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MB Aug 2013
Authors: Two misunderstood teenagers

(a.l) Do you believe in soul mates?
    (m) I absolutely do; I believe I may have met mine just recently in fact. I believe that two souls are destined to eventually cross paths and feed off each other's mindsets.

(a.l) if I may ask, how do you know? And what makes you believe that everyone has a soul mate? And evolving around Plato's Symposium, how does the sun and the moon become into the soul mates topic? I'm just curious to why people fall in love with people who don't love them back but claim to be soul mates.
    (m) I've found that everyone's mind is compatible with another. I'm not the one to fall for "fake" mates of the soul. Simply, if two minds are exactly identical and feed off the energy of one another, I feel it may be destine to become soul mates. The sun and the moon are the reasons for all life imaginable, they feed off each other, so I view them as soul mates.

(a.l) How do you know if someone is your soul mate? And what about the topic of "opposites attract" if one has the same mind as another, wouldn't they clash or may they be more compatible?
   (m) Honestly this topic is utterly impossible to decipher to another unless they were upon the same theory. Opposites in things other than the soul attract, thus the two souls become one.

(a.l) Interesting, i'm intrigued by Plato's mind. Simply, because ive never seen a couple that was completely right for each other. What other theories do you believe in?
  (m) The Human Matrix! How we are all somehow connected by choices and accidental collisions. This is merely the mind of a philosophy student.

(a.l) Tell me more about this Human Matrix theory, does it have to do with fate or chance? How about consequences of the choices we make?
   (m) It's a theory of how the universal alignment is caused by simulations of human minds and creation.

(a.l) So the universe is just a part of our imagination, nothing is real?
   (m) Yes, the universe relies off of human invention, since not a single soul can truly determine the creation of it. The Multiverse theory expresses that it is all a figment of imagination; the start of time itself.

(a.l) That's fascinating, how everything and nothing is real, a paradox really! Why do people that talk about and what comes after it?
   (m) I believe we are all born only to eventually see our deaths, to meet death himself. People have a mindset that after death is oblivion. Simply out of comfort.

(a.l) But isn't death oblivion already? I mean we don't truly understand what happens after it, I usually think that maybe we aren't really dead or heaven/ reincarnation doesn't exist, but no one ever knows.
   (m) I feel that those who have been able to experience a death-relevant situation are the only few souls who may know the outcome of death itself.

(a.l) So what are your views on death, and the consequences? What are your beliefs that just how humans (some) know the outcomes of their choices but still do the wrong things. What is really right and wrong, why do people fall in love with the wrong people? I'm rambling, I just like your mind so much, and I feel like people like you have a cast mind instead of the normalcy of narrow minded people today.
  (m) Death is an outcome of the suffering one endures in living. I feel one must experience pain and happiness to only add up to the altercation of life itself and the battle of dying. All human consequences occur no matter the mind state of death, its inevitable.
  
(a.l) Does death always have to be a battle?
   (m) It's a battle of the complexity of life itself, and how it strives to conquer all living beings.

(a.l) That's a great theory! Your mind is simply flawless!
Exhale Your Mind Mar 2016
If you ask me how my mind works,

I would have no words to define
No poems that can describe
You would have to step inside

My mind is a maze.
Guided by maps of conversations
Lost between walls of questionmarks

If you ask me how my mind works,

I would invite you in.
But there's no guarantee you'll find your way out.
Bon voyage.
Traveler Dec 2014
Am I a poet or a writer
Am I a wise man or a fool
The answer is all of the above
Yes it feels good to be popular
But what glory is there in hiding
The vastness of our other mindsets
I feel more than empathy
I feel pain, anger, resentment
I am happiness and sadness
Wrapped in one mind and so much more
My writings are different parts of who I am
My legacy of writings
Beautiful, messy, vague
****** up or strangely weird
As they seem
Are parts
Of the whole me
The real me...
I hope to inspire creativity
Are you trapped in a box?
Show us a piece of your mind
We haven't seen yet
LD Goodwin Apr 2013
Dancing freely between shades-of-gray thoughts,
they are not me.
I am the stage on which they act their role.
Laugh at their voice,
serene bliss-filled peace lay amid mindsets.
Childish antics
play their someday-one day game all in vain,
and would rather suffer than lose themselves.



*Cavatina:
The Italian form consists of a ten (10) syllable non rhyming line alternating with a four (4) syllable rhyming line, at least three (3) times and completed with a ten syllable line couplet.

I had some help with this one, I borrowed some phrases from E. Tolle
Harrogate, TN  April 24, 2013
Randi B Feb 2012
the urban ecosystem
breeds the urban beast;
the two-legged feral brute

they board their clockwork motorcages
the young ones in predatious packs
the old, too weathered to care
animal autonomy
born from sweatshop routines

i imagine myself
as a metropolitan jane goodall
observing and assimilating
taking note of the cacophony of
hoots and and hollers
the city-born mating calls
the high-topped courtship dances
******* civility born from enslaved mindsets

a young, dark-skinned boy
let's rhyme flow freeformed
to the rhythm of a young girls dancing feet
stomps and claps excite the celebration
of abandoned social etiquette
and of my foreign presence

i resemble some exotic missing link
a mix of this, that and the other
my skin, a rare quilt
and this draws more attention
than a gold-dusted african queen

i place myself in the back
peering through the windows of this transit jungle
feeling my heart skip beats
boom...boom...shhhh...
i must've left my rhythm in my other heritage
because i can't catch the ancient flow
but my neck leads my head in bobs

my brain rattles with old soul memories
and i see these young folks on the train
held back by centuries of black struggle
but forever rejoicing in african pulse
forever embodying our ancestoral pride

and i think, how peculiar
on the outside looking in like a fishbowl
exiled from my own brown-skinned tribe
with my oppression fitted like a glove
my blackness a mere disguise
my blackness camouflage
my blackness
not quite
black
enough
La Mer May 2015
The darkness upon your face is beautiful
while the world is vast; winding rivers take over the nightfall,
I think about your face during the night,
when the moon and owls sing; while I am the moon
Mountain peaks are covered with snow; the world turns endlessly
yet I am still a Gemini by birth; my thoughts are forever changing,
A semi-colon representing my thought process,
forever endless and a constant stream,
like rivers at the nightfall, of dissimilar mindsets.
Hannah Feb 2014
I'm barefoot in 46 degrees and I must remember that my perception of things must not encapsulate how I truly perceive. Soldered commentary  is bleak but is all I've left, all my years have given me and my years have been few.
To be constantly bombarded with the question, "what is it that I really want?" is fervently exhausting and consistently hypocritical and I'm a hack. The conclusion is always that I'm a hack without a win to present or a failure to fall back upon. As a hack, I've left myself with very few plans to alter or hungry mindsets to feed.
After glistening the only thing that remains is to burn out and the thought of extinguishing so prematurely provokes a physical falter and frequent respiratory failure.
Ask your brother if he lingers at times. Ask your sister if sometimes, she means what she says and she should always say no. Ask your friends why you should be anyone's friend and whether or not the chance to swing into hyperbolic criticism ever affects how they make their choices, hoof their steps.
Their answer should always be no and their input should always be invaluable.
Ask yourself if brain power should always be set to alter mind power and ask yourself is alteration is ever even possible. The answer should always be no.
The conclusion to draw should always be his. The choices you make, always expert and ground out by consistent respiratory failure. Ask yourself if you'll always be an animal and when will that stop. Ask yourself if time will determine whether or not this "thing" is worth doing or this "thing" is worth composing. Ask yourself why you're not the young girl who sings soul on the street, whose tremble sets off car alarms and inner requisitioning. The answer will never be the same.
Daisy Arcos Oct 2015
We were born into a world of shallow minds and deep disturbances of young millennials mimicking mindless mimes because we were told to stay in line but be yourself but follow me but think "originality."

A generation full of copycatting individuals with monotone mindsets mulling over social ladders and trends dictated by invisible monarchs of industry inviting and spoon feeding insecurities masked as improvements.

A generation spending more time pretending not to care than on passions stifled by our peer pressuring playmates who are all prescribed Vyvanse, Adderall, Ritalin for their incurable imaginations deemed "learning disabilities."

A generation of temporary friendships because no one can connect with each other but we can connect to the internet and chat with strangers and share thoughts, photos, and secrets to a virtual audience that loses interest in an entanglement of wires forming a noose around our sincerity.
Inspired by "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg.
Black girl roots.
Black girl magic, stemming from their black girl roots.
From their magical skin, full lips and hips, beautiful roots of their hair
Is the genetic anatomy of a black female that incomprehensible?
Full lips on display lined with collagen filled comments,
the peanut gallery of social media filled with distasteful outrage by the same things they inject to achieve yet,
riots on social media streets over the distasteful cultural misappropriation of all that is black yet,
It's distasteful to live somewhere, to live here, beautiful islands bathed in sun and filled with black people that aren't even conscious of their background...that aren't conscious of their 'blackness'.
To be so ashamed of their blackness. Their very roots.

Ashamed of their roots.  What a time to be ignorant Trevor.
Black History Month is now, yet there’s a rampage to eradicate the very aesthetics of blackness rather than appreciate them.
Dear colonialized principal of C.R. Walker High School, quit.
Dr. Claudius Roland Walker, the school’s namesake, built a hotel for blacks who were being discriminated against and
I imagine he would build a coffin for your revulsion of all things black,  
We’ve moved past your self-hate and the disdain you have for your very roots.
Black hair is beautiful and can never be unkempt. Let me say that again.
Black hair is beautiful and can never be unkempt.
Black hair is a statement that you and nobody that inhabits
this dying planet has the authority to deem untidy or inappropriate.
It took our ancestors far too long to comb through fields of complications
the root being wearing their natural hair and through natural hair movements
to have some nescient minded leader deem it disheveled.
Our roots have permitted our black skin magic, we absorb the rays of the sun,
magicians, and for my final trick, watch my skin glow like gold
dripping like wet paint onto a canvas of unfinished art
left behind by our old souls.

Oh my black people,
a juxtaposition of media sensationalism led by governmental lies, descendents of slave owners insisting that our black hair is something to be ashamed of,
it seems we have our heads so far up our own *****
we're getting too used to the essence of sh-t.
Then the chant goes up, the battle cry,
"This isn't the United States, there's no misogyny, there's no racism, there's no-"
Shut-up.
"Are you angry?"
No, I'm black and I'm angry!

Our mindsets rooted in the prevalence of self hatred, leaves of mighty oaks desperate to remove themselves from their very roots,
requesting emancipation from the very ones that have us enslaved,
begging to be cut loose from the European hand
consciously and subconsciously unshackling the left as we tie the right.
but where are you going?
When has a plant ever survived without its roots?
How dare we neglect the nutrients our ancestors left behind and chase the suicidal pesticide made to eradicate our total being?

Dear god if you're listening, as the cry of former sages went up I also cry,
emancipate yourselves from mental slavery and take me back to my golden home,
where I belong.
Take me back to the very roots I am taught to be ashamed of,
so that I may feel the energy of what once was.
Take me back so that I may cultivate my roots. Take me back so that I may live to tell the truth.
Just take me back.
My people deserve the truth as I find them in the lie,
smearing the proverbial “creamy crack” on hair and skin,
My people deserve more than a painted picture of Cesare Borgia Son Of Alexander Pope 6 as Jesus.
My people deserve to know that Jesus was black and that the Catholics were snakes in the grass abusing their power during their time of reign. Uh oh, the snaps got quiet.
Oh but my people deserve to know that perceived infallible Bible they see today has been edited and destroyed to hide the secrets. Why?
When mama and grammy worship pictures of “Jesus”, why wouldn’t white be right?
Jesus in the pictures mama, he’s a white man, he has straight hair, he’s the savior,
aren’t we supposed to be just like him?  
but
Little black girl with your, black girl magic and your,
magical skin, full lips and hips, beautiful roots of your hair
your crown, your skin, is beautiful. Your roots are strong.
Got excellent help from a friend named Gail on this piece.
Kalvin Moon Apr 2017
When I look into the moon I see the only dependent part of me that still exists. Its as if the silence in her vocal cords spoke words of solitude. I gave her the only bio mechanical part of me that mattered.

The gears in my chest keep turning like clock work.
I count seconds into minutes and minutes into hours and hours into days. I keep thinking time is standing still while im still standing still.

I'm waiting, waiting on patience and as unjustified as it sounds I'm impatient. Dreams are just your natural thoughts heavily sedated, a sub-conscious reality based off the feelings we cant display them.

I don't consider myself a writer, I see the constant flow of words and as a kid it left me inspired. I'm more of the sub concious reality type. I drink coffee and outside of that I really don't have a life.

For me writing is self exspression without being judged by others.
I opinionate my feelings and organize them in ink. The papper is my empty canvas, my thoughts are my judgment, and the pen is the deliverer.

Sometimes writing is the only thing that can stitch my wounds, like the words curved inside my brain penetrating like the needlesof a tattoo. I wonder what will become me, in what paradox will I redeem the sum of me?

I just hope this bio mechanical heart ticks away. I hope people continue to be people with different mindsets and open steeples. I want love to be found and dreams to be created.

Kalvin Moon
Me spilling out my brain in thirty minuets.
Tatiana Sep 2015
I would
If I could
But I can't
So I won't
Do it

I would
If I could
And I can
So I will
Do it
Steven Fried Jun 2013
I rolled in Michigan
strapped to a kayak in the namesake lake
vision obscured by freshwater

I plunged under the blue surface
out of my element
panicking as a fish out of water- in water

I reached for the release and
missed
but grasped swelling panic

Dread thoughts of
the end...
my family…
last words…

Still submerged- somehow a semblance of sensibility surfaced,
unlike myself
frightening fantasies flitted-
shot like skeets in the sky and
peace prevailed.

I stretched through the moist blindness,
found the release- my sweet release.

Gasp air.
Freedom from death's clutches

I see
my unpreparedness for death,
ability to survive

Fifteen seconds to find my inner calm, my inner panicked strength, the depth of my composure
fifteen seconds for reevaluation

Fifteen seconds
submarine style
to find who I really was and am

Arguments are made
that safety and tranquility are the best mindsets for
education

But,
safety lacks motivation,
tranquility lacks demand,
Life's trials breed introspection.
that one girl Mar 2014
Sitting at a crossroad with decisions to be made, that conflicted feeling is one of the worst mindsets. A debate with yourself is the most pointless thing on earth. No matter how vast the victory, the defeat is also resting on your shoulders. So then, the question still stands. Which path will you travel? What turn do you take? Who is it that you really are, because if you don’t know, who will?
Djs May 2013
As dreadful as an eruption
Deceased like winter
Chest tightening
And fists clenching
As roses ***** right in the throat
Used razor blade on one hand
And tabs of acid on the other
A vast and lonesome world
Population: one-half
Two mindsets coming in unison
Psychedelic tendencies, suicidal thoughts
Insanity occupying a dystopic atmosphere
Swirling smokes, colourful spheres
Intensifying a bloodshed scene
Three, two, one, a blue-green string cut
"Don't do it!" they yelled
"It's not worth it!" they said
But too late, Death grinned at their faces
No pulse, no heartbeat, no memories
No single presence of bliss
Just a cold, pale,
Lifeless
Body in the dark abyss

*-djs
I don't write poetry
I write emotions and experiences
interpreted as demented delusions
heartbreak and heartwake
mindsets and trivial stories
from the past, present or a predicted future
deciphered in to something meant to explore
it's all the same without a brain
to make the words written more than words
a poet only does half of the work
your emotions, your experiences,
your delusional interpretations,
your heartbreak, your mindsets
your past and your personality create the poetry
what you take from it is unique
a little piece of someone else
just for you
Styles Feb 2015
Lost without hope, what do you expect.
accept, the complex aspects of my regrets.
But I beg for more, I appreciate the lessons
from so many different aspects.  My two cents is starting to make sense, so these reality checks, is past tense. I move forward with a clear mind, no pretense. I listen and I learn, so my third eye being blind, is my strongest sense.
Phoenix Rising Nov 2014
Portals we call 'experiences'
We merge into the mindsets of our various friendships
Feasting like parasites, off of bliss and bruises
Walking out one door into another
Farewell to old parties
Tiptoeing out of other people's stories
I can't recognize who I was before
I am who I am now
"I can't believe I said that"
"I can't believe I did that"
Words we repeat throughout this journey
Rippled reflection from pulling my head out of the water
Drip drying pasts fading fast
Sober psychedelic experiences from our God within
Telling us to awaken the light we have been given
They installed locks
handed you keys.
Hold them, silver, golden,
shaking with dis-ease.

A vision of the Earth outside.

Squinting in a dark hallway,
why not turn the ***,
nudge yourself inside?

Someone paid for you to live here,
a father, mother, or friend.

Your chain of life extends far backwards
but on this side it must end.

You may have felt forever,
trapped with your despair,
between rough crust,
precious residue
floating in air.
Pressure can't hold us
with clouds
and shapes from dreams.

We'll soon be gone, and you will too.
Don't waste your voice with screams.

It, too, is faltering,
our voice,
our atmosphere,
hopes for exploration.
Heaving, chest
uncompensated by oxygen,
raided like sarcophagi
with your timid, spinning brain
having no peddler,
to whom to sell it?

No, your home waits here
on solid ground.
Keep your voice wrapped around you,
not in the heavens, as you'd wish.

Take off both shoes,
sit down.
Patiently inhale.
Feel worlds shifting their weight
skin, becoming pale.
Shake off saw-dust covering
your day-clothes.

Stretched
dissected.
Carpet does this to frame,
taking you through thresholds
and mindsets.

Evaporate,
see no more today.
Rain down until tomorrow
in this never-ending night
given to trees
collecting your purple-pink
and blue
dews.
Leaves bending
with gratitude
holding drops of you
aloft
before
no heat can take you up
and they,
becoming coffins
for you,
weep
and cover your dis-may.

A dashed possibility.

Like a dust moat in the sky,
preventing
a window past your mind,
what you saw standing atop
brittle decrepitude
through saccharine eyes
is shifting, impermanent,
time cannot be mistaken.

Relax.
A tear pulls
the horizon,
lightning
rips your sight.

Breathe as long as it takes
to stop breathing.

Alone, shaking.
Silver, golden.
in this eternal night.

No one re-writes directions to that fixture
out in space, yet near.
But you know it once was twirling
because you followed its light
to here.

Turn the keys they gave you
and look, inside the frame
of consciousness.
There is one artwork you create
with every facile, blinking motion
every extended being,
your thick paints of colors,
never able to be seen.

There once was chaos in man
he wanted so much to scream.
Instead he reconciled to whisper
and laugh.

Open-mouthed, blind and plodding--
there's no one to teach him how to dance--
he falls through space
alone on his rock.
MMXII

MMXII
Inspired by
Sigur Rós - Njósnavélin (The Nothing Song)
and
Friedrich Nietzsche's Last Man from Thus spake Zarathustra
This poem tries to imagine the last person standing on Earth and seeing that the Sun has burned out,
realizing they are trapped with all destruction of our species and also knowing that they have to imagine what those who came before them had physically seen.

I want to write more about our ancestors...
Kimberly Nov 2017
Circular
Cyclical
Unending
Spherical
.......Cycles.
Rinse. Lather. Repeat. Rinse. Lather. Repeat. Rinse. Lather-let's NOT repeat....The cycle goes on, unless we defeat
warped, twisted, distorted mindsets-
lest we forget
that our weapons of warfare are to demolish strongholds...
mindsets.
We can't be walking around blinded and undecided-
not in THIS spiritual climate.
No more Rinse. Lather. Repeat.
We must decrease and let Christ increase...
that's the only way that we can defeat
The Cycle.
~K!Co!
Dr Strange Mar 2016
Broken...
Broken hearts
Broken dreams
Broken fantasies that possess me
Broken manifested destinies
Broken...
Broken bones
Broken souls
Broken inner thoughts that get the best me  
Broken swords that seem to never miss me
Broken...
Broken mindsets
Broken sunsets
Broken clouds that now poor upon thee
Broken dams that wash away all life's worries
Broken...
The world we live in is just broken
But the pieces to put it back together are around us
The friends and family that surround us
So fix it and be proud you have us
We as a people aren't always as alone as we think we are.
Savanna Nov 2014
"We're only human."
It's always said
With doubt and disappointment
Like all it will ever be
Is a limitation

Why is that always so?
It should be said like
It's an opportunity
Meaning that we're only able
To always improve

We are only able
To reach further
And find a way to become
Something better
And something more

Something that pushes on
To improve the quality of life
In any aspect possible
Raising standards and
Changing mindsets

To unite under the idea
Of being citizens of the world
And move away from
Being citizens of
Our own selfishness

So do not doubt
Because we are only human
Yearn and strive for better
Simply because
We are all human
And who better than us
To change the world
Frances Maggio Aug 2012
Veins, trees, roots,
societies, species, groups.
experiments of life itself
like some ten year old's ant farm
check it out on his shelf.
mindsets with chemicals,
controlled by our brains,
are just different settings for
someone else's mind games.
one trial, another, whichever one works,
if it doesn't no loss, He can work out the quirks.
I guess we're all just one part of a cycle
Like a garden or colony, a universe, a milky way,
A planet, some gnarly astronomy.
the sun and the moon and everything's orbit
never cease to change or stay still
if that's too confusing ignore it.
wolf mother Jan 2014
betwixt by your memory
on eves of somber silhouettes
negative temperatures and mindsets

funny how i ran our love into the ground
naked promises are a shiver and a steamed mirror
camaraderie, a dying breed

broken motors and broken bones
broken silence and broken homes
broken me
teni Mar 2019
Look at  us
Cant you see we are in need of saving?
The dark eyes and tired smiles
Desperate for a hand to hold

Damaged
Broken thoughts and demented mindsets
Scared of the darkness that we roam unconsciously

Hear our cries
Listen to the words we weep
Our shouts of passion and anger
We deserve to be heard
             
 Misunderstood
Incapable of persuasion
They will not take our humanity into consideration
                        
Stripped
Torn away were our identities
Forced to conform to a world so unoriginal
                
Possessed
Taken hold by the evil
Of our minds
And the world
                          
Corrupt
We know no balance nor equality
Overthrown by predators
Nigel Obiya Apr 2013
Committing is hard
Committing adultery?... Not so much
Oh, you want to act like I just crossed a line?
...Uhhh... I don't think I did... not so much
Relationship’s scarred
But you know how good that forbidden pleasure is… to place your hands on that which you’ve been told ‘ Do not touch’
You know it is true
Oh… you do know that, I know you do
You've been there before… you probably didn't even mean to score
But somehow you did
And she ended up in your bed
And…
Well, no need to get into detail… enough said
But wait, I just cannot stop there
This one is for the groom who, at the altar, vows as solemnly as he is able to swear
Never to betray his bride, but thinks... ‘well, depending on the level of hotness of the Au Pair’
Loyalty has a life span, and so does Trust
And what an enemy they have in this character called Lust
‘Tis  just but the truth I speaketh…  one that we see
Our mindsets should adjust drastically if we ever hope to be…
Free…
Of the possibility
That we might cheat…
For when I look around society at the moment, all I see…
Is a bunch of people with the potential to commit adultery
Oh! Oh!
You know it's true... 'Nobody knows where the nose goes when the doors are closed'... Oh! Oh!

*inspired by two lines from
'Quentin Briscoe'
Rabbit Sep 2018
The true essence of a woman
has never truly been understood
From the Spanish demolishing our cultures
to the way that they are viewed and treated in the hood.

I don't like the use of the word *****
Whether you're rich or poor
upper or middle class
or a ******* lying in a ***** ditch

In our indigenous tribal times
women were respected, revered and held in a high regard
the damage from a European psychology
has pierced our mindsets and left men and society deeply scarred

Try to keep you dumb, barefoot, and pregnant in the kitchen wishing,
while he is out there acting a fool
trying to be a player straight fishing

I'm talking about a  species that not only can bear a life
but a being that can hold a job
help with homework, cook, and be a **** wife

Or maybe baby daddy was never really there
or maybe he's stuck in the judicial system
in a cell staring at the wall with a blank stare

Single strong mama doing it all by her self
playing the mother and father
being the comforter and still having to pull out the belt

Tu-pacs dear mama was real and said it the best
until you've grown up with a single mother
you're probably tripping like the rest

I love you, respect you
and truly understand your pain
don't trip mami, I see you and all that work
that you have put in is not in vain

Keep grinding and working hard
continue to do all that you can
I feel you're and got your back
I'm your number one fan

And if your man doesn't appreciate you
and treat you like the Queen that you are
My advice, ditch the punk, be on your own
or find a king that treats you like a true superstar.
Matthew Walker Dec 2013
we place immeasurable weight
on worthless unnecessaries
mindsets carousel pointless
reverberation off desolate hearts

school, jobs, money, houses,
cars, clothes, shoes, religion, media,
materialistic vacancy

food is waste
shelter is empty
water is dead

I don't want to survive
if I'm not alive
12/28/13
Heath Leonard Apr 2013
It's people like me who can rule the world,
just by knowing simple little things like Fear.
Fear is one of the main driving forces behind all of mankind's actions.
Fear eternal torment? **** up to "God."
Fear the unknown? Deny it or mock it.
Fear superiors? Make yourself the superior one.
Without fear we won't do anything,
with fear we can only get worse as a species;
We're really slowly moving towards constantly fearing everything;
Especially each other.
Along with things known like;
No humans are equal.
With differing talents, differing thoughts, differing opinions,
how can we claim to be the same?
The strong will enslave the weak,
humanity will revert to olden times,
with fear we deny yet again, though it matters not.
The only question is, who will be strong and who will bow down?
the basics of human nature will come back,
Dominant verses submissive mindsets,
manipulators verses manipulated,
corruption verses purity.
People like me don't have much to worry about;
People always naturally follow and listen to me, and if they don't;
I can be forceful.
I'm a master organizer and networker,
throwing together alliances, plans of revolution, takeover,
by the time the sun rises.
Differences are seen in how you train your people,
much like dogs at that point, with either fear or affection.
Affection and care yields listening and following,
kind cooperation and content with and for a likeable face and likeable words.
Ingrain fear, order,  into them and reap the profits,
they'll listen because they have to, and won't revolt because they fear what would happen.
I wouldn't hurt 'em (usually),
I'm highly capable of doing damage;
It's important they know that.
Throw a demonstration of power, knowledge, in once and a while,
so they don't get used to me, and boom;
With all of this you have an overlord.
I don't think I'm a bad person though,
people like me are just human-smart.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2023
National mindsets self interested suffer
forms of dementia as the order all confessed,
demands of each a concentration of self worth,
you bet your soul, but only in the spirit,
step into the fray, say, let me lead you,
say let me take elected office,
democratic to the edges, being your voice
in a popularity contest, not an intellectual joust.
Tutelary deontology 101.
Governing is managing the labor. Ask the king.
Any flock in the system, governs itself.
Business is business.
Some arrangements are always secret. All
grown ups are in the business of war supplies.
Let your children's minds be at ease.
Trust the checks and balances history proves,
have never worked on balance, for the poor.
Get rich quick as one can imagine, on a bet.
War meets Peace, like it is the storm
that left Greenland, a legend until now.

Easily intreated innocense, who could know.
Prosaic first morning pizz to prime the pump.

How deep is the generational debt due to war?
How many bonds have been sold to pay interest?
How many times has the national debt ceiling failed?
You know.
Every time.
"Each major conflict in U.S. history
has been accompanied
by a sharp rise
in debt as the government raises funds
to pay for the fighting."

But laws do exist…
"Without a declaration of war
to put the country on a wartime economy,
Congress paid for Vietnam
by increasing the national debt.
Over the course of the conflict,
America's debt nearly doubled, growing
from approximately $317 billion in 1965
to $620 billion in 1976."

Now the debt is rising
on interest alone. No need for another war.

And America's trade balance is hinged,
on the point of war.
The ideal centermost irritant, war's hate pump,
pain expanded by generational trespass acts
likened unto the pea
under the stack of feathered beds,
or the bit of grit forcing oyster stress
that has made the misshapen pearl sold
to sovreign entities, those colors on the map,
these mental aggregations called nations,
by nationalist mind frame riveters,
foundational eye beams, remove before demoting,
ah, slow, riveted beams spanning ferro-concrete tech- think.
Building a reasoning trap, children,
ask your fathers to whom we owe our national debt.
Ask also who sells the weapons to the world at war.
Semper fi,
no offence, but… holy hate is as crazy as hungry hate.

A voice from a song, from nowhere,
you just could rethink, or did, that first time think
a bridge over troubled waters being a truly old good idea,
come to rescue you,

in the early days of Boomer parenthood… being grown ups,
we never missed a Disney Movie, though by then,
they were losing the gnostalgia, old knowns to be like so,
were no longer even imaginably so.
Old Yeller,
Childhood's end, the separation
from hearth felt comfort,
to the class rooms and hallways
of massive cold concrete schools… where on day one,
the child pledges with its cohort of coeducatables,
the ancient bond of aliegiance...
I pledged mine first in 1954, the year "under God" was added.

In the just now settling down towns along the great freeways,
there has been no peace on earth in my generation,
at the level of military minds in conflict caused by stories,
boys bred with old hates just waiting for a sigh-psignal
sci-revealed to those willing to become Jason Bourne,
to the best of your abilities, ring the bell, any time.  

Welcome to the front. Sanity is on the line.
There is no conspiracy, we sell our souls for what money
can be demonstratively proven to allow and even augment.

War is all we sell. There is another game, it's a liar's game.
Many famous authorities have filled the space at the table.

Take your hat off, Bartholowmew, she does not understand you.

------------
Daily communication with myself,
one person, with no power to use
save the early cultural confidence;
sworn to tell the whole truth,
so help me, God. Yes, your honor.

Except we reactivate the curious why,
functionally suppressed during the standard
test taking by the proximate others
diligently filling in the blanks,
with graphite rounded just right, one swipe.

Except we see that hanging senselessly realized.
Each problem, one answer, not one option.
Only select correct answer.
Tell the child learning the pledge,
God is on our side, emphasize
how exceptional those who know so are,
extremely discriminatingly,
arranging the economy around
the great decussation at the air gap,
at the back of our national neck.

In this time,
thoughts and prayers, we hear
spoken of as easily done,
almost without thoughts, who
responds?, who, has ever responded
to the said to be going out constantly
thoughts and prayers, asking truth
to intervene and call the liars liars?

God is not angry, nor without resources,
according to the cultures now at war--
¿
Whose mortgage was not paid with earnings
from war readiness industrial complexes?

Whose talent was left with the userers,
because the Bible says y'sposed to earn interest?

Whose 401K deflated to oops?

Business begins with informed agreements.
Let's make a deal.
No killing, stealing nor needless destruction.

Minds join eye to eye, one mindwise agreed,
we become an entity, a being essential
to the parts, a mind in harmony, rank and file.

Greedy men with no agreement. Hmm, who loses?

Line up, not by rank, single file, fall in,
first and following, get in on the end,
and wait for the circle to close,
re done dances, life going wild as
we celebrate our circle, we sing of it
being unbroken in the sweet by and by…

The land of those who talk back to El,
yes, yes, we do, to honor Iyobe,
who first called for the Daysman,
who first
told reality, with all it's evil potential,
you cannot not be true, you know, in form
as spirit and truth containable in words, logos,
logos of all o-logies,
so powerful as to allow, in fact, cause, new mindforms,
species of thoughts that function as a system to make
sense, discernible, bits of valuation determinable in agreement.
--------------
Contractual obligations religiously adhered to
just between us, we take advantage for the nation's sake.
Madrassahs and aliegiance pledges set habits hard to break.

Set the cost of goods, lower than replacement cost of the price.
What does it cost a state to rear a warrior class individual
that self replenishes?

What does it cost me to scatter confusion in profuse create-ifity?
So, add a proper tip,
and pay the cost to ride this line to the next re-entering angle.
Middle east,
cauldron of all the holy empires thus far into the age
of entertainment so vast,
wise men can imagine, some day
there will be a war, and no parents will have
offered children to the infantry or made
righteous indignation acceptable national pride to k-ill for.

There Hamas, holy brainwashed haters of hatefulness.
Repents and perishes the very thought of peace.
Repay in kind, here, swear undying obediance,
fear not death, this is Allah's Promise, die killing Jews,
turns on the monstrous virgins awaiting you…
in post mortal walled places,
where the oldest civilizations occurred,
as God's great idea, I'll
empty the center of me, and seep
back in through fractured rationality
along trade routes between Africa and
the forested north above the desert.

Me, there, in mental efforting, thinking
thoughts, not prayers, but wishes, hopes,
thoughts that prayers attach to, as evidence.

"Ask and ye shall receive."
Love those who call you enemy, can you?

Face me, Mr. Nobody, the essence of other,
I declare peace, where none is, and you laugh.

No ritual, no enchantments with promise,
no sacred making of secular deaths, just
just just adjust the justice aspect, blame
the holy haters whose God dispenses vengeance,
at the behest of warriors fitted with military minds.

As when holy Americans gather to offer military aid,
blessed by the congregations alerted to intercede,
on the side that denies Jesus was God,--- ah, both sides,
in this case…
whither turn we, do we face Mecca, or Jerusalem,
or Petra or … Sol or Luna, all our enculturated faith,

blinks, a lense clarifying effort, rub the crust
of sleep fallen into while mourning, unsealing eyes
to see again, a war between two national identities,
both with warrior glory emulation traditions,
one with money as first de-fence, the other with hate,
nothing less than pure hatred, Cain to Able, sorry bro.

Old mean spirits.
If the hate can live in any man, wombed or un, it will.

Willingness to hate enough to k-ill a stranger, will
manifest as holy terror… enough to make Jesus weep.

--- and those were a few of the local thoughts made prayer,
seemingly automatically, as mysterious as most final secrets.

Part three, deeper, faster, harder… or not

Doings in the dark, are done by feel.
One, you or I, or some other sapien
augmented with the messiah's mind, feels the need for the deed.
Take the message from Garcia.

Mystic experience in story realms,
holding all the visions taken raw,
as revealed… as when a curtained
entry way is opened for inspection,

are we ideas in bodies?
are all ideas spirit in form?

Inhale an intuited absence of evil,
breathe the air of answered prayer.

Imagine that, let fly the idea of you,
beloved individuated potential saint.

Here is your sentimental inner edge,
your gnosis pressed flat as you see in.

The edge of this bubble, is distant
only to the holy cloaked in asceticism,
twisting wicks
for someday light in someday night,
circulate one way then the other,
rethinking perfected emptiness,
there are no others, up or down,
to and fro, vectors tie targeted states,
spider kites form single ray classic webbing,
slim banner, a flag unraveled long since.

Follow me, I say to me, follow me,
I say to you, saying back, I am not you.

My option.
Turn on, sit back and watch,
evolving cave wall interesting hooks,

look around, nothing intersting, eh?
Television as imagined by petrified apes,
during the peak preserved in history,
when men like Franklin and Voltaire,
met to share secret meanings of things.

Previous to any whole story that remains, as when any mind mistakes
tzimtzum inside as first occurrence,

total emptiness, pre space, one time
this instant accepted as audience

in true gaseous we form, auto informing
the vegetable phaze passed eons ago, life
tells tales too esoteric for novices
to notice, in the ideal state, active
imagining, as with a child's mind, yours
since ever was, so far as you may wish
to remember,
a time when the state was deemed
comforting and beauty filled, chaotic
process of floating lipids, in form of air,
light has not dawned on us, we are
night scene setters of settings, nodes
of potential anything you can imagine,

level with me, even, straight, right… yes it
is the optional meandering mind engine,
an idol, or a daimon, madness of sorted
degrees, a little bit off the charts, sorted
out.
Not in, the bubble being becomes,
when one emerges in a self…

subtle is good, right, we agree?
Jesus, before Christianity, as a kid,
instructed with his cousin John,
likely by his temple servant uncle.

That can be imagined, projected
on the outerwall of this bubble we be in. At the moment, on an Earth wired

for sound, elephants agreeing to meet,
to follow the pilgrimage, pilgrim beings
activated by stark necessity successful
to this degree…

by the reader's time's at tension, pull
release
snap back, at what ifery, at once, push

most bottom centered point once sitting
in raw time thought processing, in
and out, efforting
- slightly off, not fully on
uncomfortable impression of holy
you better get better or else. Holy

blank slate, bubble pop, soft wow

Now, we're in the swirl, in the spin
toward, froward lips sealed, golden
silence,
subtler than any beast, creature,
living thing in the ruliad, am I? No.

BUT, you know, those penance prayers,
given you as a child, enchantments,
as with all your renouncements of evil
and pledges under God, in your child mind.

Look. To your own self, be true.
You still have private interpretation access
to your child mind.

If you put your worried mind to work
on some thought too deep to ponder then,

The idea of punishment by the Creator
of all that is not God, but was deemed good,
by God, because I said so, said the father,
in the child mind.

To know good and evil knowledge,
that talent, initial mark on our blank slate,
to know, not what you know, but ask
your child mind, how does it feel,

flat on your back gasping as others laugh,
and your child mind blooms an entire eon
- just to catch a breath takes for ever
and there were others, the whole family
of mankind of your kind, to your child mind,
stood laughing at your attempt to perform

a first flight, from an edged bet with an
I think I can virus perpetuated in ever after,

since mind made time make sense in chaos.
Instantly, things start to take shapes, in mind.
Non sense. Since. Processing time. Go.
Instants out of mind, in atari.
Fog of unknowns. I used to play the game.
Not really, only, one off thought forms,
cloudlike in symmetry, no clear tongue
and groove, fitting our pro-posed… pose

supposed, to listen and while listening,
learn the use of any knowing, can be
taken as granted possibility by your self.
- distant sound of light sabers actuation
Your blame and shame catcher, out front,
as we steam ahead across the gap,
thoughts made prayers must leap.

Keep your eyes on the prize, three
walnuts and a split pea with a hair, fine
infant hair, see it there, your old minds eye.

The unveiling of an artifice, an angle
greater than straight, from this point…
a re-entrant angle, like a point, banked shot.

in
Thanks, I needed you to ready become... said the little blue man... whatsoever we agree... indeed. Let us see...
Soul of black folk Trevon Martin and Emmett till..
A image of the worlds ills
There's a different between mans n Gods will..
The physician has  stethoscope now breathe Yes the worlds ill
A deviant of society words that the deaf can feel..
The difference in a person defines whats real..
My ancestry.
Oh yeah cotton fields
In a dressing room being asked how my jeans of cotton feel..
I don't know cause my genes are imprinted
Reaction to fashion..
How corrupt are these thoughts of blackness that have us branded..
Called to be continents of Christ but island mindsets have us stranded..
Like how u white and you talk black..or how you black and you talk white..
There's no discrimination to ignorance Just like Gods sight..
Yet a clear division he judges the heart its darks and its lights.
He sprinkled his people the salt on earth.
Eat dirt the earth lacks flavor
Transformed to salt 
We should not conform to dirt..
Express food I wonder if God taste buds hurt..
Chefs cooking lukewarm dishes..
Serving Jesus as he spits the food out.
Now he raging through the kitchen....
Looking for the ingredients like this is not the recipe..
Where is the complex simplicity ..
No surprise that there's sickness due to obesity...
A melting *** stirred my God  blends together...
He makes us all the same feather..
Once realized we can fly together..
Wings strong enough to fly through any weather..
Fly higher than Satan's paws that filthy jungle cat...
Yet some still want to perch on his back..
A bird singing but can't see the bars on the Cage..
Try to escape and hit the bars  which causes flight to disengage..
Racism damages the wings..
Hate damages the wings..
Why does a cage bird sing....
Well I don't think Its a song its a scream..
Because if you pay attention the pitch changes once freed..
That same sound harmonizes with the breeze..
A wonderful song heard through the trees
As trees we should be deeply rooted in Christ..
In Faith not flesh that's why the forest is a mess..
Like a tree planted next to a oil spill or nuclear reactor..
And some radiation has disturbed the soil..
Fruit spring up already spoiled..
And I think of the seedlings..
Without proper cultivation grow up to be weaklings..
Jesus is the gardener prepared to work a miraculous healing..
But he only heals if your willing
Church never stops whether in or outside of the building..
Ellyse Amelia Oct 2011
I have just finished reading your letter and am in complete rapture to your words and your being. I am compelled to write to you, and write to you, and write to you. And in these words and simple letters, re-live our passion and create it all anew for the rest of time. I felt you so deeply today...
Before the call, I sat nervous awaiting for you to spend the day with me...awaiting a still day, a sad day, a breaking of myself...but it turned out unexpected though in all of today's chaos, it unfolded as more than I could have ever asked for. As unfortunate as the situation unraveled...today I saw your strength, I saw everything I wish I be in you. I saw the other half of me stand tall, remain still, carry the fear inside her like a secret and I am left bewilderd by you. The intensity of the day, now as I sit back and remember vividly every uttered word and every action, has exhausted me but in the most grateful of ways. I feel full, full of new understandings and needless to say, full of you. I soaked in what I could of you. I've memorized every curve of your face, counted every delicate lash, fixated amongst each ring of your eye when the sunlight falls in and engages within them...and yet still, now as you lay miles away from me I wish to imprint these gifts deeper inside me, I wish for more. The smell of you surrounds me in this very moment, making it all the more intoxicating, the smell of the cleanest ocean...
Your tears liberated me, as I so desperately wished to be released from my physical body and to be swept into you, literally. Holding you close I felt everything within you, and I hope you felt the pull of me. I wanted only to stay in your arms for the rest of my days, to lie in bed again with you once more and spend it still curled in our form as the morning flooded in your window. I've remembered everything. And as I listened to you speak of your new relationship...parts of me crumbled. Many parts, parts of my own emotion but more so parts of yours. Because I know what it is you need, I know what it is to sustain you, I know what you deserve. And although she means well within her posture, and she is overflowing with passion and working to bring you nearer...she lacks something strong. To hear of your frustrations parts of me die...I envy where she stands for I cannot yet be there. But I rest assured that one day I will soon be able to be what it is I wish to be for you. Able, independent, mobile...happy. And for now, I wish only the best for you and her. Because I want to see you smiling. This has all unraveled as it should, this has all unraveled as it should. Many things must first take course... for the both of us.

You are all I have dreamed of. Everything I seek...I cannot even handle it inside myself what a more perfect fit. You will always be the one.
..


From me: To you (The last of a series)
the last week has been nothing but utter confusion for my soul. a new soul in different forms has seemed to be fulfilled with a new face of time, a new ticking of my multiple clocks. as i read your letter i felt similarities. i knew what you would write to me if you were to even write at all. i remember seeing you the first day, as i walked in from the rain and attempting to act as though we were in different places and following separate steps. i spoke to you and i wished it never to end, suprised i was even within a distance to touch you. un knowing of why you accepted the actualization of me infront of you. supportive of one another, setting advice and stories in our ears. i wished to not step beyond your doorstep. a hug and a kiss on your warm cheek nearly tore me. and a kiss from you set me back 100 flights of upwards motion. heart baffled and feet unsteady, as they had always been for you..as i had almost forgot them being. so tired had i become of this stability within my bones, till i met you. i felt the oceans pounding me weak within your gaze.
as the events of the other day unfolded as terribly as they did all i could think , was you were the only one that would hold me fast to my mind. keep me one and fill me with the strength to pull myself above it all. slide your hand within mine and give me a release. when i watched you walking towards me i saw myself, the confidence in your eyes for me that you knew you would make it all..ok, dealable, better within me and my soul. it all felt as old. it was as if it was not the last moments together, we were just..us. laughing, being "stupid", talking ****, keeping ourselves withing our own jokes..it was all just there without any drawing of the past.
the drive back was the turning point of it all. heart breaking my weak ribs as twigs under a mountain.
of her i did not expect to speak but i needed to show you my honesty in a matter i knew you had already known well. i am in many places at once. on one hand she has the capability to give me everything else i could want including such an immense love that i have never been given in such a way..but knowing i have your soul, for now anyways, seems to set everything else aside. her words come out garbled when trying to make a point and i cannot trust her to decypher my meaning in my motions, in my puzzled words, in the language of my body and the emotions i need to thrive within this world. you say you have no jealousy but it is a lie within yourself. you know what you wish to have and it is what she has for me. she has parts of this body but can never consume all that you have..just look at what you are now and imagine what you will be by the time you are my age..you will have more than anyone could ever give me in any aspect and you know this as well as i. others will bide our time, create new motions for our ink to flaunt on paper, give us the tools we need for our new forms of art and then we are forced to move to the next and destroy them unwantingly. we wish not to hurt the others around us but it is what we have been created to do..we have always known this..and i believed it would be a continuation of my life, and had come to terms with it years ago..until i looked into your eyes and found the last sentence of my novel. i will suffer the pain of a thousand burning suns, the pain of a life full of slow torture when you find the next person in your life..to know they will only know you from the outside and never be able to understand what you are..because they have not the other part of my soul to understand what you have been as a whole. they will see your eyes, though not past the glare of their own reflection. feel your skin, but not able to grow new parts of you upon them with every brush. kiss your lips, but never fear they may suddenly be sewn into you. nor change the world with you in a single moment. they will all be the "rest of the world." they will all be the pawns on the maps we use to find the way in ourselves to get back to each other.
i broke in front of you. to look at my soul. to see through her eyes the way i had always wished to . to see without you having to say..that you loved me, that you hurt. tears unleashed, falling on every velvet fashion of you. i saw more of your form than i had ever seen in those few moments that lasted. the way your hair always smelled, the edges of each freckle on your face, the curve of your smile when i made you laugh, the heat of your hands on the back of my neck and the small of my back, the dapples dancing around your pupils, how your breath felt against my fingers as you shut your eyes and kissed them, seeing me break and grabbing hold of me as to take the pain away from my core..to feel me and take on the load of emotion, and memorizing each angle of your lips as they sank into mine.
as i read in your letter that you loved me i melted. to see what i had seen in your eyes now in two forms of the best kind. to say again, it as if we are in a world of war. separated by strife and harsh people, harsh mindsets, stagnant exhistances. love letters sent over a sea of pawns in this war, some battles won, others lost, stale-mate at times, and long periods of lost connection. though when the war inside has been won, once the baracades of our cores have fought through it all, blockades dismantles, and the survivor, the warrior, the overcomer has found their way back to the homeland of eachothers souls..then the most beautiful beginnings in their lives will become an actualization. the universe will give us upon the deserving and all the pieces will mold what it had been cast years before.
we are it....
. we are the truth that the world has been seeking, and the hope that it has been wishing for. we are the dream they have every night, and the novel they is seen only in themselves when they close their eyes. we have opened our eyes, we accept and see and cannot wait to grow within and for one another. you are my gift, what i have searched for in my soul. you are my entire consuming force.
you are the one. you are the love of my life. and for now, the one that got away.

- I love you
T'yana Brown Oct 2018
If only you knew how much you make my day from a text message or the gentleness of your voice
How foolish would I be if you weren’t my choice

First time we chilled in your room we sung and dance with one another
So I thought **** it I’ll take one step further

Two conflicting mindsets whom seek perfection
We can’t away from each other
Infatuated with our reflection

Because of you I Laugh a little harder Cry a little less and Smile a little more
Ooohhh how I despise to see you walk out the door

I like you because your you.
And that’s all that matters to me.
I choose to love you because it’s a choice
In my actions you’ll see
Hopefully not a day late because by then that’ll cease

My love unmeasurable and unconditional if you’ll open your eyes and see me in front of you
You’ll notice you’ve already won
Miceal Kearney Nov 2010
1

The Clowns in Brussels Sprouts
have sent me a notebook. Tossers.
The latest thrilling instalment from ******* Creek.

The Animal Events Recording Notebook —
fits in your pocket,
if it happens to be a school bag.
A little picture on the cover
Jack, the farmer, a cow and her calf.
Equally gay as it is oxymoronically inaccurate.

No sign of a tag on either the cow or calf.
The cow has a pair of horns
that would **** any animal, never mind the farmer,
statistically dead. Plus,
the calf’s a bit too healthy looking
and the cow ain’t trying to **** the farmer either.

Between the covers coloured-coded sections
chronicling the animal’s progress
from Foetus to Fork.


2

Though, I do thoroughly enjoy filling out those
additional comment columns.


De-horning

Next to castrating lambs,
I love this job —
all-the-more if there’s a gang.
The first has no idea what coming
and the last wishes they weren’t.
But seriously, I’d say it hurts.
A lot.


Castration

See Revival, issue 6 P.14 —
revised in Inheritance P.26


Weaning

Always good for poem.
I laugh from the comfort of my bed.
Ye’re only halfway lads

And how far along are you?
They inquire back.


3

Ok, I get it. Seriously.
Stop depleting the rainforests please …  
I have my own notebook thanks.

I understand their dilemma.  
They fear mindsets will be inherited
form the old flock, the old stock —
the canners and brass tags —
who never converted.

It’s like auld women and the church
engrained since birth
and no amount of jibber-jabber will sway.
So they concentrate, groom us
weanling growing up
in the Age of A.I.M
on BETTER Farms


4

Regardless, the second you tag a calf,
the ****’ll croak. So wink, wink:
so not to jinx yourself
and have to write a cheque;
adjust your Balance Sheet,
invariably affecting your Gross Margin.

I know … I know
S.M.R 6, 7 and all that $*@#
But it’s so cold the frost is complaining.
Plus, they said on the radio: be kind
leave food out for the birds.
I’m just thinking of the foxes.
And, if anyone asks —
she never came in calf
A.I.M- Animal Id and Movement
S.M.R 6,7 mandatory regulations dealing with the disposal of fallen animals.
Amari Marauder Apr 2014
I am an insomniac by association.
I associate with sleepless nights and mindsets that are too wobbly and shaky to be anything less than a tornado.
I want to rename my veins after hurricanes.
This one's Sandy because it washed away the girl I loved in New Jersey.
Because the ocean is never as salty as my cheeks after I kiss her through the miles.
Because I am not a boy, because my mother thinks I wear black because I used to slit my wrists.
Because of my tattoos that whisper of their memories while I lay in bed counting the stars I can't see.
So I start counting the stars I see in my head.
So I started taking drugs that made me see them instead.
I am an insomniac because I want to sleep but only when I remember the reasons why I can't.

— The End —