for so long, i have been watering my own petals
aiding in my own growth
soaking my roots with positivity and love
growing to my fullest potential
and then you came along
and i thought you would continue to help me grow
but you put me into a drought
leaving me thirsty and gasping for air
now because of you
my petals are wilting away
from your harsh abandonment and apathy
and my soul will now rot
because of this terrible lonely drought
hindering my growth
and leaving me utterly and completely helpless and alone
how can i grow when you are pulling me back
A fear builds in me
For all I can see is you
But I am too blind
I suppose this lump of clay is just fine the way it is.
Well, honestly, who am I to try to change it?
I know full well the labor that went into making it
The workforce that mined out the sediments from the soil
The minds that designed that perfect consistency
The psychologists and graphic designers that boggled the package to life
The mouths their incomes feed.
The leftover money spent on beer and records to listen to with friends
Yes, that would be preposterous of me to sully their memory by shifting even a single atom.
I’ll place this lump next to the other lumps limping, exhausted on that dusty shelf.
Their lumpy memories will lump onto me. and I’ll take their non-utilized weight with me wherever I travel.
They are precious. More so than diamonds.
**** it, my niece wants dragons.
Words may be a hindrance
Forming hard crust over feelings
You wanted to convey
At the core of those words
The true meaning is lost forever
At times, when words don’t suffice
Pure and raw feelings are more potent
There are many miles traversed
Between the feelings and the words
Somewhere, the line is drawn inadvertently
Hurdles imaginary are the toughest ones
Endless numbers of words do not right
The wrongs meted out to the true feelings
Heart will wither away, if not revived
At the avenue where words are shunned
It’s where hearts shall meet, without prejudice
Not weighed down by the frills of words
Life is embellished with silence
When hearts do the talking, sans the words
I would have pried open the eyes
Of the blind and unenlightened
So that they might gaze at your light
I would have opened the ears
To the lullabies of the slow evening
Asking you only to listen
I would have let my heart burst
Full of youth and enthusiasm
So I could paint your face on the world
I would have taken your hand
Had his not covered mine
On a warm summer night filled with the waft of ***** and beer,
surrounded by the fears of every corner rat begging for change,
immersed in the aura of being alone when anything but.
I envision being like a caterpillar growing into a butterfly,
an overcooked metaphor,
but fitting cause I want it.
I imagine leaving these streets and growing big,
throwing down these cigarettes and walking out the door,
working hard until I am hardly working,
living life to the fullest.
As I look out into the endless jungle,
the concrete trees,
that can only be described with another overworked metaphor.
The sun begins to rise
the rats scatter to the dark,
and the lions begin to walk the streets.
I looked down like a newborn monkey,
put out my cigarette,
and go to bed.
The ignorance in this Hell of a hole is appalling! Day in and day out, I find myself witness to the testaments of fools and blasphemers of common sense. They come out of the woodworks like flies on dog **** during a hot, summer day. They've come to wallow in the filth that is their world of contradictions and lack of respect. I hate to use the word "****"-- not really-- but ****, if that's not how I feel and what they make me think. And I swear on a stack of Bibles written by Judas himself that some days these heathens make me want to come down upon them like the wrath of an angry God. There's nothing that makes my liver quiver and brain bitter like a dose of disregard for those who are just trying to live a life free of the poison that is society's naïveté. And trust me--I want to take matters in to my own hands, but I think waving around a loaded .45 in these *******' faces would just scare the **** out of them, and I have wisdom to know that fear and respect are two different things. Alas, short of a less passive and more aggressir death threat, I don't think I could get these sorry sacks to change their ways. I guess I'm just stuck in a world where "understanding," is something you do when you're hanging out with your friends beneath the overpass and sharing a ******* joint.
— The End —