#validity
Abnormally healing mummified bumps
That turn into great bleeding red humps
Or the silent large type of losing
Inside the fake idea of the choosing
Still, perhaps just a small splotch or two
That gets noticed by nobody but you
There are an infinite amount of
Differently sized shapes and depths
That any form of wound can get to
Just because mine go in one direction
Doesn't change how far or deep
Somebody else's has ever gone
Just because mine stay upwardsly confined
Doesn't mean I'm losing far too much time
I don't know what I'd rather
But it the end it doesn't really matter
For even if I have large bumps,
Or pieces of missing flesh,
Or simply small splotches,
No matter what,
They still could've been cut differently
They're never good enough for me.
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 10:40 PM UTC
Raw is the best Honey
I don't like processed
and filters ruin a good photo-
Words alone could not stress
how holding tightly lets it go
And the precepts of old;
timeless in their wisdom
But conception lost foretold
in flitting light dwindle come
Infusing confusion to know
Raw Honey is the best
like a diary written once
without recap or proofreading's regress;
captures the leaps and the stunts
of a heart recounted
needing less fluff than truth in blunt
compounded
Pretty words for pretty Poems
- generally about love and waste,
regret and passion - but just this once
and only in a while, I prefer a taste
of the raw inception of persona thus
- A simpler rout to honest smile
Poetry flows forth from the human soul
but the souls that savor
such flavoring found in rawness
moments chance in fuming rancor
mixed in bowl of multichoice shortness
- Upon inspection,
a face too rough for presentation without
invasive correction
Perhaps it breaks the means
and perhaps it should be so
But nothing ripened when was green
and washing embers do not make them
glow
Love is nice, and Happiness too,
it's place is carved sweet and runny
contrary spur, it must be true
I simply prefer the taste of Raw Honey
Jan 2
Jan 2, 2026 at 11:13 AM UTC
What's this desire for validity?
In every each step, each sigh, each look,
The rules of inner-peace, felicity,
Were never written down into the book.
Are my eyes deceiving me? I don't know,
Yet, many times I have trusted my insight,
Who makes me realize that it's all show,
Clearing the murky night like sinless moonlight.
My intentions are not to pierce the soul,
Unmask, expose this state, for that is rude,
I ask, and wonder much without control;
A sufferer knows sufferers quite good.
Within each move you make I feel my pain,
If you will lie, you'll make me look insane.
Aug 3, 2021
Aug 3, 2021 at 6:19 PM UTC
I tried once
To be what I am not
Gave myself a shove
Tried to be forgot
My shape shifted
And for a moment
I was grifted
I cannot
Be what I am
Not
Dec 8, 2020
Dec 8, 2020 at 9:23 AM UTC
The essence of sight is not totally lost in
the moment when a mere moment
of objectivity is seen, felt, or
experienced through my eyes
which in turn brings forth the need
for justice to be seen, felt, or more so experienced.
It is never a crime to see one thing twice,
it’s just makes it twice as nice.
The first through my eyes, serves as a reason
for it to be seen the second time through your eyes.
Without a profound reason to see,
the need for sight would never exist
to let the existing reason be meaningful.
You have to see through my eyes
as it offers a comforting reason to
ensure that the journey is taken
on the road not often taken.
It’s not enough for you to validate
or guess a person’s experience
until the color of your eyeballs
matches the sincerity in theirs.
This concludes the art of seeing,
as it is always an Art.
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 12:50 AM UTC
They tell me to lay down
and to please look at the fish.
Notice how they glide
in-and-out of the cool-blue
water; how they don't have
a care in the world -- they're
fish: one out of millions;
mindless; alone in packed
tanks; alone, jammed in
metal cans full of corpses
and low-quality mustard.
Putting the mask over my
perfect nostrils, my straight
teeth, they say Don't be afraid;
listen to my humming; how it
will blend with the high-pitch
screech you hear, now; becoming
an equilibrium of torture and
fantastical strangeness, unbound
by Gods, by Persons, by Loves.
Inside this perfect dark,
you cannot think beyond
the giant broad strokes that
is the world sweeping by --
and it is marvelous, the
buoyant miseries floating
above your head; my head
of ambivalent visions;
the Earth's core, a furiously
violent brilliance, ablaze
beneath my feet, under
layers of confounded
deathly masquerade; a
mask much like mine:
an egotistical reflection
brought out by one's
feeling of gigantic import-
-ance, despite hanging
from the vastest of ceilings;
a wannabe church in the sway
of jungle mind; primitive instinct.
*********
You know you can wake up
at this point, or so they say.
What does it all mean, to which
I murmur, I don't know. It's
hard to say what I know; if
anything, all I have is doubts.
All I can muster are regrets;
I wish I could return to that
perfect dark, confused and
semi-philosophical; all-
pretentious: a feeling of
being bound by brokenness.
They tell me to chill out;
you use semi-colons like
they're heartbeats. Focus
on whether your chest
holds validity.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 3:00 PM UTC
my stomach revolts often
and then sometimes not
food is appealing sometimes
but then often not
my heart stops sometimes
pushing sour saliva up my throat
bile pulses through my veins
but not often enough
I shower too much to be sad
sleep sometimes, too often enough
smile a little, but
too often to be anxious
brushing each tooth, carefully
I thought you were supposed to be depressed?
walking the line between too much
never enough
Dec 25, 2016
Dec 25, 2016 at 8:13 PM UTC
I am leviathan swimming through
the ashes of your remains
dying on the ground
you will soon be saved
masses falling to the graves
fearing fire and brimstone
your soul enslaved
ready for your grave
resting there under the sun
finding comfort in the birds song
escaping the malicious tongues
All will be rebuild before to long
life is just a lief falling
beautiful yet slowly dying
fleeing there torches and guns
maybe it is just time calling
balancing your life on the run
balancing life on the run
walk the beaten path
carry the weight of the wizards staff
through the mountain and seas
see his trinkets glistening
the agony of your hypocrisy
vanish into thin air not to be seen
don't give validity to your insecurities
make life the way you want it to be
the sunflower set in the west
white rabbit rest on your breast
words don't always make sence
everyone has there own quest
sing your zombie song
dead astronaut and lizard skin
the devil's in dark cats and woman
marvel at the colors of your death
take the veil from off your eyes
and watch the sunrise
The beauty you seek is inside
my heart goes out to the night
resting here under the sun
finding comfort in the birds song
escaping the malicious tongues
life is just a lief falling
beautiful yet its slowly dying
fleeing there torches and guns
maybe it is just time calling
balancing your life on the run
racing to the red light
you fear personal hell
violate every law of the universe
and yet you feel so frail
put your coin in the wishing well
Satan's diaphragm, pentagram in hand
Die is the O, death is the answer
voice carrying, through the under lands
tempting you like an exotic dancer
resting there under the sun
finding comfort in the birds song
escaping the malicious tongues
life is just a lief falling
beautiful yet its slowly dying
fleeing there torches and guns
maybe it is just time calling
balancing your life on the run
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 2:33 AM UTC
If you brush off what we say,
We will rip your ears off with our words-
Because our opinions matter.
We can be just as intelligent,
If not more so
Than you are.
But in your mind,
Because we have vaginas,
And you have a *****
The people whom with you share
The same kind of genitals are oh so
Much more creative than us.
But we will nail it into your stubborn
Skull, the fact that women matter.
We can be intellectuals.
We can be in galleries.
We can do your ******* job-
If we even want to in the first place.
Our opinions are valid and relevant.
We do not deserve to be brushed off
As if we do not have minds of our own.
We refuse to go through torture
To ‘earn’ your respect.
Respect that we do not even need
To be able to succeed.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 8:46 AM UTC
Validity is not a virtue;
For it is you
And only you
Who can prove yourself true.
A breathing being-
Only if you want to be anything
But a spec of dust,
Searching for validity
In a society
Which has done nothing for thee.
The real virtue is individuality-
The individual
Is valid enough
For themselves.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
Woke up late from a nightmare
disguised as a daydream;
the mediocrity of life burning
at the bottom of my throat
from last night.
Failing organs and trying
to age gracefully
to keep dignity.
Dying every day.
Ten foot sunflower out back
like an anti-depressant that makes you ponder suicides.
Ten foot sunflower can't find the light
but reaches out like there's something out there.
Ten foot sunflower can't run away, can't take the rain,
can't be desperate or in pain.
Ten foot sunflower has peace of mind through emptiness.
I woke up with canaries out my window
and broken organs in my head.
So, people tell me I talk too much,
and I find it hard to disagree.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
Woke up at 4pm today
and remembered I have no dreams
that have flown beyond the cage,
and past the cage there's still
a burning coal mine.
Ten foot sunflower standing out back
trying to be a beacon in the night,
like a blind leader for the dead;
sending them down that river,
paper boats across a sea of lies,
and there is no right direction.
Once you set foot here you are
lost permanently.
No one knows if it even
had a beginning,
or if it'll ever have an end.
Woke up late with a ten-foot sunflower
at the foot of my bed, harvesting canaries.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
A car alarm stopped going off.
It's like being in a dream/nightmare,
seeing all these stupid faces,
seeing only faces you hate,
and after a while all
those faces look
alike.
Pressing palms against my head
and screaming till blood
shoots out of my nose;
I remembered a cold morning,
early enough to be night,
but late enough to be morning,
or maybe it was
early enough to be morning,
and late enough to be night?
I was staring at a grocery cart,
peacefully coexisting
with the parking lot
while I waited for the bus
with not a soul up and out
except myself.
I walked across the street
and kicked it over, and
kicked it a few more times.
I returned to my side of the
street unscathed [victorious].
I may have been late to work,
but I certainly didn't give a ****
Some lady
coughed up blood
while I rang her out and
I think about suicide
out of habit now.
I'm a ghost that haunts itself,
except which tense is more real,
or did I mean,
who is more valid?
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
I'd make art that wasn't the equivalent of processed
microwave food, without the "gourmet" label.
Then again equal validity in creation is only debatable
if you're an ******* who believes any of this has meaning.
If you're taking yourself seriously,
you're going to get ****** up by
the **** end of this joke; Art is more than these
observable qualities of reality. It is beyond us.
However, everything we are is made of the stuff.
We are art. Life is art. Life is meaningless
Art is meaningless.
We are meaningless. You.
You are meaningless as well.
Roll on snare... None of this holds real validity.
Abuse of cymbal.
In this lifetime I want so many things that simply
will not happen. She says my "dreams" are floaty
although I know I won't live to see them.
Life flies by so fast it's a wonder we don't get
tickets. I want light that moves at 40mph
and scorches on impact. Explodes like fireworks.
It should glow; green or blue.
I'd use it to cook these dinners,
burn these notebooks,
**** these mother
******* guitars.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC