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The thought police are after me,
Cause your mind I would free.
Your thoughts are yours,
And mine, my own.
My mind it roams,
Wherever I please.
Do not tell me I'm wrong.
Or this must cease.
Nor, they  don't belong.
Perhaps to you,
They don't belong.
But,
What's mine is mine.
All day long.
Perhaps this should be a song.
And thousands upon thousands,
Wish to sing along.
Then perhaps you might see.
Individuality and not conformity,
Is the way to be.
And truly set yourself free.
be yourself don't worry about how others perceive you. Don't try to be what you are not just to please those around yoo
Zywa Jul 24
I'm trying so hard

nót to conform, otherwise --


I would go crazy.
"Hoog en laag springen - Faxen aan Ger #4" ("Like it or not - Faxing Ger #4", 2021, Nicolien Mizee)

Collection "Out of place"
What on Earth
took you? Do we dare land?

A lark of descension. An aborted beginning.
Moon trills.

Captain is dead
at the controls.
Mother gives birth in the airlock.

Trouble in the passageways.
A struggle to name it.
A drink before eclipse.
All that's wrong with the world
sounds like harmonium in the (wishing) well.

First flight over Hölderlin's Archipelago,
creating new and stranger versions
in the sandclouds.
So this is
Tharsis Rise?
Life without a trace.

Non-terrestrial Martian field.
Halcyon flowering seas. A rock with no trees,
no urban hopes.

Yet, the whole universe inside
wants to be touched.
I love you in zero gravity,
pushing tender buttons.
*** as solution.
Moon trills.

A kiss of atmosphere.
This alien womb.
Those android embargoes.
Our children are born echoes of astronauts.
Lunar schedules
their first words.

There's a lightspeed sensibility
to this type of marriage and parenting:
no leaving the hub,
no exit procedure.

The Sol they sing
is a harm hymn,
moon trills,
subject to the ladder and the weight of breath
this outside Earth.

But I love you in the veil of a twilight moon.

We're monuments
burned into moments.
Moments without a beyond.
Zywa Jan 21
I'm getting older:

more experiences, more --


different from you.
"Opgelost" ("Dissolved", 2019, Ellen Deckwitz)

Collection "On the fly"
icelar Oct 2021
i thought it was amazing
because it had a ton of pages
and made me think about what i would be in hogwarts
that’s just the children’s book wormhole
make it long to satisfy parents
and give the kids a chance to put themself
in a neat, organized house or category
so they can feel special.
now, that i’m less naive,
i can certifiably say
that that series was
trash on fire.
(plus, no one can be sorted
into a category that clean-cut.
we all have rough edges.)
I S A A C Aug 2021
annoyance, I was branded due to my flamboyance
joyance, connected to divine i am clairvoyance
I swim to the shore from the sheltered deep
I swim to the top to feel the sun’s heat
anything in hopes I do not repeat
the way I felt under you, the way you painted me so blue and alone
a throne in an empty castle
a never-ending mental battle
me versus your voice embedded in my head
I travel to the nearest chapel to rebuke you
I unravel in my travels to run away
the problems return day by day
no amount of drugs and buds will resolve
the problems just seem to evolve
with every folk and wind in the road
with every smoke and grind blown
I gotta face my own
reflection, deflecting blame
rejection, embargoed in shame
protection, from you and your games
Dont answer, "Youre different."
Because we ALL are.
That doesnt make me special,
Does it?
We're all different...what about my differences do you love?
Clive Blake May 2021
Don’t always march to another’s drumbeat,
Nor always dance to another person’s tune,
But march in time to your own heartbeat and
Dance and dance, till you reach the moon …
Brittany Ann Jan 2021
I can hear the way someone is able

to hold the notes in a harmony

like the angels themselves sing

within them from the heavens.

I can see the way a light shines

in the corners of someone's eyes

as they hold the hand of a patient

knowing that is exactly where they're meant to be.

I can feel each graceful stroke

of an artist's paintbrush

where their body and whole being meets.

And all these moments,

I admit,

have made me envious

of their absolute surety.

I have become so engulfed by a life

that is not made to be my own.

Wanting desirably to have the assurance

of a solid purpose like theirs.

But in doing so, I have lost focus

of the recognizable aspects of myself.

Aspects that deserved to be admired

by my very own senses.

For, I can hear the way the softness of my voice

is able to ease the mind

of a troubled soul.

I see the way a light shines

in my child's eyes when she looks at me

before her.

I can feel each graceful stroke

of the pencil I hold where

my body and whole being meets.

And all of these moments,

I must admit,

are just the beginning

to what is my surety.
Brittany Ann Jan 2021
I appear in my truest form.

Never tainted by the hands

of what others want to

craft me to be.

Never forged into a byproduct

from the assembly line of life.

I face this world head on

and straightforwardly.

Planting all of myself into

the foundation of the Earth

I stand upon.

And I never falter

with the cowering of

impressionable minds.

I hold steady.

I remain pure.

I appear in my truest form

for all those to see.

Refusing to repair parts

of myself

that are not damaged.

Allowing my soul to be

the graceful hands of an artist

who paints the canvas

of my world

through my eyes.
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