You must do it the right way
YOUR way is the only write way

They say nothing rhymes with orange
Well I am here to encourage

Yeah, go ahead and laugh at it
You don’t even know the half of it

Our poetry is for us, ourselves
Whether you’re ninety nine, or twelve

We commune within our souls
Another etch upon our scrolls

Our soul inverted, exposed
Something only we compose

Don’t ever be discouraged
Your writing is encouraged!

Nothing matters to me
I might as well be
In a different galaxy
I’m disconnected from reality
I sleep my nights dreaming
I could be someone else
And lose sight of me

I hate my anatomy
Chemical bonds gone wrong
And I choose to dissect
Each and every one
I never lose focus when I criticize
My imperfections
I intend to improve myself
But that won’t change my perception

And there you go
I figure you’re prefect
In every sense of the word
Nothing can stop you
Not even the cosmos themselves

But you’re just like me
A flawed human
In this world full of impurities
We bend like metal
And sway
Wherever the wind takes us

That’s the price we pay
Each and every day
Our insecurities
Hide the best of us
But we wake up in the morning
And continue life

But one thing for sure
We’ll keep fighting  
Until we perish
Life can be beautiful
Never forget it

You feel so ignorant
When you share and express
Everything that haunts you
And what makes you a mess.

Yet nobody listens
Nobody seems to care
Unwilling to lend help
Or even say a prayer.

But once it's their turn
To cry on your shoulder
Your existence is essential
Forcing you to grow colder.

Don't take time for yourself
Accusations you've gone ghost
Even if being alone is
What you really need most.

the cross of the critics
nailed the duo with a despise
they showed no mercy
for the pair's demise

crucified
crucified
by the venom of a viper's bite
crucified
crucified
there wasn't any scrap of respite
crucified
crucified
in a rancorous mean spite

the pack of detractors
wanted the dyad beaten down
so they served up a caustic vitriol
to claim an undeserved crown

crucified
crucified
savage the meter's punishment
crucified
crucified
ever vile this scathing torment
crucified
crucified
none being fair in treatment

the cross of the critics
nailed the duo with a despise
they showed no mercy
for the pair's demise

Oh, the critics,
When you use,
Your fleshy and sticky tongues,
Or,
When,
You scrawl your sharp pens,
To peel the skin,
Of your alleged offenders,
Then,
You look like a butcher,
Chopping and mincing the meat and bones,
Or you like a vulture,
Sipping the blood of a half-dead cattle,
Come shed your literary arrogance,
And wrap your forked tongue,
In a cozy shawl of praise,
And prove that,
To correct the torn skin,
A pair of surgeon’s scissors is needed,
And not a butcher’s knife,
For sure…….

You are so strong,
But feel so weak.
Only thinking wrongs,
And never the things,

Making you,
Nothing to hold,
Nothing to rue.
Don’t ever fold,

These feelings of love,
Know of your strengths,
Shine with your sun,
Not with your hate.

Life is too fast,
For fearful fate.
Please make it last,
Caress every day.

Hold your heart,
Don’t let it go,
I know it’s hard,
But you’ll never know,

If you keep holding back,
Never lighting matches.
You ask why you’re sad,
Cause you’ve never had it.

You’ve done it before,
Now do it again,
Walk fear’s shore,
Make it your friend.

I feel your pain,
I hear your cry.
I’ve felt your rain,
With tears of your sigh.

After I close,
Remember this,
If there’s something to know,
Know you are His.

The night may change,
Infinite difference.
But reject its pain,
Cause you’re never different.

The Artless Artist …by Jessie 12/05

Art historians, Art Critics, Art Brokers and Dealers
Pompous bags of wind, inflating the sails of a ship that will never sail
Full of hype, full of themselves, full of crap
Turning nothing into something
Spewing toxic dribble from their mouths
Talking to hear themselves talk
Who is listening?
Impressing no one but themselves with their circular talk that leads no where
Believing they are on the cutting edge of creative thoughts
If you understand what they are saying, then you can’t possibly comprehend
If nothing they say makes sense, you are lifted to a higher plain of consciousness
Noses in the air, Merlot in a glass, and masks  
Standing around; everyone stroking each other’s egos
Pretending to see into the artists mind
Hoping no one will figure them out
Afraid to question the other
Exposing the scam they have all created
Bold, brush strokes, color, composition, genius
Buzz words to throw around in crowed, snobbish circles
None are artists, but submerge themselves in art
Thinking they can create… if not the art…the artist
Misguided, and too blind to know it
Take away their ignorance and what do they have left?
The false façade of empty creativity