I’ve always adored the fact that you have parts missing from your face,
creating this sort of perfect imbalance
that makes it seem as if you were a member of your
own race,
like some far-out cat from some planet
on the skids …
You once had this strange haircut
and I wanted to slap you in the back
of your head
with an open hand
as I stared into your narrow and angelic countenance.
But who didn’t,
am I right?

So I guess that’s when it all began,
But that’s no surprise, really, because
it always begins
with very weird hair —
Anyway, when I was young I used to marvel at the primates
in their unnatural habitat.
But many years later I was
saddened by the realization that you had never
bounced around like a monkey in
form-fitting garb inside my cage.
So what am I supposed to do now
after stumbling upon you atop the furniture?

I hope that you know that I
will never, ever be the same —
And all that time we spent
turning avoidance into an art form,
which is why when I saw you squirm that day in your chair
it felt like victory despite my exhaustion.
Though I have tried,
albeit, somewhat awkwardly, to make amends,
I am convinced that every word
you have ever said to me, about me, about this,
is total bullshit
slung with the intention of
hiding your disdain
behind sweet words and a laugh
that cuts me every time.

Almost all the crap in my life
Is something I’ve done wrong;
Bad decisions I have made
As I stumbled my way along.
When I was an adolescent
I blamed my stuff on others;
My peers, friends and brothers.

I made up stories and finger-pointed.
Soon nobody wanted to trust me,
My social posture became disjointed.
Was it all of them or was it just me?
I taught myself to quickly lie
And to make elaborate excuses.
It’s almost like I had no gift
To live without butt-saving ruses.

Early I learned polite society
Would not say to my face.
That my sense of personal ethics
Had become a huge disgrace.
Folks smiled and said empty words.
None had the care and grace to say
They’d quickly check their watches
If I told them the time of day.

But only for a certain time
Can this kind of crass stupidity
Avoid even my devious vision.
It stole from them and from me.
Sooner or later, even my hard head
Had to want the truth and admit
The book of my life was being read
And my lies were a huge part of it.

Wicca and Witchcraft
Houdou and Voudou.
Reciting indecipherable incantations
Over a cauldron
Of aromatic  herbs
Makes a hell of a lot more sense
Than believing in the Authoritarian Personality Cult
Of a psychotic, psychopathic President
And calling It
"Christianity".

This poem popped into my head while listening to Buddy Guy's "Sweet Tea" CD.

Apparently,
President Donald Trump
Believes himself to be
A godking
Like the Pharaohs of Ancient Egypt.
He believes
That he will be
The last president
Of the United States.
Sure,
He will leave eventually  office,
But he thinks that his  regime will last forever.
However,
Though I know that Trump has hist Fascist Groupies
Who would love to  to make love to him
Just once in their lives,
I'm preparing for day
When he
As well as everything he stands for
Will fade into Oblivion
By planting the seeds
For a more sensible,
Sustainable future
Even if I never witness
The day when these seedlings grow
To maturity.

I tried to show you who I really am,
But you couldn't accept It
You could only accept a  person who  would validate
The toxic and distorted myths
That this Society is built on.
So,   I eradicated  my authentic self
In order to be
A person who would continue to please you.......
A  person
Who would never  challenge
The false concepts you have
Of reality.

As I wrote this poem, I visualized the image of Kurt Cobain
F Edward Oct 17

beautiful whispers in my ears
easing all of my darkest fears
i kiss you then and hold you tight
and waiting for the coming of night

i light the cigarette and watch the smoke
and pocket my nails, jagged and broke
the tempest is nigh, winds are blowing
we zip up our coats, knowing:

it will be rough, it will be a test
everything dear will be lost lest
we stand tall and shout aloud
we are proud and will not be cowed

for we are stoic in the face of death
and with a full chorus of hitched breath
i pirouette and twirl and laugh and sing
nothing will subdue this couple of kings!

Digital Dope
Just can't cope
The news is all depressing.
Should I just mope?
Only a fool
Would have any hope.
No one can save us now.....
Not even the Pope!

Jocelyn Leda Oct 12

Wake up victim, wake up fool
Thought it was you
But you mean nothing now
You victim, you fool

Another successful round
Another face to forget
And your heart lose a piece
For every tear that falls
And when your heart stop bleeding
Will become a stone

Wake up victim, wake up fool
Thought it was you
But you're no one anymore
You victim, you fool

lucid dreaming, screaming my lungs
out of my mouth. my rotten teeth come
tumbling to the ground. don't wake up,
on the honeymoon
a big sugar cube dissolving in
the concentrated blackness.
the bittersweet molasses swallows
my worst intentions and eats away at them
like they've been dipped in acid.
fever dreaming, blemished skin
sinking into the teeth of my bedsprings.
don't wake up from the bleary haze
of teenage heartbreak, trousers torn on
the upturned nails in her window frame
chicken scratched handwriting,
some name carved into my forearm.
a bittersweet searing pain, more appealing
drowning in the sweat patch on
my rancid mattress.
wish for a prescription medication
induced state of comatose homeostasis
the sleep paralysis i'd live with if
the places i visit in my memories existed.

The boy was driving out
Before he forgot himself
“What did I believe”, he cried out,
“On the bookshelf?”

But it was awful chilly, it was
For an afternoon
So he turned to friends, but spoke none 'cause
A mouth don’t fit on a loon

Biding time with a droopy eye
And changed his name again
Goes by a fool with a cool catch
To earn his name on cement

He is the son of summer
Winter at his feet
Doesn't remember forgetting his innocence
No matter who he meets

Yes, ma'am, thats's a dual voice you hear
He seeks high fidelity
Fully faithful, a sun-fearing queer
The caricature to be

On the stage, the things that he wrote
Those memories bygone
Come crashing down on him and he can't emote
The clown's not having fun

Finding time with a droopy eye
And changed his name yet again
Goes by a fool with a cool catch
To earn his name on cement

He is the son of summer
Winter at his feet
Doesn't remember forgetting his innocence
No matter who he meets

Praise be to cherry pie
And all the faces that made me feel that I
Could settle on "by and by"

Praise be to anyone
That put me under the blistering sun
I'll get back there, its true

I just got more to do

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