if I talk
it’s like I'm falling in the answer
everything I say is a quiet question to myself
sweaty hands
messy hair
baggy clothes
harmed lips
and
eyes looking down

yet I do poetry
but nothing helps my clarity

●

Last night I'd dreamed
That my hair dye
Ran away from me,
Faster than Road Runner
From Wile E. Coyote
I stopped and froze -
my face aghast
A boring old brunette
I was once again,
A sad little ghost
Of my deep blue past

Self-expression is the key
To me being me
With my rainbow locks,
And my funky socks
If I can't have magical
My Little Pony hair,
Then what would I be?!

I used to be so monochrome
No makeup
"Just an ugly betty" I'd donned
No cute and fun hues
On her colour palette,
Just more shades of grey
That faded to black -
Betty was always
The habit rabbit

At first I said
I wanted pink hair -
But lots of "fun" women
Have pink hair,
So I'd told my stylist
I wanted green
But she knew colour theory
Would muddy its sheen

I thought long,
I thought hard
And then -
A spark
Orange would certainly
Be a light in the dark!

Who said
I couldn't be a traffic cone?
Or a carrot Bugs Bunny
Munches on?  

No yellow-bellied lizard here,
Brown study Betty must take
Her books elsewhere
Scootaloo is tickled pink -
And to think,
She used to believe
That she couldn't gleam!

●

No matter how much he tried to free himself, - he rather tolerated his slavery, he did not stand it, he did not even beat himself up with superior, scheming powers for it - perhaps he really does not want to be freed for good; he will be a shackled slave for his entire life. No matter how much he wanted to be free, the coronary veins wrapped around his sick, yet sensitive, beating heart like a murderous hog, no matter how much he tried to free himself; the paramedic was repeatedly delayed for thirty quarrelsome minutes.

No matter how much he tried to free himself, his One-Beloved preferred the diminishing goods of materialism; the temporary luxury lifestyle - no matter how much he tried to cooperate with logically constructed reasons - this ragged life was too much for a true Angelic miracle. In vain he tried to free himself from the underworld depths of placenta pits, he felt and knew: something was not and could not be right in this big World, where the calculating strong always crushes the weak, stricken with defenseless orphanhood.

In vain he tried to free himself from the majestic, prestigious university, because of his excessive education and humanistic attitude, he was advised against it, just so that he would not have to get a diploma cuma sum laude. In vain he tried to get a job in the painful interviews that increased hemorrhoidal spasms, he could hardly get a paid job.

No matter how much he tried to free himself with human-smelling, melodious handshakes and convincing promises, he was immediately ******* in a knot, like the convicts suffering from innocence, no matter how much he tried to finally escape this unfair, vile, compromising earthly existence, the secret Morse echo effect symbolizing the connection was forever cut off halfway between the railway tracks!

She stands, it calls her
From the cold and damp, stale air
These walls - a cage now
Orange flowers a scatter
Past the plethora
To the quiet green, she moves
Shadowed sussurus
Of leaves, root and soil afoot
They whisper. She stops,
And settles into the grass
Her eyes, blinking slow
Cool gusts move
through her fingers

Softly, she exhales
She didn't know she'd withheld
That breath -
Now a tear

I stare at my feet
My home where I should be
Magic is dead here
Alagaësia calls me
I speak in the ancient tongue