I sprung at the pinnacle
Unwriting my chronicle
With love non-reciprocal
I shall start anew
I laid bare in muddle hub
With beasts of animal club
I'm stuck at the stub
And solitude brew
And so I continue to clear my notebooks of stuff that seems more-or-less cohesive enough to share here.
In this world,
there are some of us who get left behind
because we don’t fit the bill.
A bill that is arbitrarily in place and which
makes some magnificent, many perfectly normal,
and some of us a bunch of unworthy f*s who don’t
deserve affection, attention, and any of your time.
Go on, erase us from your narrative, from this world’s narrative,
erase us completely because our bodies are a certain way,
because it would require you to change your perspective slightly
to accommodate us into your view,
because there’s a billion to choose from who are perfectly normal
We might as well be not human because some of us don’t get to
experience human joys strictly because of how we look.
The least you could do is understand very clearly this fact
that for whatever reason, not all of us are able to experience being a human in the sense that most of you are able to
I've been struggling for years with my body image related trauma. This was just a quick rant to ease the tension I had been feeling before I put the words down.
The moon, acquiescent stirs
It conjures, and commands common cycles
The moon, on occasion blurs
That which in the day cannot be viewed
As the pearl of Earth turns
With gravity as its strange ally and dubious rival
It concedes to the Sun
Yet even now remains only temporarily idle
Tear my skin piece by peace
I see the bones leaking in feast
Emmergance of the palest formation
No more turns for degradation
Peal back lids and watch them fall
A shell of a mind once stood tall
Petals of birth
They fall to the ground
Each day another
None left to surround
Lonesome I may
Given with greed
Taken the chance
Most others would flee
Break my neck
My legs as well
Transform me into art
May all others go to hell
Do you think it's odd,
They question a millennial generation
For being in touch with how they feel?
Should I follow you and push it down?
Let's pretend none of it is real, yeah?
"Close your eyes to injustice, kid.
Don't you talk about it, then we'll have to talk about it."
A lot of Hollywood has to talk about it.
Instead of people putting it to god
We put it to our own selves but none aplaud.
Rather appauld that we speak.
I might fit your snowflake type
But my demons aren't melting in my mind
Trickling through as you close your eyes.
Do you think it's odd,
If people don't understand your problem
They label you as a weak link
But did you ever stop and think
If it was your name in an oppression,
If it was your heart in a depression,
If it was your loved one shooting up,
Maybe you'd feel different.
You can't help fix these cracked streets
If you have your eyes covered in a sheet
You aren't a hero for making a toast
When the problems hit you were a ghost.
Do you think it's odd
That we are all people
But more often than not **** each other
Praying to a god that doesn't pass judgement to you.
The waiting girl had leather boots studded with her payment of lavish jewels
Blood red in the dead of the night from all those daring dead fools
She entered the bar amongst the dancing and shouted at all the ghouls
Though what she said did not shield her from the hellish banshee
She saw her target amongst the prostitutes dripping with foreign ecstasy
She held her .44 and let him lie in death's dark sea
Stagnation never takes its course within oneself.
Praying at the crossroads, hoping things would go well.
Ahead of us lies
A Different standard of meaning,
Adding concrete facets to the once so-called oddity.
Clinging on the urge to stay on track and keep moving.
I just take this strange continuum,
Leaving all my peers bemused and clueless.
Have I changed, have I gone insane?
Even past is haunting me,
I have no time to turn around . . .
It's so nice to be lost
In something other than my mind
No matter what the cost
I have definitely come to find
That this is me at my best
With a chance to care
A chance to let my soul rest
And I am acutely aware
That this is the highest I get
Consequently the farthest I fall
But I never find it to be a bad bet
Because all good things start small
Though I tend to move quick
It's by no means in a rush
It's just you give my brain a kick
And here I am with a bit of a crush
Writing something happy always feels weird. No matter how much I love writing this kind of content, it is very difficult for me to have the proper motivation. I always jokingly call this portion of my work, "About A Girl" poetry, but there's a lot of truth in it. For some reason women always tend to be my muse for more joyful or thankful content. I wouldn't have it any other way...
Lazy imagination and a
I try to shine light on
the thoughts behind
These vacant stares
and shifty smiles
Like you know I hate you
but would let you stay awhile
I'm dececptive, receptive, stressed out
and so simplisitic
But these images are so perverted
yes I'm so sadistic
Trippin' away in my own
Noddin' away to this muzik
content to feel complacent
My mind ebbs and flows
entranced in ink
As it floods the pad it is
everything I ever think
Sort of an odd style of writing and formatting which I don't usually use, but I felt that it added to how my thought process went along with the lines.
I am an odd mix of things lovely and foul, tame and wild, open and guarded.