all the right
Choices decisions option lined up
They seemed to make sense but no
You had to pick the one less travelled
Risk everything you had and live with
Absolutely no regret
What's it take
These days

To write a poem

That makes the world go mad
That brings the crowds to their feet
That spreads like wildfire
Through a dry winter forest

Is it those excessively long words?
The ostentatiously loquacious
Platitudinous ramblings
Of an insecure mind aspiring
To authentic intellect?

Is it perhaps...
     the "creativity"
               of      varied      spacing
  or...    could it be..... the lack
                              of capitalization
               the loathsome little letters
               screaming out
                         hey, look at us!
         ... or maybe it's
               the punctuation marks,
     littered, haphazardly
          through the text
                    (whether used correctly)
               or, theyre not?!
     despite worrds mispeled
          and a grammar might is broken
   can these gimmicks increase interest
        though miswritten or misspoken?

Is the trick alliteration
Whose bite brightly bids us
To center on the snappy sounds?
Although all along
     unvoiced underneath
Ideas idle in the isles
   (or perhaps the aisles)
Of the mind
To meld and craft and bind
Our thorough thoughts
And worthy words
Into lines
Which
Heard by herds
Raise the
                  Praise for which we
                  Privately, desperately
                  Pray

Maybe it's a magical mix
Of splendid in-your-head rhythm
Marvelous meter that perfectly clicks
Flowing smoothly without schism

Well-spaced stanzas
Well-used time
Well-crafted phrases
Well-thought-out rhymes

Well, maybe not...
     those gems are often ignored
     cast-aside, unread, even abhorred

Why?

Because the modern world
doesn't need your rules
your restrictions
your regulations
your misguided boundaries
your oppression
your antiquated ideas
   of "the right way"
   to write
   to speak
   to act
   to live
   to (fill in the blank)

No, what the modern world needs
is
Negation!
Contradiction!
Resistance!
Revolt!

And poetry whose words
Say the same thing
Repeat the same meaning
Echo the same lyrics
Rephrase the same thoughts
But in an ever-so-slightly
Different
Varied
Altered
Adjusted
Changed up way

Line
After line
Of synonyms
          over
               and
                    over
                         and
                              over
                                   again

-----

What's it take
These days

To not give in
To narcissism's spiral?

But more importantly:
What's it take

To make my poem go viral?
Only halfway cynically written, I swear!
Something is changing and I think it might be me
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