For some may think it of ******
                    but to protect the innocence
some blood may fall.

But when one is only bending
                            a knee to show,
that they may partly descend,
           but will always stand up taller.

We must see that some times the glasses,
               are tinted and we are in fact the extension
                                             of not our ideals
but ones who only see no further than there power.

How I'd love
to spray paint the words
"*******!"
upon your white picket fence.

I will destroy
your every
perception
of
p̶e̶r̶f̶e̶c̶t̶i̶o̶n̶.

Oh,
pardon me.

I retract my statement--

we don't rhyme
where I'm from.

it was plucked from his eyes, his heart,
and the sheer wonder that left them,
stunned.

some cacophonous reverie,
a discordant daydream, pure wants and hopes,
and loves and laughs-- all faded.

what eclectic energy there was in them,
some flicker of familiarity and warmth--
led to a slow, burning descent into some place
he might call home soon.

Is living
striving to achieve
our ideals
of a joyful and happy life?

Writing a story on a topic,
Hazing away at the microsoapics,
I write stories that aren’t meant to be fun,
Just the basic humdrum.

Reality is my Inspiration,
No matter the mood I’m in.

Dragons and Wizards are to be left on the bookshelves,
As I run to work,
And meet my colleagues for a day of writing reality.

We walk the world in actuality,
And see people with all different vitality.
People of all different ideas of reality.

They speak,
I listen,
I ask,
And they answer,
And we both learn about reality together.

I then write what I heard,
Tell what I saw,
And let the ideas fly like birds.

I've seen all people of life,
I've heard many of there trifes.

I laughed at their victories,
I cry at their lost,
And I hear all their vivid histories.

I write all types of reality,
From the memories of all different types of vitalities.

And as I write about how reality unfurls,
I write about the greatest dreams of this world

High in the mountains
the giants sleep on the roofs
no one sees them
we dream them

when we are young
and folded in ourselves
making great plans
for the world we know

we are already on our way
just landed here
for a while, to grow
on our sky canopy bed

until we wake up
as heroes who put right
what has been made amiss
by the little people

Imperfection;
It's all around,
So beautiful,
Yet some seek to destroy it,
To make it it's opposite;
Perfection.

Perfection is praised,
Thought of so highly,
Alas, it doesn't exist.

Not one thing in existence,
Or even in the imagination,
Is or ever can be this illusion;
Perfect.

People try to be perfect;
Try molding themselves after one another,
Or after their own little fantasies,
Yet none of it will ever come to pass,
None of it will ever be as clear as glass,
All of these people; they'll fall to their ***.

One, yet many,
Loud, yet quiet,
Void, yet whole...

- Jay M
March 26th, 2019