Hi, I'm just writing to say that I'm sorry I'm ****** up.
I'm sorry I can't do anything productive. I'm sorry I ******* up my siblings with my clothes and my music.
I'm sorry I'm a monster. I tried... I'm trying... But its hard....
I don't want to hate you but I do. I don't want to blame you but I do.
I blame you for teaching me that Jesus was the only life. I blame you for not even warning me of what this world can turn into.
I blame you for not being strong enough to get over my dad when he cheated on you.
I don't want to. But I do.
I blame you for marrying someone new when you weren't over Him yet.
I blame you for letting that imposter become the source of my brothers confidence issues.
I blame you for my 8 year old brother developing multiple social and mental problems simply because you couldn't control your husband.
Because he was righteous and a woman shouldn't stand up to her man.
I know its childish and I know I'm selfish.
And I claim that completely. I am who I am despite who you are.
I don't want you to take claim for what I've become.
I don't want you to tell your friends about the monster you made.
I want you to realize I am myself of my own accord.
I choose to be unhappy and I'm **** proud of that.
And I love you, though I wish I didn't.
I love you for finally leaving my brother's tormenter, even if it was later rather than sooner.
I love you for crying for my grandmother on her deathbed after you ignored for two years.
I love the fact that you cared enough, at one point in time, to try to keep me from becoming who I am today.
I don't know if these are good reasons and I don't know if you care.
But I blove you my mear dother, and I lame you.

Exiled, banished,
Sent down from your throne in heavens gate
to the torrential dullness of earth
the mear morals around me would call this "paradise lost"
yet I refer to it as my paradise found

For were the angles to be banished to earth
what may one state the difference be?
If there be such beauty in this world as you-
heaven doth speak out of sheer vanity

as to call itself the epitome of prosperity?
and forth to label itself paradise

for as far as the mear mortal known as I
true paradise lay not in gates of pearl,

yet rather in your heart of gold

Many have walked the path of life only to be cut down violently. I can hear the voices of the dead whispering their last words. A trace of their souls forever stationary in time. Can you walk past a graveyard of white crosses protecting those who fought for freedom. When you do do your eyes remain level and thank whoever it is that you pray to that such men lived. We should not be thankful that such men died for freedom but rather we should be grateful that such men lived. Or when you walk past that graveyard do your eyes blur as if you see right past the lost selfishly thinking better them than yourself. I say let the voices of the dead ring into the stillness of the night and awaken every living person. Let the voices chastise and haunt the living. Let the living know that we are still here and we must act. We can no longer sit back as if the world  does not concern us. As if the spread of disease and death across the African continent is someone else's problem. As if the slaughter in Cambodia and Vietnam are but the problems of tribal people. Or the slave trade which runs rampant in South America along with the disease of man into madness of drugs. Or the constant gang warfare which spreads in our own nation. Are these gangs any different then the very terrorist which we fight in the middle east. They **** and terrorise in the hopes of personal glory and living a lustful selfish life. Let us put an end to the ******* and apathy which reside in the so called European Union. Which cares nothing of the problems of the world, which vetos every vote to make the world a little safer. Or the starvation of the North Koreans under the madness of the tyrannt. The oppression of so many people in the middle east by by the hands of their masters. Treating their women as mear slaves to which to repopulate the country, tools of breeding. Using their children as instruments of warfare. Is that what we fight for. Is that what the dead whisper, or rather are the dead tired of the living ****. Listen closely and you will hear the dead speaking into the realm of time and history.

Once
You spoke of our souls living out their days in the garden of Eden.
Yet you were the one who bit into the forbidden fruit
Condeming me as you have been,
Being tempted by the devil you have killed me
Taking that discarded bone that was my life and driving it though my pale and aguished heart.

Have I confused you with my bible references?
Let me clear it up for you

You were my everything and yet you harmed me
I forgave you because I loved you and therefore made excuses for you
But once my excuses started falling upon the deaf and dead
I felt it right to leave your chambers for more than just one night

I heard the words of a spoken word poet and fell in love
And the more I wrote like she, the more I realized what you did to me

I realized that your words were cold and your fists were hard
The grabbing of my side was a mear warning I did not listen to.
Unintentionally, I was right in saying you would be the death of me,
But I certainly said it in the wrong context.

You were my abuser.
You gave me chocolates and flowers and teddy bears to keep me happy and smiling
To keep me unaware of your manipulation and beatings of words to my skull

You may not have hit me,
But You might as well have
Because emotional and verbal violence, is abuse as well

Now let's contemplate.
Almost two years I put up with you but it was maybe a year that you had acted strangely.

Yet I stayed
Because of you put a frog into boiling water it will jump out
Yet if you put a frog in warm water and slowly turn up the heat,
It will stay until it dies.

That was our. And every other abusive relationship darling.
You were kind and caring and loved me much
I trusted you and that was my end
For I'm sure if I stayed like I wanted to,
Id be the frog in boiling water

But I'm not,
I'm a survivor
I'm a free woman
I'll always remember you, trust me I will
I'll remember a monster and then my friend
Because your last words to me left lasting impressions
"You were wrong to leave me"
No, darling
I was wrong in not leaving sooner.

The trembling treacherous tone totally tricks
Sure smiles sever souls, swift striking sticks
Bold brash barriers, block bonds by bricks
Mear mortals mentality, moving mix  

society stay sociably strong
look, learn, listen live long
grow, grab, generate gifted gong
Why worry? Where wrong?

I miss our meadow, where we use to roam. Where we use to laugh, and smile and dance and forget about all the darkness in the world. Where we were free to be ourselves, and love one another. I miss the  simplicity of growing up with you, never knowing what the future might hold, or why for that matter. I loved the way you spoke about the sea, and how big your heart would expand to the mear thought of it. You loved the way I spoke of the forest, cause it was the only place I could go to quiet the demons. Most of all, I miss the sound of your voice, the happiness it sprung from hearing the sound of mine. You dont get another twinflame, until we meet again my shining star.

She was a goddess
amongst mear mortals
and I was a peasent
that wanted to be a knight
so I could be her prince charming.
She always gave me little looks
and her father said I would never be good enough
but I made it my life to prove him wrong.
So I collected as much  silver and gold as I could
and I bought me a shanky *** little horse.
I fed that horse
and trained it to be big and strong
soon I was ready to fight for the heart of the Princess
So I managed to get myself some armor it took me a long time to build it up
but when I did my armor was stronger then anyone elses.
Mine was built threw blood, sweat, and tears
and in building this armor I had no fear of loosing
I had no fear of her stupid father because I was comming in with something the
other fighters didnt have and that was love.
The others wanted the Princess for the family money
I wanted to Win her heart
and even if I loose
I know in trying I won already.
The battle came and I was shivering
not in fear but in knowing that I made it to the big show
I got my horse ready fed it a apple before, tied my armor straps tight around my waist
and got ready to fight for my Princess.
The first battle went fast my horse was to fast for the other horse and the man layed flat on his back.
The second man gave a little bit more of a fight you could tell he was from wealth and might
he tagged my shoulder but I stayed upright. I took the corner around back at him and got ready
WAM nailed him right in the sternum he went down like a rock in the water.
The final and most precious battle came
and it was a sword fight
I forgot to make a good sword I thought this was gonna be a horse match.
I had two small blades to his mighty majestic sword. People said this guy was a Demi God the Alpha male
but I wasnt afriad. I got myself ready and prepared for him to  make a mistake I noticed the land was covered in holes from the previous races. He comes running at me without seeing these holes and trips and falls basically right infront of me I jump on his fallen body and slice his throaght and the crowd goes silent. All you can here is the Princess's heart start beating again.

In my dream the other night,
I first heard a panicked mot's voice:

"Is me, mo ghile mear!
Cathain a thoicfaidh tú abhaile chugam?"

When light then entered my eyes,
I saw a young woman hunched o'er a table

She writing, quill in hand, to her man.
Like a ghost I hovered o'er her.

I saw the year, 1745
The year of the Jacobite.

I blinked my eyes
And my world went black.

Once opened again, I saw that time had passed
And a tear-stained letter lay on the desk.

Mo leannán fionn, the letter read
Tá me i ndeoraíocht.
Is ár bprionsa caillte.
A stór, mo ghrá thú, ach
Níl riamh feicfidh mé tu arís.

When I awoke that morn,
The ghosts of the lovers haunted me.

I pitied that mot, who lost her love forever to exile
I pitied that cove, exiled from his love forever.

Though only shades, their story
Is from the dawn of time.

Tears transform a tranquill room
expose
a sleepless night
tumble
over speechless sounds
to misty-eye your sight

My eyes could shut and call this dream
slip back
through slumber's door
Though curious whys deflate serene
deplete
arouse
deplore
~
I search within your eyes
a light
mear spark
disperse of haze
My touch careses salted cheek
my thoughts
within your maze
A sudden hug
you cling to me
my heart surrounds you tight
You turn away
but snuggle close
You smile
and say
Goodnight ...

Soon is the time
We'll have to say our final goodbyes
Just another mear chapter in life
But I've written down and memorised mortal moments we shared
Immortalised and sealed
To be posted down the line
I know you never got to greet with smiles
But my sister, Your granddaughter
Is expecting her first child
Soon is the time
I'll have to say my first hello
Just another mear sign of time passing by

Todos caminan
yo también camino

es lunes y venimos con la saliva amarga
mejor dicho
son ellos los que vienen

a la sombra de no sé cuántos pisos
millones de mandíbulas
que mastican su goma
sin embargo son gente de este mundo
con todo un corazón bajo el chaleco

hace treinta y nueve años
yo no estaba
tan solo y tan rodeado
ni podía mirar a las queridas
de los innumerables ex-sargentos
de ex-sargentísimo Batista
que hoy sacan a mear
sus perros de abolengo
en las esquinas de la democracia
hace treinta y nueve años
allá abajo
más debajo de lo que hoy se conoce
como Fidel Castro o como Brasilia
abrí los ojos y cantaba un gallo
tiene que haber cantado
necesito
un gallo que le cante al Empire State Building
con toda su pasión
y la esperanza
de parecer iguales
o de serlo

todos caminan
yo también camino
a veces me detengo
ellos no
no podrían

respiro y me siento
respirar
eso es bueno
tengo sed y me cuesta
diez centavos de dólar
otro jugo de fruta
con gusto a Guatemala

este cumpleaños
no es
mi verdadero
porque este alrededor
no es
mi verdadero
los cumpliré más tarde
en febrero o en marzo
con los ojos que siempre me miraron
las palabras que siempre me dijeron
con un cielo de ayer sobre mis hombros
y el corazón deshilachado y terco
los cumpliré más tarde
o no los cumplo
pero éste no es mi verdadero

todos caminan
yo también camino
y cada dos zancadas poderosas
doy un modesto paso melancólico

entonces los becarios colombianos
y los taximetristas andaluces
y los napolitanos que venden pizza y cantan
y el mexicano que aprendió a mascar chicles
y el brasileño de insolente fotómetro
y la chilena con su amante ******
y los puertorriqueños que pasean
su belicosos miedo colectivo
miran y reconocen mi renguera
y ellos también se aflojan un momento
y dan un solo paso melancólico
como los autos de la misma marca
que se hacen una seña con las luces

nunca estuvo tan lejos
ese cielo
nunca estuvo tan lejos
y tan chico
un triángulo isósceles nublado
que ni siquiera es una nube entera

tengo unas ganas cursis
dolorosas
de ver algo de mar
de sentir como llueve en Andes y Colonia
de oír a mi mujer diciendo cualquier cosa
de escuchar las bocinas
y de putear con eco
de conseguir un tango
un pedazo de tango
tocado por cualquiera
que no sea Kostelanetz

pero también es bueno
sentir alguna vez un poco de ternura
hacia este chorro enorme
poderoso
indefenso
de humanidad dócilmente apurada
con la cruz del confort sobre su frente
un poco de imprevista ternura sin raíces
digamos por ejemplo hacia una madre equis
que ayer en el zoológico de Central Park
le decía a su niño con preciosa nostalgia
look Johnny this is a cow
porque claro
no hay vacas entre los rascacielos

y otro poco de fe
que es mi único folklore
para agitar como un pañuelo blanco
cuando pasen o simplemente canten
las tres clases de seres más vivos de este Norte
quiero decir los negros
las negras
los negritos

todos caminan
pero yo
me he sentado
un yanqui de doce años me lustra los zapatos
él no sabe que hoy es mi cumpleaños
ni siquiera que no es mi verdadero
por mi costado pasan todos ellos
aaso yo podría ser un dios provisorio
que contemplara inerme su rebaño
o podría ser un héroe más provisorio aún
y disfrutar mis trece minutos estatuarios

pero todo está claro
y es más dulce
más útil
sobre todo más dulce
reconocer que el tiempo está pasando
que está pasando el tiempo y hace ruido
y sentirse de una vez para siempre
olvidado y tranquilo
como un cero a la izquierda.

Take away
All of the pain
Don't let my eyes
lead astray;
To the path
That has no way
Or no other option
Where the pain
Will never soften

Where is the path
That leads the way?
Where is the path
That makes my day?

All I see is
Dust and sand;
With no sign
Of a helping hand

All around me
There is love and lust;
Not knowing which'll be
Hit or bust

Where is the path
That leads the way?
Where is the path
That makes my day?

All I see is
A forgotten land
With me as
The only helping hand

I stand alone
And forgotten;
Watching my leaves
Turn to rotten

There is no sign
Over the hill;
Its being held
Against its will

Where is the path
That leads the way?
Where is the path
That makes my day?

Then there is
A sudden change;
It feels so good
And yet so strange

There is a light
From the sun
The start of change
Has begun

My heart begins
to quickly pound
I start to listen
For new sounds

I find my path
Is a person;
One that is
A different woman

Her own laugh
Makes the sun shine
Her own self
Blows my mind
All I wish
Is for her to be mine

Whenever you are hurt
Or are in pain
I'll be there
To make it go away

You are the sun
I am your star
And I'll be there to help you
Wherever you are

If you cry
If you fear
I'll be there
To have a listening ear
And I'll turn that fear
Into mear
Happiness that always will be
Even more sincere

I will help you
Learn to rise
Straight from the Earth
And up in the skies

Whenever you need me
I'll be there
And I promise not to break
That single pair,
That will never fade away
Or turn into a tear
Cuz you'll always know
I'll be there

Another page
another wage another
war the countries are
corrupt because of
power cease all this
now!

but who am I to
flip the page it was
destined to happen
my mood is a zero
my dreams of a peaceful
world are a mear mortal
thoughts

sliding in between my back
I can never reach them
people nor "leaders" are
condemned by power
they are all evilly posse
this century keeps weakening
the earth people claim to
be organised but
yet I see them with
***** hearts

this aid is always active but
no one will ever answer
these people are horrific
these leaders are abonation
to the nation, but it is destiny
this world is coming to
an end and I am happy

To live another day
In remembrance of my past
There is pain in these words
I miss the moments
Of nervous limbs
And questioning thoughts

I wish to relive
That nostalgia
Fire mear by
And you were just a little high
With that moment
I felt happy

Now I am far away
The south of the north
And you are where I was
Before we met
I could only ask
To relive that moment

Curious eyes
Starry skies
Nervous limbs
Fire nearby
And questioning thoughts

Swimming in grey
Drowning in red
Nothing seems real
Just a haze,
A smear of color's
mear pictures passing by

Surrounded,
By nothing more then empty vessels
Nothing more then hollow souls
One after another
Dead eyes & pale skin  

Gaurds watch,
Eagle eyes scanning
Restraints & syringes at hand
Ready to pounce as we stand    
                                      
All in line
A shuffle to the next fix
The glazed eyes
The cool calmness                              
The deafening silence

Water cups passed around
2 pills in hand
Cold and dead to it all
Its all routine
Swallow, drink, repeat

Another day
Another dream          
Another thought                  
Lost, wasted, silenced

I'm a mear ghost
A wisper on the wind
I'm a dieing flame
A pile of ashes
I can't play this game
It's burning up my insides
Charcoal smile

A woman in her prime is the pride of her man
She can be the reason for a man's happiness
but also the reason for a man's pains
It has happened to me  I should know

A long time ago,then I was young and naive
She came into my life
Everything changed
She made me the happiest
Man in the world

We did things together
Shared dreams together
Oh,what a blissful love!

But then she left me
Shocked right?
But bet me it was more than just a mear shock to me

And as years past

Her rose-like memories then became as a thorn of a thousand spikes in my heart

To forget I drawn myself In my whiskey
But even my whiskey betrays me
I wake up to find the pain still there

The agony of a broken heart pumping
The wish of a lost soul begging to be found
Memories of her smiles still hunt me

She came early into my life and as early she left me
Now I have to live the rest of my life without her
Oh,
what a beautiful mistake!

But wait!
What was my mistake?
What did I do wrong?
Is it wrong to fall in love

Correction!
It is not a beautiful mistake
It is just fate

FATE THEY SAY IS CRULE BUT WOMEN ARE IT'S TOOLS

WRITTEN BY-Peace Ekeinde

Have you ever,
Put a box fan in your window?
Felt the breeze of its humm pass your cheek?

Seen the shadows of the world's spin through its twisting blades?
Smelt the morning dew in its air?

No.
You haven't.
You can't.

The box fan, flickers the light of the window.
The window that lets you see the world.
It waters your eyes, blurring the view.
It hides it's consumption in its comfortable wind.
Pushing the truth away.

So, you can't have seen a box fan, you see.
For a mear 'box fan' is always fleeting,
Hiding itself,
In the lie you told yourself.

I drop to my knees in disbelief. How effortless was it to take what was mear imagination and turn it into reality, but how unexpected the cost. What has man become, destroying its creator, its sustenance, its home. I step back and look at my terribly beautiful creation, confused at what I have done, but sure it is both good and evil. Man cannot create just good, nor just evil, both intertwine and mix into one as salt does water. Both coexist and thrive on the battle between the two. Man has made itself into something that was unintended. It has made enemies with what has given it life. Waged war with what wants peace. Conquers that in which is not supposed to be conquered. I sit down and close my eyes to hide myself from that in which I have caused. At last I open my eyes to take in my creation. "What have I done?" I ask. There is no answer, just silence.

I look across the table in her beautiful eyes
They seem brighter than the stars in the skies
I see the gleam they hold and wonder why they stay here with my soul filled with sadness and despair, I despise the pain.

She asks me what is wrong, she asks me if I’m alright
To be truthful I’m not her eyes are far too bright
I feel fright, what if I drown the light

The darkness in my soul grows tenfold until it beams above me like a devil.
It snarls with vicious teeth, as he sinks them in my corpse, ******* any vision of happiness away, replacing it with an evil sadness.
I feel the pit in my stomach growing, leaving, filling my mouth with bile.

I walk out of the restaurant with tears in my eyes.
I look up to the skies filled with stars that remind of those baby blue eyes.
I see the fear in her eyes.

Why must the devil in my soul come at the worst times?
I just wish for one day without tears flooding my eyes.
Please, oh please hope my friend replace the devil in my soul.

Please wage war with the devil in my soul called fear.
I fear what I may do to the brightness that is a beacon in my darkest nights, oh dear.
Please destroy the devil, that tries to quell the brightness in my best friends eyes, please release me from it, please allow me that one mear blessing.

Finding you, has been a gift.
As the journeys past falls behind.
Time was but a mear suggestion.
Endings start with you...

Coins, Pentacles, The suitor of stability and groundedness.
Grounded like the plants that spring forth from the raw earth, like the cleansing stream flows in the pasture as the shepard attempts to heard his sheep.
The heard counts itself and drifts into a rest with no end.
His pasture, his cane, he takes me to the lake,
to look out at the water.
Only to discover a drowned sheep, lead astray by the false tranquility of the sea.
The shepard stares at the waves the waterlogged sheep was trapped underneath, and understands.
The Shepard dries off the sopping lamb with the fruits of his labor.


Swords want to conquer, to break in the untamable mare, its blade yearns for a wielder, for victory.
The blade's metal is molten, soon to be cooled by the calm waters of the cup as moonlight gleams off the hilt.
Within the grotto's hidden dirt pathway, the sword bends, piercing the heart of it's holder, but blood never was spilt.
It whispers of the eminent dangers, lurking just beyond the brush.

Wands, Rods, Batons.
Each want to cast a spell, but are fearful of it's effects.
And sacred texts collect dust, their token of age, never to be read by another.
A thin layer of dust, is what cleaves the truth.

Cups. Empty? Or full?
The liquid held within finds a momentary stillness so soon to be interrupted by the thirsty mouths of beggars, but the cup refills.
The copper forged within a kiln of fire and chaos, only to be treated as mear iron by all except the poor that drink from it.
The enchanted cup comes with a single proverb, a warning, which is engraved within it's metallic surface.
"To ye who's lips caress thyn skin, What thee take out wilt beest putteth back in, if ye life is what thee truly cherish, then replenish what thee take or thyn shalt surely perish."

The coins gingle as copper meets gold, the sword sharpens against the cup as the hilt and handle hold no company, the cups waters polish the birch, that in turn will one day give birth to the wands of the future.
But without the cups grasp the coins have no place to be held, without the cups fine sheen the sword becomes dull and chipped, and without the nurturing waters the cup provides and the birch withers and dies.
This is the truth: The cup holds and sharpens and waters.

By never at once

As the Coins, Sword and Wands feel more content,
The cup is fearful that it will never filled. Fearful of being reforged, being repurposed, again.

But the cup refuses to be contorted into a shape that fits their desires.

The disks want to be grasped.

The swords want to sharpen.

The wands want to be watered.

But the cup still yearns for the sea, an endless source of fulfilment and possibility, and with it, the future, far in the horizon.

For the mear moments of flight
youre above everyone
nobody can tell you different.

Though we might love eachother
and remember eachother
Hope it won't be a fading
Memory
But I know that we as
Kindred spirits my
One day have to leave one another
Though the love won't fade away
There will be fading memories
To the point where
They're just Mear dreams