"escapable" poems
They tell me I can do anything.
Looking down the throat of a challenge.
Hanging on to the coat tails of life by the fringe,
above a fire that is trying to singe...
...Who I am
My Identity
Targeted by
a self created entity.
To bring me down...
...Below my potential
to see what is essential
through consequential actions.
I AM A MAN!
no matter my wingspan... I CANNOT FLY!
And those childhood encouragements are a lie.
But through accomplishing what I am capable
I find that my boundaries are escapable.
I'm not shooting for the stars,
or looting and ending up behind bars,
but I am me, myself,
doing what I can so I'm not rotting on a shelf.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 6:17 PM UTC
Grounded
root thrumming
spiral down Kundalini into rich darkness
the end is here
as is the beginning
I find I am Free
At Last
having grasped at the edge of reality
and lost my fingerhold before
I know what it is
to fall into madness
Here
here in this soul music
I find I am hovering instead
my breathing steady and cool
my muscles warm and limber
the fatigue passes
I float
I am pulled and ******
allowing each note and beat
to guide my body
my mind is elsewhere
I am entranced
-
I detach
from time and space
my breath and touch show cold
yet I am on Fire
I see all the nonsense in front of me
and cut the ties
suspended within the music
I leave the edge of reality
my embedded fingerprints visible now
and continue to dance
I see all the ******** around me
and cut the ties
this is Not madness, it is true sanity
it is my arrival to Home
and I continue to Dance.
I see the confusion, pain and hurt within me
and cut the ties
insanity leads into pitch black nothingness
This leads me into infinite light
still, I dance.
-
pushing through the darkness
leaving the illusion of this world behind
I have come to the other side
there is no edge to fall from
there are no bindings of obligation
the chains have always been self-imposed
easily escapable
why did I not shed these long ago?
I am taken through lifetimes and back
I am ******
I am *****
I am Moon
I am Earth
I am the First Woman
and the Last
I Am One.
This all within my full mind, sober, unaltered
the answers are right in front of me
all I have to do is open my soul and see
for this I do my Cosmic Dance.
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 9:35 AM UTC
Hemophilia runs in the family
A bleeding disorder
I was fortunate
My sister got the gene, not me
She is a carrier
and has mild Hemophilia
If she had been born a boy, it would have been far more severe
But even with her mild disorder
She spontaneously begins bleeding
Without anything even happening to her
I spontaneously begin bleeding too
Even though nothing is happening to me
But you can't see that bleeding
It's internal
Not inside my body
But inside my soul.
Or something.
I'm not really sure where it hurts, all I know is that it hurt a lot
People say, *just be happy!
Don't you want to be happy?
Can't you just ignore it?*
NO.
That's like asking my sister
When she spontaneously gets ****** noses
*Just stop bleeding!
Don't you want to stop bleeding?
Can't you just ignore the fact that blood is pouring out of you?*
NO
just because the pain is not visible
DOESN'T MEAN IT ISN'T THERE.
IT IS NOT ESCAPABLE THE SAME WAY BLEEDING ISN'T
That is why I'm trying to find a distraction from the pain
Because when my sister gets a ****** nose, she just goes and distracts herself with a movie, so she doesn't pay attention to the bleeding
My point is, though
No.
I can't just "be happy"
I'm bleeding too
And it is spontaneous and inexplicable
YOU JUST CAN'T F*CKING SEE IT
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
I honestly am not suicidal anymore.
And that's good.
It's nice to be able to say that again.
I'd like to feel like I'm living more often, but I don't want to **** myself anymore, at least.
I honestly am not suffering from an eating disorder or any kind of weight paranoia.
This is also good.
It is really nice to be able to feel less worthless in that sense.
These are good things.
I'm getting better.
Let's focus on the positive, Ember.
This year WILL NOT JUST BE AN EXTENSION OF LAST YEAR.
You don't want to live like that anymore.
The silence is over.
Build something better for yourself.
It's time to find your own escape.
And it's time to focus on something better.
Maybe this sinking feeling of depression isn't entirely escapable, but count the struggles you've overcome.
I don't cut anymore, I don't starve anymore, and I don't make drafts for suicide notes anymore.
These are good things.
I still feel hollow, but I'm alive.
I'm going to start FEELING alive.
This is my goal.
It will be okay.
I need to start believing that.
because it is true.
I just don't know it yet.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 12:23 AM UTC
Our lives are full of constant manipulation
Yet no one can seem to find any real solution,
Finally I realize that we are fully capable
And that our lives are actually quite escapable,
Therefore I plead with you to join my silent revolution
In order to create an awe-inspiring instituition,
That will result in a cease of being susceptible
And instead further lead to the creation of an individual,
An individual with the choice to either accept conformity
Or to stand up against normality
And create an altogether new formality,
So I ask you,
Will you join me and build upon this realization
Or forever live among a simple and mundane regularity?
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 9:46 PM UTC
I am only a man from no particular strand, left stranded in the wasteland of morrow,
A shadow of was, a mere hint of a memory set forth as to a tease the absence of colour,
Why you torment so?
An un-escapable prison defined merely by the concept of the mind, twisted, locked and deep confined, forever chained and twined,
A freedom haste and fast must find, or forever stay in context of mind...
Tis death mere convenient?
An escape say found with but a single token for the toll man, use wisely if must, and only if must, but if don't you must, then listen in trust, if later if sooner we all will........ And must......
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 9:07 AM UTC
You are like the sea,
Truth be told there is no other way to put it.
The sound of silence covered in repeated sigh.
A total embodiment of things placed of collective wonderment.
What shall triumph the noise of wave overlapping wave.
Of all things calm you spread your presence,
Drowning in the bliss of serenity.
You and only you could create the quiet hush dreams are made of.
Although
Some tides are bigger than most,
Of all times, not all are escapable.
Splashing against the shore in a bipolar like disorder.
Crushing everything it touches, selfish in nature.
For every action there is a natural reaction that displaces the initial action.
A need for finding peace in the eye of discord.
This is where your heart becomes a walking representation of the sea itself.
And I the jagged coast, cleansed of any disbelief that things won't get any better outside of the moment.
Pieces of myself lost in you. A constant movement no longer stagnant in thought.
This is where I consider you the sea, the depth of your eyes covering everything it touches.
And I the boat lost in mid drift, without a care in the world.
A means of transportation exploring a depth of things I never knew to exist.
The things you keep hidden.
Far from the hindsight of eyes, your habits, things you reveal to be true given enough time.
The constant change that happens every moment of every minute.
Still it doesn't take away from it's beauty, the things kept hidden.
You are like the sea,
A profound way of expression.
And I, the sailor.
Watching the truth reveal, bit by bit.
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 10:15 AM UTC
It was in a dream, no a nightmare, or maybe not
but it doesn't really matter
the idea took hold of my imagination in my sleep
swaying on a draw bridge, you know the tale we all know
rain shattering on the darkness of my inner eyelids
and the barely held together steps simultaneously danced in the wind
and held me back from turning this dream to a barely escapable fall
but my nightmare in my bridge made of imperfections surfacing
with each step realizing that I had a choice to keep moving forward towards an idea of perfection
turn back to a memory of stability
and each step held me a little longer
offering the polaroids of safety that they took on more clear days
each one was a little more clear and hold me much longer
and as i take more and more steps, finding it too far to turn around to familiarity
this must be growing up
i won't burn my bridge because of memories and mistakes
but keep moving forward to strengthen it with success
and lessons
next time i visit you, draw bridge in my head
i'll be able to go between my idea of perfection and stability
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 8:17 PM UTC
What remains in the aftermath of love?
As streets are built without sidewalks
As neighborhoods no longer have use for streetlights
As parks and sunsets turn into myths
As the stories of lies and deceit become the only nursery rhymes we pass on
As *** becomes as mundane as eating bread
And ****** become larger and more frequent than church communions
As ***** become cheaper than blood
As faces become so interchangeable they're impossible to remember
And names turn into secrets
What remains?
When everywhere is no man's land
When childbearing is just a rare, yet escapable punishment from God
When children migrate in swarms between families like birds escaping winter
When love is just but a militarized weapon used for enslavement
When humanity is emancipated from their emotions
Shall we celebrate our independence by clearing our contacts list and changing numbers?
Shall we start each new year by picking a new stranger to stave off our hunger for the night
When we stone those who learned each other's middle names
When we lock away anyone greedy enough to keep someone to themselves
And the married are sent to live in the madhouse
When the war of love have ended
And no one's heart returns home
What remains?
Nov 19, 2020
Nov 19, 2020 at 7:55 AM UTC
I Remember clearly
that cold winter night
the night
I opened up my eyes
A warm took control
of me, a laughter
uncontrollable
a feeling escapable
No worry, no fear
just the thin smell
all about the air
a smell my coat
now shares
I opened my eyes
to a brand new
sight, took part
in that amazing plight
A brilliant new
sight, full of
laughter and,
uncontrollable
cheer
Dec 4, 2010
Dec 4, 2010 at 11:40 PM UTC
*i hate this ******** even writing about it gives me Sartre's nausea, but it's the reality, and as such, given it's reality, it's in-escapable, so there's no point hiding behind a putrefaction of ideals with nice, ear-pleasing sensible words that do not antagonise, let alone engage with dialectics, that sharpened version of what is know to be simply: a conversation, or via Shakespeare: too many stages, too many worlds, too few actors, a load of physicists though, deliberating poly-dimension etc., but too few actors; what a massive Holocaust of subjectivity this scientific positivism came to be... clearer cloning devices are in place than what the Koran invites. they will not convert so easily, having been robbed of communism! the mongolian conversation / connection, i.e. if it worked for the mongolians to become a nation sub- in the geopolitical stratification they say: 'it should have worked for us, but it didn't, we're as dispersed as the jews! and we're met with more anti-semitic remarks around the globe than the ******* Deutsche!*
and when the recession hit
the majority of european countries
poland remained recession free,
and when the migrant crisis came
the european union abolished
the schengen union:
zumbi e o senhor das guerras
zumbi e o senhor das demandas
quando zumbi chega
e zumbi quem manda
your tribe - our tribe -
i.e. **** your little unity project for a café culture;
hostility will be met with hostility,
or quiet simply right-wing football hooligan
marches with a flare for acrobatics of explosives...
i didn't want it, as honesty goes
i am in debt with Scottish universities and i'm
not paying them back...
i'm on £120 a week benefits after being
misdiagnosed as schizoid... oh look,
Michael Myers is smoking a pipe of Hashish
in Damascus.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC
She holds the key to destiny in her left hand
While clinging to life with her right
Trying to remember why she does this
She sees her friends
Begging her to stay with the
Pleading
Refusing on the grounds that
She wants them to be able to live happy
Choosing to sacrifice her own well being
For a fate that she's ALWAYS been against
Believing that this is the right thing to do
Struggle so that others may prosper...
She holds the key to life in her hand
Letting it drain all the joy away from her soul
Replacing it with the agony of anguish
Struggling to stay among the living
Questioning her own choice
Claiming the dead is better suited for her
Not her words
But the words of a child
Who has given up on life itself...
She holds such a simple key to the fate of
All not one
Becoming corrupted by every negative thought
Of every living human being
Dying on the inside
Living a lie on the outside
Wanting to be free from such a dark fate
But afraid of the consequences to do so
So she stays
Remains a prisoner
In an "Easily" escapable prison
Called "Fate and Destiny"
...
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 6:05 PM UTC
Awoken abruptly
It burns my brain like acid
I dissolve, absolute fear
I would rather die than feel this
Indescribable terror
Non-escapable
Dec 31, 2020
Dec 31, 2020 at 1:04 PM UTC
If you are not an addict it’s difficult to understand.
How one minute you’re pouring water, the next there’s whisky in your hand.
I drive home from work and stop in a coffee shop, pick up a coffee and make my way off.
He drives home from work and stops in a pub, picks up a pint and forgets how to love.
He comes home wide-eyed and restless in nature,
And I know the man getting into my bed is a stranger.
Someone who, up until recently I knew,
But then he re-filled his blood stream replacing it with toxicity.
And although he makes it home to me,
I still share a complicity.
I try not to be anguished and it take it so personally.
After all when I close my eyes he’s still the only one I see.
I just wish I could cure him but I’m starting to think I’m incapable,
That no amount of loving someone can make an addiction escapable.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 5:20 PM UTC
The feeling is
In-escapable.
Un-matchable.
Dis-orienting.
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 2:22 AM UTC
In your troubled eyes
ominous black clouds formed above
As we waited for the sky to open up.
In your broken heart
Pain buried deep beneath the surface
A volcano waited to erupt
Your mind clouded by turmoil
A faint whisper of my intuition
failed to scream your truth.
In your soul, a grand canyon left a void
As you continued to detach
and your conscience faded
In your hands, a bottle
Filled with emptiness and relief,
A final solution and a way to find peace
In your house, a body left to die alone
Last breaths of a life
Escapable only through tragedy
Leaving only those who missed the signs.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 11:19 AM UTC
The time, dismal
Caught she cries
To her own detriment
Because of her lies
Situation, not escapable
Caught she cries
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 6:24 PM UTC
Every time you try to pull that trigger, the action destabilizes! Leaving you without wounds from the inside out. Actions have consequences. Especially when yours isn’t good enough for the misfired bullet. Further actions destabilize even more. Showing the blockage of bullets cramming the gun barrel. Gun barrel becomes lost in its own action. Rendering its actions futile. More misfiring bullets go off! Nothing sprouts from the gun with love on its mind. Firearm cartridge is burning up! Feeling abandoned by itself. To much cramming volunteers mucking up too many services. Feeling more destabilizing numbness. Gun barrel becomes more exhausted. Numbness is no longer the issue. All actions have now taken away feeling. Doesn’t matter. Won’t stop the action from destabilizing further into a nothingness claim. A claim trapped in a misfired action. Halted all it’s processes. Resorting blockage sharing entire feelings with the first misfired bullet. Love becomes escapable.
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 1:26 AM UTC
Undeniably the greatest annoyance in my perceivable existence,
Someone take him by the arm cause he's gonna need some assistance,
When he figures out he can't resist this way I spit fire with supersonic consistence,
I would go full force on him, but his dad does that enough,
I'm talking 'bout when he gets beat with the belt, and the **** stuff,
He sits in his depression on his phone, waiting for a friend to holla,
Or when his dad leaves and he's all alone, he moans, getting licked on his **** by his dog Nala,
Eventually he meets up with his inferior faggoty friend who's hair is **** brown and reddish,
Then they be off ******* each other's toes cause his whole God awful foot fetish,
I almost killed him once, on a four wheeler, driving full throttle,
He almost killed himself once, getting beat after taking a **** in a shampoo bottle,
His abuse complex with his dad isn't escapable,
So he attempts to take his anger out on the masses,
Although he was properly educated and capable,
In high school, he ended up taking four special ed classes,
In the special ed wing,
I'd catch him talking to some girls,
He called "pretty things",
And he took the hand of my world,
Yes, tried a hand at my girl,
So I took a right swing,
At his jaw and he swirled,
Back to his thotty boys,
And makeup-caked girls,
This bisexual *****
Has another thing coming,
If he thinks he's *******
For my ***
Cause the only time I finish last in this world,
Is when I'm on top of MY girl, ************
May 17, 2020
May 17, 2020 at 9:43 PM UTC
the world so fragile so resilient embracing tight
its spinning delusions, inequalities, contradictions
while he is smiling at his fists, the most powerful
a mascarade game we play with reality
impossible to tolerate the contact with daylight
democracy no longer soothes us when it lies to us
political agency crushed in empty pockets
eyes full of a radical hope
the truth obscured in our mythical mind
we need to be brutally honest with our mental health
with the health of the oceans, of the air, of our dreams
he is a fragment tormenting our fragments while
the world is not yet prepared to grieve its disneyland
an escapable paradox will hold us
oh, how are we falling when we think we are rising
the future is unstoppable
its echo chambers are searching
for some truth
Nov 8, 2024
Nov 8, 2024 at 4:45 AM UTC