#freeflow - Hello Poetry

#freeflow

The lights go out as we lie on the stage floor. Everything enters the dark as walls fade. And the beat breaks the silence with a bang. Moving closer to me in a slithering crawl. Hands on an excursion of my body. Slowly climbing mountains as we merge. I let his hunger for more claim me. He devours me one kiss at a time. Writhing with my arms above. Stealing my breaths like low-hung fruit. Something calls for him as he pauses. He marks my lips one last time, before rising to join the melody. I sit with the silence in my chest while quietly watching him release into the dancing delirium of his mind. Gravitated beats bind me to him, elevates me to my toes. Approaching with poised steps. Frail fingertips slipping his shoulder. Whispering possessed thoughts. Craving eyes draw us closer. Devoted tongue scouring his skin, chanting rituals in offering. He pulls me in tighter, my soul sets free. Drowning to the beat, bodies speak. Two flames— flickering in the dark.

0

Apr 10

Apr 10, 2026 at 4:49 AM UTC

Rituals in the Dark

The lights go out as we lie on the stage floor. Everything enters the dark as walls fade. And the beat breaks the silence with a bang. Moving closer to me in a slithering crawl. Hands on an excursion of my body. Slowly climbing mountains as we merge. I let his hunger for more claim me. He devours me one kiss at a time. Writhing with my arms above. Stealing my breaths like low-hung fruit. Something calls for him as he pauses. He marks my lips one last time, before rising to join the melody. I sit with the silence in my chest while quietly watching him release into the dancing delirium of his mind. Gravitated beats bind me to him, elevates me to my toes. Approaching with poised steps. Frail fingertips slipping his shoulder. Whispering possessed thoughts. Craving eyes draw us closer. Devoted tongue scouring his skin, chanting rituals in offering. He pulls me in tighter, my soul sets free. Drowning to the beat, bodies speak. Two flames— flickering in the dark.

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game tickets, archery at the lottery. soul pride bow staff acupuncture. stepping above the clouds to see aerial samurai in the architecture. after it a meal of grinner. green with envy, one winner. lust for a cookery, with red finery. next day on blast, what was the cost? did you know they were there waiting? armored angels, left on patrol, no boss. their sword art closer to debating with words that are pouring. soaked in ink, bleeding. look good in gloss, in 60 faster than NOS. no help from the last dutiful souls. if anyone knew, they'd never tell'em, their truths, their duties, or tolls. "who would i be," they'd think of'em. we are walking on the same ball in an archery lottery hall, cloud swift bowmen hearing a call. no doubting past if future is present. we are the samurai, angels, and bowmen. honed, careful, and sure in the moment. poised like love from the right woman.

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Dec 8, 2025

Dec 8, 2025 at 1:00 AM UTC

game tickets, archery at the lottery. soul pride bow staff acupuncture. stepping above the clouds to see aerial samurai in the architecture. after it a meal of grinner. green with envy, one winner. lust for a cookery, with red finery. next day on blast, what was the cost? did you know they were there waiting? armored angels, left on patrol, no boss. their sword art closer to debating with words that are pouring. soaked in ink, bleeding. look good in gloss, in 60 faster than NOS. no help from the last dutiful souls. if anyone knew, they'd never tell'em, their truths, their duties, or tolls. "who would i be," they'd think of'em. we are walking on the same ball in an archery lottery hall, cloud swift bowmen hearing a call. no doubting past if future is present. we are the samurai, angels, and bowmen. honed, careful, and sure in the moment. poised like love from the right woman.

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I feel weird because God forbid I stay ignorant…none the wiser of the Trusted Adult, that I think came with my mirror. I feel weird constantly searching for sense. More often than not wishing I were playing scrabble instead because it would really help, knowing which words I ought to look for. Weird this constant awareness about not living intentionally but not knowing what the alternative would look like for me either. Weird that I'm somewhat lingering at the start line and very confused about what MY race even is. So yeah, I feel weird about myself, about my life AND about how time just goes past, unsure why I’m getting to waste more of it away. I feel weird about my relationships, about my sexuality AND about my respective wants and needs. Struggling to put a name or prioritise to any properly. I feel weird. Period. Honestly, mostly that. I feel weird about myself because I stay WANTING to LIVE life, stay occupying and STAY never taking up my space in it. I feel weird about the 60 times I snoozed because I can’t seem to remember what else was so important at the time. I feel weird about the 24 candles on this cake because in the background, everyone is counting down from 10 (again) instead. I feel weird about the 7 pairs of shoes I own because the “new” ones don’t look all that different from the others. I feel weird about the way I seem to slightly linger in the dark and about why Im not more alarmed by what I can’t see. I feel weird about not connecting… NOT knowing how else to describe it, because at times, I’m feeling a little too much and at others, nearly not enough. I feel weird, because it’s mostly the latter, and there are a lot more “periods.”, at the ends of things that never truly began. Things that weren’t there for me to claim as mine and things that could have been but can’t say for sure now, because I was too busy latching on to the next. I feel weird, Acknowledging I might be both the problem and the solution and YET…

0

Oct 23, 2025

Oct 23, 2025 at 10:32 PM UTC

I feel weird because God forbid I stay ignorant…none the wiser of the Trusted Adult, that I think came with my mirror. I feel weird constantly searching for sense. More often than not wishing I were playing scrabble instead because it would really help, knowing which words I ought to look for. Weird this constant awareness about not living intentionally but not knowing what the alternative would look like for me either. Weird that I'm somewhat lingering at the start line and very confused about what MY race even is. So yeah, I feel weird about myself, about my life AND about how time just goes past, unsure why I’m getting to waste more of it away. I feel weird about my relationships, about my sexuality AND about my respective wants and needs. Struggling to put a name or prioritise to any properly. I feel weird. Period. Honestly, mostly that. I feel weird about myself because I stay WANTING to LIVE life, stay occupying and STAY never taking up my space in it. I feel weird about the 60 times I snoozed because I can’t seem to remember what else was so important at the time. I feel weird about the 24 candles on this cake because in the background, everyone is counting down from 10 (again) instead. I feel weird about the 7 pairs of shoes I own because the “new” ones don’t look all that different from the others. I feel weird about the way I seem to slightly linger in the dark and about why Im not more alarmed by what I can’t see. I feel weird about not connecting… NOT knowing how else to describe it, because at times, I’m feeling a little too much and at others, nearly not enough. I feel weird, because it’s mostly the latter, and there are a lot more “periods.”, at the ends of things that never truly began. Things that weren’t there for me to claim as mine and things that could have been but can’t say for sure now, because I was too busy latching on to the next. I feel weird, Acknowledging I might be both the problem and the solution and YET…

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Her voice, a fragile melody unsung, Each note a whisper, caught upon her tongue. Stripped bare by careless words, a constant fray, Her truths like petals, blown and far away. The brimming cup, where feelings gathered deep, A silent language that her heart would keep. For every plea, a wall of vacant air, For every reaching hand, no solace there. Over the din, her small attempts would fade, Against the tide, her quiet strength decayed. A gentle nudge became a push aside, Her presence muted, nowhere left to hide. The background hues began to feel like home, A space unseen, where she could softly roam. The urgent cry, the tremor in her breast, Familiar silence put her fears to rest. Why break the habit of the unheard plea? Why fight for rescue, when there's no decree That anyone will heed the desperate sound? Lost in the echoes, where no help is found. So in the shadows, comfort took its hold, A story whispered, never to be told. The quiet corner, where her spirit lay, Accustomed now, to fading through the day.

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Sep 27, 2025

Sep 27, 2025 at 10:23 AM UTC

The Silence Wore Her Skin

Her voice, a fragile melody unsung, Each note a whisper, caught upon her tongue. Stripped bare by careless words, a constant fray, Her truths like petals, blown and far away. The brimming cup, where feelings gathered deep, A silent language that her heart would keep. For every plea, a wall of vacant air, For every reaching hand, no solace there. Over the din, her small attempts would fade, Against the tide, her quiet strength decayed. A gentle nudge became a push aside, Her presence muted, nowhere left to hide. The background hues began to feel like home, A space unseen, where she could softly roam. The urgent cry, the tremor in her breast, Familiar silence put her fears to rest. Why break the habit of the unheard plea? Why fight for rescue, when there's no decree That anyone will heed the desperate sound? Lost in the echoes, where no help is found. So in the shadows, comfort took its hold, A story whispered, never to be told. The quiet corner, where her spirit lay, Accustomed now, to fading through the day.

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I have gone through life, But It had no purpose, A meaningless stride, Nothing beneath surface, I have had no goal, No dreams, no ambition, Life settled in stone, A fool on an audition, In that mindless state, I have lived for years, I altered my fate, Got rid of my fears, I'm glad I kept going, Glad I haven't stopped, This tree keeps on growing, This soul never dropped, I wanted to stop, My meaningless stride, I wanted to stop, This life with no pride, There was an option, But I never took it, Life's filled with emotion, But I do not look it, I never thought of killing myself, That was a way I never entailed, I never thought to hang on a shelf, I never made a plan so detailed, I never thought to jump from a height, I never thought to fall to my death, To fall from a place where one could take flight, I never thought to take my last breath, There was no point of going that way, That's why I chose to live one more day, A day in my life, meaningless at times, A day in my life, a place full of lies, Now here I stand, No more beneath surface, Please give me a hand, I have found my purpose, For I found my cure, For it is to teach, For it's to make pure, What others can't reach.

0

Nov 8, 2024

Nov 8, 2024 at 8:04 AM UTC

I have gone through life, But It had no purpose, A meaningless stride, Nothing beneath surface, I have had no goal, No dreams, no ambition, Life settled in stone, A fool on an audition, In that mindless state, I have lived for years, I altered my fate, Got rid of my fears, I'm glad I kept going, Glad I haven't stopped, This tree keeps on growing, This soul never dropped, I wanted to stop, My meaningless stride, I wanted to stop, This life with no pride, There was an option, But I never took it, Life's filled with emotion, But I do not look it, I never thought of killing myself, That was a way I never entailed, I never thought to hang on a shelf, I never made a plan so detailed, I never thought to jump from a height, I never thought to fall to my death, To fall from a place where one could take flight, I never thought to take my last breath, There was no point of going that way, That's why I chose to live one more day, A day in my life, meaningless at times, A day in my life, a place full of lies, Now here I stand, No more beneath surface, Please give me a hand, I have found my purpose, For I found my cure, For it is to teach, For it's to make pure, What others can't reach.

Continue reading...

Still more, in words In experience Confusing Familiarity with Comfort Confusing Comfort with Peace Reifying confusion, but not successfully Yielding, on my knees, heart to the sky Forgetting Seeing through, a single pinhole in a perfectly realistic backdrop Pinholes everywhere, more than can be contained Not containing Torn all over Dispelling everything Stripping away the Stripping away Trying to stand very still and very quite so I can feel, hear, sense Perfect realism Wanting to be convinced by rage Agitation, but only conceptual Feeling tight Feeling rehearsed Feeling like an imposter Wanting to impress Wanting to be convinced of Self, of Realness Fortified by others knowing, or preferably- admiration Like being constructed out of sets of other peoples' eyes Like being made real by propagating in more minds, many more minds, specific minds. In countless beating and virtual hearts, likes, thumbs up Not wanting to be forgotten, while alive, while dead Taxed by maintenance and constant imminent collapse Compassion, like collapsing into a safe lap Relinquishing No pretense Bare being More naked than when unclothed Total exposure Outed, in the light of knowing Self forgetting and glimpses of freedom Trusting sighing Always loving Sad, not despondent, just sad Feeling continuous Feeling fragmented Feeling like motion, like flow Feeling like thousands of still frames, constant flickering Grasping at impermanence, visceral Resting in the middle Dancing down the tightrope Knowing perfect poise, brief equilibrium Reifying stability. Gone. Everything is hysterically funny Hysterically But also, sometimes, just plain humorous And absurd Crying Loving people Grateful for people Seeing beauty everywhere Encountering this, intimate, me, indistinguishable being, but everywhere Ouch Awareness Always coming back Like an epic Like a great love story Like the last wring of that silk dress you weren't supposed to squeeze dry Feeling like I shouldn't know what I know, like I couldn't. This must be illegal, cosmically illegal Knowing the inside of my hand Knowing teenage shame Knowing being yelled at, towered over, by my dad, in a narrow hallway, eyes glued to speckled floor tiles, feeling small Loving with my body, with my hands, with my mouth, with my whole entire strong softness Loving with understanding Loving with teeth and nails Music, lacerating Crying with tears, and snot, and heaving Becoming one single, concentrated point Wanting to envelope everything. Really. Actually. Like physically with my body. Knowing I am not this voice Or this writer Or this narrator Though I am also all that

0

Aug 6, 2022

Aug 6, 2022 at 12:07 AM UTC

Being is like this

Still more, in words In experience Confusing Familiarity with Comfort Confusing Comfort with Peace Reifying confusion, but not successfully Yielding, on my knees, heart to the sky Forgetting Seeing through, a single pinhole in a perfectly realistic backdrop Pinholes everywhere, more than can be contained Not containing Torn all over Dispelling everything Stripping away the Stripping away Trying to stand very still and very quite so I can feel, hear, sense Perfect realism Wanting to be convinced by rage Agitation, but only conceptual Feeling tight Feeling rehearsed Feeling like an imposter Wanting to impress Wanting to be convinced of Self, of Realness Fortified by others knowing, or preferably- admiration Like being constructed out of sets of other peoples' eyes Like being made real by propagating in more minds, many more minds, specific minds. In countless beating and virtual hearts, likes, thumbs up Not wanting to be forgotten, while alive, while dead Taxed by maintenance and constant imminent collapse Compassion, like collapsing into a safe lap Relinquishing No pretense Bare being More naked than when unclothed Total exposure Outed, in the light of knowing Self forgetting and glimpses of freedom Trusting sighing Always loving Sad, not despondent, just sad Feeling continuous Feeling fragmented Feeling like motion, like flow Feeling like thousands of still frames, constant flickering Grasping at impermanence, visceral Resting in the middle Dancing down the tightrope Knowing perfect poise, brief equilibrium Reifying stability. Gone. Everything is hysterically funny Hysterically But also, sometimes, just plain humorous And absurd Crying Loving people Grateful for people Seeing beauty everywhere Encountering this, intimate, me, indistinguishable being, but everywhere Ouch Awareness Always coming back Like an epic Like a great love story Like the last wring of that silk dress you weren't supposed to squeeze dry Feeling like I shouldn't know what I know, like I couldn't. This must be illegal, cosmically illegal Knowing the inside of my hand Knowing teenage shame Knowing being yelled at, towered over, by my dad, in a narrow hallway, eyes glued to speckled floor tiles, feeling small Loving with my body, with my hands, with my mouth, with my whole entire strong softness Loving with understanding Loving with teeth and nails Music, lacerating Crying with tears, and snot, and heaving Becoming one single, concentrated point Wanting to envelope everything. Really. Actually. Like physically with my body. Knowing I am not this voice Or this writer Or this narrator Though I am also all that

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Sleep deprivation *** Guilt Sense-making and maps of meaning Revisiting memories Crying Staying away from scary corners of my mind Deliberately going toward scariness Not resisting Yes resisting Respecting resistance Compulsive tv watching Dropping or letting go over and over again Exploring Curiosity Forgetting and then remembering that it’s all happening on its own, noticing this, knowing this, realizing this Realizing that realization comes and goes on its own Being in love with everything Crying Playing with time and concepts Craving emptiness Love Catastrophizing Ranking what "works" (i.e. sleep deprivation is effective), noticing that the metric of “effective” and "works" is = resulting in greater illusions of "forgetting" with a capital F Loving everything Being everything Self-flagellation Not really believing any of the stories or narratives Procrastinating Being irresponsible Getting off on self-loathing Forcing intimacy Compassion, large, whole, unrelenting, everywhere Oversharing Falling in love with a homeless person at a traffic stop Being bored and sad and hopeless and desperate Remembering inherent wholeness Being stubborn Getting out of the way always feels like dying Loving dying Loving mourning dying Dramatizing dying Wanting to be seen and loved Self-loathing Intensity Craving intensity Hating craving intensity Knowing that nothing is a problem Suffering Being impatient Being very very patient Feeling like I don’t belong in the world, like people and things and money and social media are alien, foreign and scary Feeling like I am the world Forgetting that knowing how to verbalize isn’t the same as knowing Wanting knowing with words to be the same as Knowing Wanting knowing to be a Real, solid thing Fear Mortal fear Bewilderment Constant background anxiety Hating this body Not caring for this body Being burdened by this body Feeling trapped in a body Feeling more trapped in a mind Wanting knowing to resolve everything Wanting to be saved Thinking that I probably don’t need to be saved Thinking or knowing(?) there’s nothing to be saved from Knowing that I can’t be saved Feeling open Feeling vulnerable Feeling exposed Feeling bad Feeling like I'm doing it wrong Believing it all Wanting to both believe it and have a choice about when, where, and to what extent I believe it Not knowing where the edge is until I've fallen off Feeling violated Feeling like existence is non-consensual Somehow trusting all of it, totally, exactly as it is Watching the panicking More crying Being one Being very very aware Noticing and letting go of effort in one swift move Compulsive clenching Compassion Dissolving Disillusion Dying without the novelty Being ok vey very briefly and for no apparent reason/because of no reason./? Wanting distraction Respecting needing distraction Getting out of the way of intelligent coping mechanisms Villifying coping mechanisms Understanding only in retrospect Frustration Compassion, deep, like warm water Compassion, hard, like being ****** vey very slowly Torture Life-giving torture Never wanting to stop Marveling Abundance like grace, like not deserving, like not needing to be deserving, like deserving is perverse language Tasting everything Endless kaleidoscopes of being and tasting and knowing Non visual seeing Clarity, brightness, nothing is a problem Being alive Being sososo tired Wanting to rest, to die into void and nothing Wanting to hibernate Wanting to still Dying to get off Begging to get off Finding the edge more thrilling than the center (because then the center can be anything at all?) Loving all the previous versions of this being Needing to hate, loathe, earlier renditions of this being Hating repulsion Trusting repulsion Getting stuck because resisting repulsion Knowing that there's no way out Knowing that the way out that I'm seeking isn't a way out Not wanting to do the work Dancing around the center, constantly Feeling dizzy with chaos, with knowledge of power Feeling comfortable with mediocrity Hating mediocrity Waking up with jaw tension from the enormity of my own suppressed power Telling stories about sensations Relying on self-bullying methods I know don't work Perfecting the art of pretending Perfecting the art of self-deception Wanting to make the stakes higher Being overwhelmed by my own storytelling Not wanting to give stories credibility by dispelling them Naval gazing Loving philosophy Feeling dried up, tired, stagnant, disinterested, not engaged, not here. Sleepwalking. Sleep writing. Sleep talking. Sleep caring Not sleeping Vivid dreaming High weirdness Questioning my sanity Romanticizing insanity Wanting to blur all boundaries Wanting to smooth the edges of reality Questioning reality Destabilizing reality Feeling destabilized Feeling irresponsible Guilt Feeling sick and tired Feeling scared Feeling hopeless Wanting to reach out Feeling like everything is inevitable Feeling like suffering is inevitable Recognizing kindness Discerning well (properly? Clearly? Well.) Fearful trusting Thinking too much Not wanting to love my dad as much as I do. Chasing the intellectual high Disappointment No need for resolution Feeling caught in existence Feeling caught up. Like in a potato sack; I can explore the exact measure of my confinement, the sensorial elements, the scratchiness, the filtering light from the outside, the stagnation, the wanting to stretch. I love this being. This. It's not a problem. Confusing familiarity with comfort Confusing comfort with peace Reifying confusion, but not really Yielding, on my knees, heart to the sky Seeing through, like pinholes in a perfectly realistic backdrop Dispelling everything Stripping away the Stripping away Trying to stand still and feel Wanting to be convinced by rage Always loving Sad, not despondent, just sad Feeling continuous Feeling fragmented Feeling like motion, like flow Feeling like thousands of still frames, constant flickering Grasping at impermanence Resting in the middle Dancing down the tightrope Knowing perfect poise, so so brief Everything is hysterically funny Hysterically But also just plain humorous And absurd Loving people Feeling grateful for people Seeing beauty everywhere Always coming back Like an epic Like a great love story Like a violin solo in a forbidden song Like the last wring of that silk dress you're not supposed to squeeze dry Knowing the inside of my hand Knowing teenage shame Knowing being yelled at, towered over, by my dad, in a narrow hallway, eyes glued to speckled floor tiles, feeling small, nowhere to go Loving with my body, with my hands, with my mouth, with my whole entire strong soft body Crying with tears, and snot, and heaving Becoming one single, concentrated point Wanting to envelope everything. Really. Actually. With my body. I am not this voice Or this writer Or this narrator Though I am also all that

0

Aug 5, 2022

Aug 5, 2022 at 11:58 AM UTC

"I" is a verb/The art of Selfing

Sleep deprivation *** Guilt Sense-making and maps of meaning Revisiting memories Crying Staying away from scary corners of my mind Deliberately going toward scariness Not resisting Yes resisting Respecting resistance Compulsive tv watching Dropping or letting go over and over again Exploring Curiosity Forgetting and then remembering that it’s all happening on its own, noticing this, knowing this, realizing this Realizing that realization comes and goes on its own Being in love with everything Crying Playing with time and concepts Craving emptiness Love Catastrophizing Ranking what "works" (i.e. sleep deprivation is effective), noticing that the metric of “effective” and "works" is = resulting in greater illusions of "forgetting" with a capital F Loving everything Being everything Self-flagellation Not really believing any of the stories or narratives Procrastinating Being irresponsible Getting off on self-loathing Forcing intimacy Compassion, large, whole, unrelenting, everywhere Oversharing Falling in love with a homeless person at a traffic stop Being bored and sad and hopeless and desperate Remembering inherent wholeness Being stubborn Getting out of the way always feels like dying Loving dying Loving mourning dying Dramatizing dying Wanting to be seen and loved Self-loathing Intensity Craving intensity Hating craving intensity Knowing that nothing is a problem Suffering Being impatient Being very very patient Feeling like I don’t belong in the world, like people and things and money and social media are alien, foreign and scary Feeling like I am the world Forgetting that knowing how to verbalize isn’t the same as knowing Wanting knowing with words to be the same as Knowing Wanting knowing to be a Real, solid thing Fear Mortal fear Bewilderment Constant background anxiety Hating this body Not caring for this body Being burdened by this body Feeling trapped in a body Feeling more trapped in a mind Wanting knowing to resolve everything Wanting to be saved Thinking that I probably don’t need to be saved Thinking or knowing(?) there’s nothing to be saved from Knowing that I can’t be saved Feeling open Feeling vulnerable Feeling exposed Feeling bad Feeling like I'm doing it wrong Believing it all Wanting to both believe it and have a choice about when, where, and to what extent I believe it Not knowing where the edge is until I've fallen off Feeling violated Feeling like existence is non-consensual Somehow trusting all of it, totally, exactly as it is Watching the panicking More crying Being one Being very very aware Noticing and letting go of effort in one swift move Compulsive clenching Compassion Dissolving Disillusion Dying without the novelty Being ok vey very briefly and for no apparent reason/because of no reason./? Wanting distraction Respecting needing distraction Getting out of the way of intelligent coping mechanisms Villifying coping mechanisms Understanding only in retrospect Frustration Compassion, deep, like warm water Compassion, hard, like being ****** vey very slowly Torture Life-giving torture Never wanting to stop Marveling Abundance like grace, like not deserving, like not needing to be deserving, like deserving is perverse language Tasting everything Endless kaleidoscopes of being and tasting and knowing Non visual seeing Clarity, brightness, nothing is a problem Being alive Being sososo tired Wanting to rest, to die into void and nothing Wanting to hibernate Wanting to still Dying to get off Begging to get off Finding the edge more thrilling than the center (because then the center can be anything at all?) Loving all the previous versions of this being Needing to hate, loathe, earlier renditions of this being Hating repulsion Trusting repulsion Getting stuck because resisting repulsion Knowing that there's no way out Knowing that the way out that I'm seeking isn't a way out Not wanting to do the work Dancing around the center, constantly Feeling dizzy with chaos, with knowledge of power Feeling comfortable with mediocrity Hating mediocrity Waking up with jaw tension from the enormity of my own suppressed power Telling stories about sensations Relying on self-bullying methods I know don't work Perfecting the art of pretending Perfecting the art of self-deception Wanting to make the stakes higher Being overwhelmed by my own storytelling Not wanting to give stories credibility by dispelling them Naval gazing Loving philosophy Feeling dried up, tired, stagnant, disinterested, not engaged, not here. Sleepwalking. Sleep writing. Sleep talking. Sleep caring Not sleeping Vivid dreaming High weirdness Questioning my sanity Romanticizing insanity Wanting to blur all boundaries Wanting to smooth the edges of reality Questioning reality Destabilizing reality Feeling destabilized Feeling irresponsible Guilt Feeling sick and tired Feeling scared Feeling hopeless Wanting to reach out Feeling like everything is inevitable Feeling like suffering is inevitable Recognizing kindness Discerning well (properly? Clearly? Well.) Fearful trusting Thinking too much Not wanting to love my dad as much as I do. Chasing the intellectual high Disappointment No need for resolution Feeling caught in existence Feeling caught up. Like in a potato sack; I can explore the exact measure of my confinement, the sensorial elements, the scratchiness, the filtering light from the outside, the stagnation, the wanting to stretch. I love this being. This. It's not a problem. Confusing familiarity with comfort Confusing comfort with peace Reifying confusion, but not really Yielding, on my knees, heart to the sky Seeing through, like pinholes in a perfectly realistic backdrop Dispelling everything Stripping away the Stripping away Trying to stand still and feel Wanting to be convinced by rage Always loving Sad, not despondent, just sad Feeling continuous Feeling fragmented Feeling like motion, like flow Feeling like thousands of still frames, constant flickering Grasping at impermanence Resting in the middle Dancing down the tightrope Knowing perfect poise, so so brief Everything is hysterically funny Hysterically But also just plain humorous And absurd Loving people Feeling grateful for people Seeing beauty everywhere Always coming back Like an epic Like a great love story Like a violin solo in a forbidden song Like the last wring of that silk dress you're not supposed to squeeze dry Knowing the inside of my hand Knowing teenage shame Knowing being yelled at, towered over, by my dad, in a narrow hallway, eyes glued to speckled floor tiles, feeling small, nowhere to go Loving with my body, with my hands, with my mouth, with my whole entire strong soft body Crying with tears, and snot, and heaving Becoming one single, concentrated point Wanting to envelope everything. Really. Actually. With my body. I am not this voice Or this writer Or this narrator Though I am also all that

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interlocking Complex(cities) a fortunate mixed complexion comprising of liberating schemes. the unnatural routine followed by beings with hindered genes i see them upload themselves in a virtual scene. i look up to them, twice binocular vision remix the visuals with binaural beats to keep me levitating before breaking into a fragmented piece. they’ve preached their nuisance to me i’ve definitely caught an anomaly i’ve heard them fabricating speech into something humble and noble i’ll wait till it’s my turn to be insidious i’ll spit radiation like Chernobyl to obliterate the ever growing regime. molecular regain they speak up to my senses to attain the consent of the eternal and beyond with an upright movement momentum i gain from forthcoming sonder while wandering down to the streets you’re listening to city dreams lean back, chime in with psychedelic scenes peripheral context sidetracked to prevent hindrance from the beings that are of obscene nature i’ve seen a lot of those nurturing themselves by ******* onto the future still stuck up on the yet coming past trying to get grips on the titular concept there’s authority with the ones who kept it flowing rugged strength no guffawing headed straight to the delirious ends of the rope always falling but never out of hope the stream that quenches the guilt of those showing up with guns just to pinch a loaf exterior combats come back to the present im here to steal the philosopher’s stone getting ****** just to soar above the stratosphere i went straight out of the blue sphere where i got to see the blues that fill up the majority of the crust ****** back to my grounds the velocity burned my rust thats a leap higher than the nukes you trust get to my location ask the Everest where im at it’ll point up to me and i’ll wave back but there’s a truth thats yet to be told i held the meeting of gods that weren’t sold nobody showed up neither the young nor the old except avowed fakes that claim to be woke

0

Sep 1, 2020

Sep 1, 2020 at 1:19 AM UTC

Interlocking Complexities

interlocking Complex(cities) a fortunate mixed complexion comprising of liberating schemes. the unnatural routine followed by beings with hindered genes i see them upload themselves in a virtual scene. i look up to them, twice binocular vision remix the visuals with binaural beats to keep me levitating before breaking into a fragmented piece. they’ve preached their nuisance to me i’ve definitely caught an anomaly i’ve heard them fabricating speech into something humble and noble i’ll wait till it’s my turn to be insidious i’ll spit radiation like Chernobyl to obliterate the ever growing regime. molecular regain they speak up to my senses to attain the consent of the eternal and beyond with an upright movement momentum i gain from forthcoming sonder while wandering down to the streets you’re listening to city dreams lean back, chime in with psychedelic scenes peripheral context sidetracked to prevent hindrance from the beings that are of obscene nature i’ve seen a lot of those nurturing themselves by ******* onto the future still stuck up on the yet coming past trying to get grips on the titular concept there’s authority with the ones who kept it flowing rugged strength no guffawing headed straight to the delirious ends of the rope always falling but never out of hope the stream that quenches the guilt of those showing up with guns just to pinch a loaf exterior combats come back to the present im here to steal the philosopher’s stone getting ****** just to soar above the stratosphere i went straight out of the blue sphere where i got to see the blues that fill up the majority of the crust ****** back to my grounds the velocity burned my rust thats a leap higher than the nukes you trust get to my location ask the Everest where im at it’ll point up to me and i’ll wave back but there’s a truth thats yet to be told i held the meeting of gods that weren’t sold nobody showed up neither the young nor the old except avowed fakes that claim to be woke

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I fell so easily Into your mold What I thought would be warm Is now so cold I set the oven To 300 hundred degrees The only thing I feel now Is your bitter freeze

0

Apr 3, 2019

Apr 3, 2019 at 2:20 AM UTC

No Measuring Cups

I fell so easily Into your mold What I thought would be warm Is now so cold I set the oven To 300 hundred degrees The only thing I feel now Is your bitter freeze

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There is a maddening poverty of devices to communicate the way your love has infused my being. Raging tempests and seismic calamities may briefly rock the earth, but they gather and dissipate quickly. You occupy every corner of my consciousness no matter what else I do. Passing time only invigorates your place in my soul. Great works of art may move and provoke, but the best of them are inspired by human passion and capture the source of their greatness only imperfectly. Even the sun is less bright than the way I burn for you. I love you. The words are too poor, but what they mean can no more be stated than measured or weighed. You are part of me.

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Oct 16, 2017

Oct 16, 2017 at 12:18 PM UTC

There is a maddening poverty of devices to communicate the way your love has infused my being. Raging tempests and seismic calamities may briefly rock the earth, but they gather and dissipate quickly. You occupy every corner of my consciousness no matter what else I do. Passing time only invigorates your place in my soul. Great works of art may move and provoke, but the best of them are inspired by human passion and capture the source of their greatness only imperfectly. Even the sun is less bright than the way I burn for you. I love you. The words are too poor, but what they mean can no more be stated than measured or weighed. You are part of me.

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My Mothers obsessed with fine wines fine clothes and Hoe's(she loves the Garden) and myself I'm obsessing over sticking powders up my nose(Sinus Troubles) As we all look back, on a life of Achievement, Deceivment and Bereavement, It's still hard to find the right words to say what I mean but... *Stay with me, on course, put the Dog Star to Port- put the Black Dog behind(he and Satan can play hunt and find), another way we should live, the attention I give...* **To each detail is vast, my brain's swift, my tongue fast but... Lately I find a vast gulf left behind-by the Daily News Grind of, Poverty and Fear, deaths far away and here, its invading my Monkeysphere and...** *So I shy away from news at 6-1 and their miserable fun, reportage from Ghouls, self obsessed ******* and fools who fail to see they're the tools-that...* **Keep us all depressed, hearts thumping in our chests, "we're close to Annihilation"- they scream with a weird Jubilation-I keep changing the station-as...** Each ululation of echoed deep fear reverberates in my ear, I say **** IT,STAND CLEAR"* **Then take an axe to these ropes that have tied up our hopes, then the Ship starts to float, I cry gaily(steady now!)come on, get the Boat!** *Throw your hat and your coat on the deck and lets dance as we float, on a river serene, leave behind the old scene, lets move in cadences stately, switch places politely, keep smiling- move lightly we swoop on like bird flight as we...* **Move from River to Sea- got new places to be, no time now for misery, keep the tension on Sails as we weigh on the Scales of this vast deck-I say...** **** it to heck", "there's the devil to pay, and not a pinch of pitch hot"-but the...* **Rations are fine, we've crossed the international misery line so... lets Dance, move your feet!- you'll soon pick up the beat, it's melodic and sweet and we...** *Really should check the Mast- but the Quadrille is so fast that quite frankly I'm past... Caring...* **New Captain I Sing as I toss the hat in the ring of fine poets, (some are, but don't know it) so come on take a chance, take over the dance,your turn at the wheel as we wheel and I feel...** *Somehow better, less gloom and less doom, move over make room!,as more folk board the ship, and effortlessly trip into place and we move in a groove that's eternally mine,yours and Smooth.*

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May 10, 2017

May 10, 2017 at 6:10 PM UTC

The Endless Dance

My Mothers obsessed with fine wines fine clothes and Hoe's(she loves the Garden) and myself I'm obsessing over sticking powders up my nose(Sinus Troubles) As we all look back, on a life of Achievement, Deceivment and Bereavement, It's still hard to find the right words to say what I mean but... *Stay with me, on course, put the Dog Star to Port- put the Black Dog behind(he and Satan can play hunt and find), another way we should live, the attention I give...* **To each detail is vast, my brain's swift, my tongue fast but... Lately I find a vast gulf left behind-by the Daily News Grind of, Poverty and Fear, deaths far away and here, its invading my Monkeysphere and...** *So I shy away from news at 6-1 and their miserable fun, reportage from Ghouls, self obsessed ******* and fools who fail to see they're the tools-that...* **Keep us all depressed, hearts thumping in our chests, "we're close to Annihilation"- they scream with a weird Jubilation-I keep changing the station-as...** Each ululation of echoed deep fear reverberates in my ear, I say **** IT,STAND CLEAR"* **Then take an axe to these ropes that have tied up our hopes, then the Ship starts to float, I cry gaily(steady now!)come on, get the Boat!** *Throw your hat and your coat on the deck and lets dance as we float, on a river serene, leave behind the old scene, lets move in cadences stately, switch places politely, keep smiling- move lightly we swoop on like bird flight as we...* **Move from River to Sea- got new places to be, no time now for misery, keep the tension on Sails as we weigh on the Scales of this vast deck-I say...** **** it to heck", "there's the devil to pay, and not a pinch of pitch hot"-but the...* **Rations are fine, we've crossed the international misery line so... lets Dance, move your feet!- you'll soon pick up the beat, it's melodic and sweet and we...** *Really should check the Mast- but the Quadrille is so fast that quite frankly I'm past... Caring...* **New Captain I Sing as I toss the hat in the ring of fine poets, (some are, but don't know it) so come on take a chance, take over the dance,your turn at the wheel as we wheel and I feel...** *Somehow better, less gloom and less doom, move over make room!,as more folk board the ship, and effortlessly trip into place and we move in a groove that's eternally mine,yours and Smooth.*

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I'm sick of everything being so Tentative Sick of repetitive Sick of the space in between Being filled with a sedative What's left for remarks Has lost all it's spark And any chance to turn and dance Now contemplated as a farce No swimming in the let go Too perplexed with the undertow And a personal perpetual head hunt That conceptually returns Then comes and goes. I scream. Can I stop carrying these Boulders? It seems the second I relax my shoulders Is the very instant that my desolate Impending doom smolders I test tracing lines to vent my crimes But the paper seems like a stranger My last confidant left to respond Was taunting this balled up anger "It would have never happened If you weren't distracted. And paid a little attention And gave a little practice. Your talent has been squandered. Your very soul grows cold Like an overlaundered actress. Maybe if you spent some time to write and rhyme you'd have something To show for it Maybe if you weren't a voodoo doll Filled with push pins In that instant you wouldn't blow it. Maybe if you had the patience To plant that seed you could grow it. And instead of extinguishing The first sign of a spark or fire You would just know it." It's like being caught in an interview Between the lie you tell yourself And the distant truth And the web you weave Has too many deviations And you grow confused You grow tired and old And feel just as abused Then a simulated head rush it seems With two strokes of the pens brush Can softly whisper sweet things While your cheeks turn to red blush Then comes back around To bite you like a viper When you realize you grew Complacent and despise to Naturally get hyper The life you could have then Gradually escapes the vice Of your fingers And here's the final zinger That kind of sentiment will linger The hallowed out version of you Stepping in to be the ringer When all you ever feel is to reveal That you're actually a singer That you actually have more talent Than most in your little finger If you could just stop getting caught up In what was brought up, What he said she said And all those things That make you malinger So wake me up when it's all over Get me off this roller coaster Take me away to that sweet place Where I was younger A time when I was funny and bold And filled with hunger Let me taste my dreams With not a wasted moment Teach me to fill this space Even while I make a small dent

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Nov 5, 2016

Nov 5, 2016 at 9:35 AM UTC

christopher-polizzi

I'm sick of everything being so Tentative Sick of repetitive Sick of the space in between Being filled with a sedative What's left for remarks Has lost all it's spark And any chance to turn and dance Now contemplated as a farce No swimming in the let go Too perplexed with the undertow And a personal perpetual head hunt That conceptually returns Then comes and goes. I scream. Can I stop carrying these Boulders? It seems the second I relax my shoulders Is the very instant that my desolate Impending doom smolders I test tracing lines to vent my crimes But the paper seems like a stranger My last confidant left to respond Was taunting this balled up anger "It would have never happened If you weren't distracted. And paid a little attention And gave a little practice. Your talent has been squandered. Your very soul grows cold Like an overlaundered actress. Maybe if you spent some time to write and rhyme you'd have something To show for it Maybe if you weren't a voodoo doll Filled with push pins In that instant you wouldn't blow it. Maybe if you had the patience To plant that seed you could grow it. And instead of extinguishing The first sign of a spark or fire You would just know it." It's like being caught in an interview Between the lie you tell yourself And the distant truth And the web you weave Has too many deviations And you grow confused You grow tired and old And feel just as abused Then a simulated head rush it seems With two strokes of the pens brush Can softly whisper sweet things While your cheeks turn to red blush Then comes back around To bite you like a viper When you realize you grew Complacent and despise to Naturally get hyper The life you could have then Gradually escapes the vice Of your fingers And here's the final zinger That kind of sentiment will linger The hallowed out version of you Stepping in to be the ringer When all you ever feel is to reveal That you're actually a singer That you actually have more talent Than most in your little finger If you could just stop getting caught up In what was brought up, What he said she said And all those things That make you malinger So wake me up when it's all over Get me off this roller coaster Take me away to that sweet place Where I was younger A time when I was funny and bold And filled with hunger Let me taste my dreams With not a wasted moment Teach me to fill this space Even while I make a small dent

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I lost my mind in desire An empire owned by lust from higher Beings falling down to themselves Bewitched and hexed But how? Through the musical Vibrations From ancient times Flow wasting The lot o them many minds I'm wasted but the day is fine Time wasted Vomiting out my mind The mirror In the mirror My eyes are so red Spinning out the world The mirror In the mirror I spew out puke now Spit like a cobra Projectile As I spin around Door opens how Do I barely miss And I do hiss! Then vanish. Cause I am higher than a dragon Soaring through hazy skies Falling back down To Earth Mouth dry Sitting asking why Do I need? Is this really "addiction"? Or a ****** in need To see wounds Making myself bleed Then into the Earth, I recede. Only to be a myth, a dream. A Devil walking so obscene.

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Aug 29, 2016

Aug 29, 2016 at 1:31 PM UTC

michael-joseph-olivas

Asylum in my head

I lost my mind in desire An empire owned by lust from higher Beings falling down to themselves Bewitched and hexed But how? Through the musical Vibrations From ancient times Flow wasting The lot o them many minds I'm wasted but the day is fine Time wasted Vomiting out my mind The mirror In the mirror My eyes are so red Spinning out the world The mirror In the mirror I spew out puke now Spit like a cobra Projectile As I spin around Door opens how Do I barely miss And I do hiss! Then vanish. Cause I am higher than a dragon Soaring through hazy skies Falling back down To Earth Mouth dry Sitting asking why Do I need? Is this really "addiction"? Or a ****** in need To see wounds Making myself bleed Then into the Earth, I recede. Only to be a myth, a dream. A Devil walking so obscene.

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How many times Must I open my heart to find It locked from the other side? How many times must I open my heart To be met by lies? How many times must I cry Before I realize I'm wasting My? No, my heart stays open for days And it will stay this way I'm not a slave to likes or wage **** the blind stay out of my way I have people to save, I say My words are for those who listen Whether I like you or not we can have a sit-in We are all children of love, none ungifted **** you if you say that by my skin, creed, or *** I deserve no longer to get lifted Get a ******* grip kid Whether you're 20 or old and forgotten you're spoiled rotten Your only salvation is to be honest Stop lying to impress those most lost It's your sacred life that be the cost What a price to pay for mindless talk But fear not For if your intent be love you cannot be lost Wake up, if you forgot Stay strong, if you have not I love both sides The wanderers and the lost

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Jul 6, 2016

Jul 6, 2016 at 12:50 AM UTC

Song for the Blind

How many times Must I open my heart to find It locked from the other side? How many times must I open my heart To be met by lies? How many times must I cry Before I realize I'm wasting My? No, my heart stays open for days And it will stay this way I'm not a slave to likes or wage **** the blind stay out of my way I have people to save, I say My words are for those who listen Whether I like you or not we can have a sit-in We are all children of love, none ungifted **** you if you say that by my skin, creed, or *** I deserve no longer to get lifted Get a ******* grip kid Whether you're 20 or old and forgotten you're spoiled rotten Your only salvation is to be honest Stop lying to impress those most lost It's your sacred life that be the cost What a price to pay for mindless talk But fear not For if your intent be love you cannot be lost Wake up, if you forgot Stay strong, if you have not I love both sides The wanderers and the lost

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To become enlightened. Blameless like the Son and Job. To become intoxicated when doing right. To become uplifting and filled with might. One must first control himself and his mind. Move without movement and overnight. Holy ghost please control me from inside. Take my mind take my mind!!! and do what is right! What is right? They look at me and think everything is alright. Looking at the date and time. Looking to the light. Which seems skewed by blight. To take flight. In the name of light. Oh.. Um.. I think thats right. Ohh..Done.. I lost another fight. But what is right? When the light seems to dim. And it's just harder and harder to get in. Fallen like prey, swiftless daze. Lost in my eternal maze. Constant haze then just praise To the sexualle life in all man. Women and children fall corrupted to that hand. Mind chained more than 100 days. Rude awakening next i am contemplating what the future holds for those of us who are waiting. Toothless and ruthless masters debating. Taking over control of the minds of those who have made it. Tantrum like blabber...meaning ranting with clattered words. Just to be heard. Just to be heard. And while the masses watch your madness you must learn and observe.

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Sep 22, 2015

Sep 22, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC

michael-joseph-olivas

To become enlightened. Blameless like the Son and Job. To become intoxicated when doing right. To become uplifting and filled with might. One must first control himself and his mind. Move without movement and overnight. Holy ghost please control me from inside. Take my mind take my mind!!! and do what is right! What is right? They look at me and think everything is alright. Looking at the date and time. Looking to the light. Which seems skewed by blight. To take flight. In the name of light. Oh.. Um.. I think thats right. Ohh..Done.. I lost another fight. But what is right? When the light seems to dim. And it's just harder and harder to get in. Fallen like prey, swiftless daze. Lost in my eternal maze. Constant haze then just praise To the sexualle life in all man. Women and children fall corrupted to that hand. Mind chained more than 100 days. Rude awakening next i am contemplating what the future holds for those of us who are waiting. Toothless and ruthless masters debating. Taking over control of the minds of those who have made it. Tantrum like blabber...meaning ranting with clattered words. Just to be heard. Just to be heard. And while the masses watch your madness you must learn and observe.

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--- in the caverns of my heart darker are the persuasions of mystery toiling upwards moist candle in my feeble hand barely perceived stalagtites and stalagmites loom like the open maw of dragons *breathing steam* soulsurvivor (c) 5/24/2015

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May 24, 2015

May 24, 2015 at 4:28 AM UTC

--- in the caverns of my heart darker are the persuasions of mystery toiling upwards moist candle in my feeble hand barely perceived stalagtites and stalagmites loom like the open maw of dragons *breathing steam* soulsurvivor (c) 5/24/2015

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Baby, there's a white chalk outline in the street tonight for the boy down the road who didn't have a chance at life. There's a lady working down at the truck stop on Third, and she's racing home tonight to confirm what she's heard. That's her baby in a casket, not the usual sort, and his mother's screaming in the storm begging God to take this hurt. There's a girl across town who lost the things she had, and the only thing she knows now is the fright that's in her head. Her father's in the living room where he loads his shotgun, almost hoping that the **** from prom will show himself again. There are children in the desert, in the city, in the streets and they are dying every day. All we do is argue over what is best to say. The journalists and soldiers, those who worked a mile high. Honest folks are turned to martyrs and their names are used in vain. No one considers rationale, only how to profit gain. We're political, tyrannical, existentially obsessed; we haven't got a thought for those who haven't even dressed. "They aren't here; they're there; we haven't got the time." But if there's anything I know, it's that my time isn't even mine. "Jimmy wouldn't take me out tonight." "Martha never called me back!" "I wish that Art had never talked to me." "I hope you have a heart attack!" People dying every day and no one seems to give a **** We are vain and we are damaged and we will never be the same. It seems that all which matters is just how well you play the "game."

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Feb 25, 2015

Feb 25, 2015 at 5:08 PM UTC

Baby, there's a white chalk outline in the street tonight for the boy down the road who didn't have a chance at life. There's a lady working down at the truck stop on Third, and she's racing home tonight to confirm what she's heard. That's her baby in a casket, not the usual sort, and his mother's screaming in the storm begging God to take this hurt. There's a girl across town who lost the things she had, and the only thing she knows now is the fright that's in her head. Her father's in the living room where he loads his shotgun, almost hoping that the **** from prom will show himself again. There are children in the desert, in the city, in the streets and they are dying every day. All we do is argue over what is best to say. The journalists and soldiers, those who worked a mile high. Honest folks are turned to martyrs and their names are used in vain. No one considers rationale, only how to profit gain. We're political, tyrannical, existentially obsessed; we haven't got a thought for those who haven't even dressed. "They aren't here; they're there; we haven't got the time." But if there's anything I know, it's that my time isn't even mine. "Jimmy wouldn't take me out tonight." "Martha never called me back!" "I wish that Art had never talked to me." "I hope you have a heart attack!" People dying every day and no one seems to give a **** We are vain and we are damaged and we will never be the same. It seems that all which matters is just how well you play the "game."

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