Leanna Hirstwood
I remember not fondly
For she started as  friend
The became an enemy
With a few words said
The black mailing started
To hurt me
But my friends the most
Only to find out
That she was supposed to be
Of integrity
Little of that she had

Sometimes I wonder if it's just from a lack of life experience. Easy for me to say though, since I'm not a poet, and I write nursery rhymes. A closed mind causes individual thought to bounce off of cranium walls, and when these confused thoughts do leave the body, they literally bounce around your living quarters and infect those that you love. So, if you blame writer's block on anything but yourself, you are just projecting more "confused" energy.

I picture a person just sitting there with a pen or phone, angry at the world that they are scared of. Maybe I am wrong, but it truly is related to laziness. These same people sometimes use that anger to inform others of how stupid they are. Never stopping to look at themselves.

I can't help but think that it's the ones who study, research, and live life more that get famous. These people with writer's block self publish, and yes, possibly end up with a book in the library...you know, the books that never get borrowed and look brand new, even when they're old.

You do know what a library is right? Well, grow some passion, and do some research. Walk a path that you normally wouldn't walk. After all, hasn't it all been said about poetry, poets, butterflies, writer's block?

I can't help but to think that some of these same people are like the haters that tried to run me off for years. Guilty conscious? Nope, guilty sub-conscious.

Don't worry, I have enough written to post 5 poems a day for 10 years. Maybe I will get a chance to post those someday. As for now, my mind is continually evolving, and searching...and finding. I just sit down and the *******(poetry) pours out of me. This is not poetry...true

The Facebook zombie
Distorts its face:
Contorted, convulsing
A spasmodic smile.

Ignoring internal scars
Emotional wretchedness
Faking with gusto
What the good life is.

The Facebook zombie
Hunkers not for brains
But drools for likes
And virtual applause.

Like dazzling neon lights
Its ego shines bright
"I am the best"
"I am number one"
Says the connoisseur
Of filters and fakes!

The Facebook zombie lumbers
Towards the next bite
The next hit
Mindlessly raising its
Bony hands
As the camera sways
Finding the perfect angle.

where are the times
when people could rely
     more or less
on what their leaders
     whom they had elected
spoke and did?

when there was yet no need
to fact-check every other sentence
of presidential self-appraisals
or denigrating tweets about opponents?

after three years of suffering
through all shenanigans of the most blatant kind
it seems that rudeness, ignorance, and lies
have quietly become accepted as new normal

we've learned that people we elected
     to fight for our cause
can say one thing
     and then the opposite
throw in a lie or two
and nobody complains
or votes them out of their coveted offices

in fact
thanks to the wonderful examples of our leaders
we now have learned to distrust everybody
even ourselves

eight billion plus of unreliables

Stemming from an old familiar place
I plead insanity but not my case,
with red tinted sunglasses covering my face,
failing at trying to hide my shame.
With an abundance of up but lacking down
I’ve searched every street within this town,
I’ll rediscover peace but forget my own name.
I really need it, I’ve got to treat it
again.

No one could survive this,
I’ve got no touch like Midas,
and those same demons are at my door,
the one’s who let themselves in before.
No one could survive this,
I’ve got no will to fight it.
Why waste the strength holding it at bay,
when I can mimic that strength another day, even for show.

Step into character and out of skin,
showcase on the nose but I can’t seem to win.
I have no interest in their flashy jackpot prize,
It’s lacking clear blue skies and her warm eyes,
but I’ll shake hands and force another empty grin.
I really need it, but it’s not greed
it’s pretend.

No one could survive this,
blatant weakness but I hide it,
I’m a lone black sheep among the cattle,
even Peter Pan despised his shadow.
No one could survive this,
a DNR with a revive list,
and no one wants to leave but they never stay,
there’s no direction but they continue on their way, where do they go?

Do you really need this,
I’m willing to bleed for bliss
and transcend.
Do you really need this,
how often will you read this
till you wend?
Do you really need this,
or do you just want to believe this
will end?

The Beatles are your jam,
I like pink Floyd.
I see the music scam,
Controlled and devoid!
My idols, once much loved,
Such talent, what sounds!
Their ***** hands once gloved,
Their lows know no bounds.
How epically great they are.
How cool and unique,
Each one such a shining star.
Now I see how they're weak.
They'll no doubt be exceptions,
Won't follow the the rule,
Most built on deceptions,
I'll sing and dance like a fool!
Can't unhear such lyrics,
Nor forget their beats.
Won't break into hysteria,
Nor allow such defeats.
To whom would I get my groove on?
What song would I belt?
Ok so it's all just such a con,
Songs I've grown up with and felt...

its weird to live
where past and future pulls you
in  its black hole
emptying every essence of you
like you are nothing.

its weird to live
where original
is covered with fakes
and being original are
labelled as freaks

its weird to live
where people look
at your mistakes
when the already have
loads of their own.

but its beautiful
to live in the world
where words help me
to escape my own truth
and find peace

its beautiful
that even though life
seems meaningless and purposeless
the meaning of some collective words
makes living purposeful.

RUBY..........