Demon
in my head
con trolling

can it
where how
does it draw

power
to handle myself
authority mine

once
upon a time
I had will

resolution
discernment
direction

freedom
obtained
by the way

materialization
paper pen
raw thought

disoriented
dazed
detrimentally disturbed

determine
describe
define
direct
demand

I have your name in my hand
I wash my hands of you

ink
sink
drain

A red, hot mist; a lit match
To a puddle of gasoline.
Anger is a beast, frothing at its mouth
Hungry, hateful and lean.

It is in the husband who beats his wife,
physically, and verbally;
It is in the vitriol we spew
At each other detrimentally.

It is in the xenophobe,
Who cherishes resemblances
And apprehends differences.

It is in the people,
Who segregate into a familiar tribe
Unaware of who tortures us all
Unwilling to unsubscribe
From the delusion -
'I am right, and you are wrong'.

Ire smolders beneath the surface
Until the surface is no more
And all that is left
Is a charred, blackened sore.

It is as corrosive as a vat of acid,
It will burn you to the core;
It will destroy all that is inside you,
And nothing will be left to restore.

Infuriation is a many-headed dragon;
Devalued, unjustly accused,
Hungry, hated or powerless,
Ashamed, anxious or defenceless.
Demeaned, disgruntled, upset;
These are all emotions
That lead to ire and regret.

Yet, it is also self-preservation;
In an unjust world,
It is the burden of a whole nation.
It is the sense than informs you
When you are being cheated;
Like the sensation of burning
Upon touching an object that's heated.

Yet, unknowing and uninformed
We are always at each other's throats;
The establishment is elated,
In the embers of society, it gloats.

For, in this insane, deluded world
Happiness is a rare consignment,
A moment amidst the chaos,
Not a constant incitement.

We must look beyond our petty squabbles
And realise there is more to deal with
Than each other's issues and troubles.

Anger is as addictive as ******,
And just like it, it feeds on vulnerability.
Should we unite against our common enemy
It would mean invincibility.

We should not target each other;
Instead we should aim at those
Who have brought us here.
Those who steal, lie and control;
If they cannot, they will cajole.

It is those who have turned life
Into a rat race which nobody will win.
Divided we are controlled,
Unaware of the power within.

Yet, you ask, what if we were united?
Imagine, a whole world's anger
Aimed at the right mark;
That is what I propose,
Before it is too dark
And humanity swallows itself whole.

___________

Kirsten; like any wicked step mother you’d read about in children’s story books.
Her presented facade dissolved quickly with days passing since we arrived to reside in her home.
Ample kindness mixed with my first real impression of what narcissistic personality looked like.
Classically she had no children of her own at the time she was exactly the age I am now as I pen this unpleasant memory.
Oddly enough our body types are nearly identical though she was taller with short curly hair often chemically relaxed and dyed a darkened shade of red.
She was the only example of a plus size woman I’d ever interacted with; with a large chest I wished to resemble  when I grew up.
I was eleven at the time and extremely flat chested though I’d developed rosebuds when I was five being the overweight child.
Kirsten loved us- or she pretended detrimentally.
We bonded over the two plump tabby cats she owned though I detested doing the litter- being guilted into it because she had multiple sclerosis although argumentatively she’d have done the litter herself long before I came along.
Adult excuses though whereas her illness was real she didn’t really do much of anything after we came along.
Normalcy was just that at first- family sit down dinners around this white table with cylindrical chairs specked grey and white cushions.
I’d always be yelled at for crossing my one leg under my rear as I’d sit.
“You’ll break the chair that way, stop it” they said on the regular as I’d never remember.
Truthfully that position was comfortable and the chairs never broke.
One resided in my fathers empty home till a week ago- as strong as back in 2001.
Dad and Kirsten were heavy smokers at that point, chain smoking regularly in the front room of Dudley street though the smell would seep through the crevasse and deposit itself remarkably amongst the house.
She’d buy me identical clothes to her- one pink and white fuzzy sweater in particular then berate me for copying her. After all, a very narcissistic thing to do with me being  ******* eleven.
I loved that woman more than I’d care to admit.
She was my first motherly figure after being removed from the home of my severely mentally ill birth mother- she was still a form of normalcy though our relationship deteriorated unrealistically quick.
Before the family split up; we had a sit down dinner though Kirsten wasn’t present.
Having an MS flare I asked how she was when she trapped past the kitchen table toward the washroom.
Innocently enough, I was not prepared for the extremely violent outburst directed toward me- 12 at the time.
For the life of me I don’t recall the words though something like how much she did for our ungrateful family and I ran off to my bedroom without dinner crying from this unwarranted attack.
Everything changed after that point.
That was one of the only times my father emotionally soothed me; their life deteriorated into nightly fights and our fairytale life traversed into a puff of dust.
Kirsten was a dangerous reoccurrence for years after though the veil of particular wonderment was long forgotten.
I needed a protective female presence though I received a covert narcissistic *******.
C’est la vie.

for not only words
but also for ways to show you I care
since my actions and intentions
remain detrimentally disconnected

God is not a myth,
He's the truth,
It seems most think believing in God is denial of reality,
Lack of clarity,
Or even just low intellectuality,
Well is it?
So many events narrate to me the existence of a higher power,
Its not a thing I've not questioned,
I've questioned and questioned.....
And the answers I seek,
Are always beneath all the hearts;
Of the helpless souls who lick their sours of being judged for believing in Him;God
So I wonder;"what does it have to do with me? "
Am just a human being acting weird at times,...
I feel guilty for am straight mentally but all I see in the mirror is a man detrimentally,
Causing my inner self;harm,
Then I realise,
That its wiser to follow my hearts eyes,
For they confirm what my mind already knows but tries to argue against.,
Such is life.

Oh tell me god,
Why does this confession feel like sin?
My smiled pulled to the edge of my cheeks,
You can see the grin on my face when she speaks.
But it's more than that, I feel a warmth in my soul, like a piece of me, once lost , is calling out to home.

And I'm excited but I'm filled with fear,
Always retreated when a heart came near,
Pushing away, always thought I was riding it out on the down stream,
But never realising I was on the upstream to my dreams,
Too afraid of what I see not being what it seems,
Falling apart I grab a pillow and scream,
Panic induced and breaking at the seams...
And I'm sorry but that's just me,
Carry my scars not physically but mentally and some times it makes me act detrimentally when clutched by anxiety, I'm sitting back, thinking, " what if everybody lied to me?", but honestly I'm trying to be that somebody better than me...for you.

So now...
I'm here with a confession.
It feels like sin,
But is only good intentions.

Remember when we first met? I could hardly hold together my head.
But then you brought me back, you cared about me losing grip.
Just when all the things around me turned and made me sick,
You hopped into my life and made me realize life's a *****.
Though I struggled to move on from all the pain I hid,
You stood right behind and guided me toward strength and grit.
I can't believe the amount of love and understand you'd give.
You let me in, you let me see the kind of life you'd lived.
A sorrow tale of you alone as just a little kid.
No mom, no dad, no one to truly care if you'd been fed
You raised yourself and learned no one could ever mess with TwigZ.
An uncle taught you to take care of family and business.
Nortenos locos por Vida was the click you rolled in with.
You learned to use a gun and **** any man who started ****.
By this time things were changing and they renamed you ZtickZ.
A name of pride and honor not anyone could just dismiss.
But see our lives collided quite so detrimentally
Because the way that I was raised was so much different see?
I have a family that would do most anything for me
The only problem was how broken we became quickly.
My mom she drank she never saw the flaws she made for us
She merely wanted everything from dad including us
At a young age I learned about the pain with love and trust
I had to grow up thinking life would never be uncrushed.
A sadness held onto until you came and made me trust
Your words of kindness really broke away my hate for love.
In a time of struggle you were there for me not needing much
But I soon realized that you also needed Love.

Looking back at these times brings me to a solid pause.
Because I know how lucky we both are to have found this love

My beautiful deception,
Everything familiar,
Yours who’s skin is comfort on my fingertips,
Yours who’s eyes, I fathom to lose myself in,
Who’s pain runs so detrimentally deep,
That I could never comfort,
That I could never lose myself,
For the fear of losing all that I am.
But nevertheless,
Yours.

It was a beautiful day. Some might say 'perfect'. Others would disagree, as they always tend to do. I say 'WAS a beautiful day' because as these words are read, the moments they describe have long passed. Not only that, as I experience these moments they immediately become the past, since the present moment is partly an illusion, partly our liberation. The only moment most people are ever able to experience in our dimension/universe is the present. Yet the very structure of time becomes the ideology that binds us most: segmenting and amalgamating to create a false perspective of continuity, but more detrimentally to us, of finality. Reggie Watts once sang that:

"We're only living in the memories of our future selves and its funny to think like we're here right now, but we never really are 'cuz we're somewhere in the future controlling the options, giving lots of hints to ourselves in order for us to understand that choice is still important in a world where we gotta figure some stuff out: yea".

That's a pretty consuming thought, but most don't even have the self-awareness to figure out the most basic concepts so hopefully, this alleged shift in consciousness better brings some swift wisdom to those it can and solace for those it can't. How did such dark thoughts come from such a beautifully perfect day? Because beauty is pain and nothing is perfect in life except perhaps life itself in/or the multiverse we inhabit (potentially). Always full of ups and downs like waves... of sound... of light... of energy... aka EVERYTHING! That's enough pseudo-philosophy for now. Take comfort in life's uncomfortableness.

ive never heard a more scary statement,
"i'll be there after they're gone.".
its the threat of death in when one gets detrimentally complacent.
but sometimes
it could be sunshine past a dreary tragedy,
like i have found it always to have been.