The continued repression
      of the id's desired pleasure
Will lead to the death
      of some poor *******

I threw open the knife drawer
seething not defiance but resignation,
A thread within me prayed softly
She would say "stop! I was only playing"
but no, she just cackled,
slammed it shut and said "get out.
do it outside, I don't want to wipe up
the mess that spills out"
It was quick, my story ends,
this is where my blood falls;
learned helplessness, the psychology
of being backed up to the wall

a horde of hateful men
standing together resolved
on a platform of prejudice
each mind empty inside
devoid of substance
vessels to be filled
by the bitter hatred
of only one man

a spontaneous nature
is a nature of free will
to act in the moment
is to be free of restraint

I dont know how long its been to brush my hair because i loved it
I dont know how long its been to take a selfie and feeling pretty
I dont know how long its been since i feel good about my self

I look at the mirror to find disgust
Look how unpretty she is
Look at those fat
Look at those acnes
Look at how big that nose
Look at how wide that forehead

She wanted to look good on that lipstic, yet they said she look like a clown
She wanted to look good on that outfit, yet they laugh at her
And she wears lousy outfit
And she forgets how much she like those lipstic
And then she began to wish to dissapear
She wish to be forgotten
She wish to be gone

I find myself stopping in a crowd of people and time slows still. Their laughter, their unpredictable movements, the fights and the resolutions and the bonding of brothers--all quiet. I am left in the fabric of things to wonder at the tapestry we call a culture.

How am I to know what is proper when all have their own true mothertongue? Who can teach me what to say when all I know is jumbled and disheveled based on who I've been and what I know?

I leave behind a southern legacy of liturgy and doctrine that outlines exactly what is human and exactly what is not. I step into a society that constantly years to fill a void--please Lord, find us someone who knows the Truth.  

Their apathy and nonchalance is false; bravado is left wanting. I know they they all cry out for connection and seek it in flesh rather than spirit. I am caught in the midst of the pursuit of happiness and the quest for morality. I know not what brings joy to humanity, I hike towards that river and hope it is not run dry like all others.

In the study of psychology, I have found so many places where words fall short and the great carnal animal within all of us takes precedence, demands attention, seeking comfort in a world that often overlooks those that need it the most.

Love is a fragile, timid thing that is most often hard to find and difficult to voice. Instead, we lash out in aggression to hide that inner child that needs a tried and true comfort of a known embrace. We seek forgiveness and express it in anger, manipulation, meeting our needs however possible because this is America, after all.

This is all we want in our sequestered human heart, the beginning of redemption.

I am just like a cat's *****:
Short, but painful.

Imagine your life as a train –
Endless road and no more unbearable pain.
Now you are passenger, put troubles behind,
That actually twist your brilliant mind.

Landscape by landscape, sunset by sunset,
“Freedom is here!” you cheerfully said.
Others might think you must be insane
“How dare he exist unlike a last soul in the rain?”

Stay focused and do not be absorbed
By spoiled people whose troubles were not even solved.
Take reality easy, follow these words,
Now they are would be my final chords.