"missteps" poems
*Blue clouds gaze the wrapped sun
frozen kisses in my blood
travelling a thousand miles
to meet up with you.
There is none else walking
down this path where memories
wake up and dance
inside my armored heart.
I peeled off each kisses embrace
out of my parched lips.
I shook off the tree,
where your scent had blossomed.*
***Every step down this scarcely trodden path saw...
Each peel fall with helpless, damsel-like grace.
Brown leaves shone amber touched by fingers of the sun
Invasion of warmth through my greyed bony carapace.
Gentle tremors reverberate within with subtle anguish.
Sweet scented portal that took me back,
To the illusion of time where we once were...
In drunken stupor...laying under a star strewn canvas of black.
Senses that spoke of a great fantastical tale.
You are still here... In this cloying void with no one around...
Only that scent...your scent tugging on my core
Invisible tendrils berthing my feet back on ground.***
*Alone and wanting don't want to be anymore.
I want to feast my lungs on your skin once more.
I want to vibrate under your touch again,
In anguished anticipation and sweet pain.
I hurl your name to the echoing wind,
Blowing ferociously over the closed passage.
Only to find that I'm but elongating
the distance between our fading wishful stars.*
***Fading far only to find that I'm lost yet again,
Still harvesting a basket full of ripened hope.
Traversing planes with warped, slanted doorways,
Frantically seeking purchase on knobs with fevered gropes.
Heavy layered breaths inhaled too shallow...
Tracing missteps to decipher what it all meant.
When all is moot...weary, weathered and futile,
Forever I'll be bathing in the familiarity of your soothing, nectarous scent...***
Dajena M
ryn
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
.
How do we mend wavering pedestals...
When the ground beneath is parched dry.
Stemming off loose foundations that time had weathered wry.
How do we mend broken gazes...
When watchful eyes which were meant to see,
are blinded by the onslaught of half-truths and fallacy.
How do we mend burnt bridges...
When we never look back to trace heavy missteps.
We fail to admit to consciously springing obvious traps.
How do I mend ailing hearts...
When familiar corridors seem warped to a bend.
When my own is struggling and perpetually on the mend.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 3:59 PM UTC
It's a dance
It really is
Skip and prance
Lifelong practice
Loop of songs
Never ending
Of various genres
Life is playing
There's the spotlight
World is awaiting
Pressure of eyes
Silently watching
Take your place
Assume your position
Execute with finesse
And flawless precision
Spin your pirouettes
Don't get dizzy
Maintain your poise
In this revelry
Along comes a partner
Present as a duo
The game now altered
From when you were solo
Two bodies now
Move in unison
Reciprocate and reply
Through steps made in heaven
Flighty feet
Intertwined bodies limbre
Sweet little performance
Elapsing into forever
With grace of ballet
Each other you'd catch
Intimate display
Think you've found your match
There'll come such time
Both will not be in sync
Episodes of missteps
Push you to the brink
Alone again
Or switch of partners
Find solace in groups
Still dancing for answers
Dancing with others
Much you can learn
From hip hop to the waltz
Together or in turn
Try to adapt
To different styles
Soak up all you can
May take a while
I've danced all my life
Can't say that I've mastered
Fair share of jeers
And accolades I've garnered
Always clumsy
Exceedingly awkward
Tripping and falling
Barely proceeding forward
It's just this dance
One with syncopated beats
It's just this prance
That my gait can't meet
It's just this stance
I often use as retreat
I realised in a glance
That I have...but
two left feet
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 5:36 AM UTC
as a Pisces, I am swimming upstream,
the salmons last run.
fighting, pulling to grip those soft
rocks beneath.
those beasts that keep some stuck.
salmon are based in diversity
needing to have a wide gene
pool, as their kin die quickly
from those rocks.
getting stuck, swimming around and around…
insanity defined,
and time doesn't stop.
so, to the work.
swimming up stream,
dedicated to being a mother.
creator, incubator.
children
stored in the belly of the beast.
preparing to break free,
be set alive, to roam free.
the wombs embrace,
the face of LOVE.
currents of the calls
are so loud, rushing past my gills.
I feel the whooshing sound,
the pressure bearing down, taunting
me out.
calling me out… are you sure,
are you confident?
constant tests to check
and check and check for missteps.
ones that feel out of step.
no more time for those.
the path is clear,
yet
the water is cold,
bearing down on my scales built,
molded for this.
built in this system of birth and death.
choosing each step from above.
below, here I feel at home and
I feel ME breaking out.
she's broken out, there will be clouds,
rain, thunder all the things.
let
it be.
and the beast is free, she
has descended, dug down deep,
anchored, prepared for reception.
just like the trees, they grow so well
with others.
interdependently nourishing the diversity.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 5:34 AM UTC
Roaming in the dark
seeking life to take apart
Once a creature with a higher purpose
But after your missteps you began to hurt us
Destruction is what you live for
You want us to suffer because of our nature
"Baphomet I know it's hard, you don't know regret."
Try to be logical avoid your hateful thread.
Helping you is like a deathwish;
we know the dangers but we still accept it.
There he stands the creature of deception
In the eye of the beholder, he makes no exception..
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 6:55 AM UTC
I am not a difficult child.
You are not a difficult mother.
But,
sometimes we have things to say
and
sometimes we say nothing at all.
This,
I suppose is where we are difficult.
Because being human is difficult.
I cannot imagine why so many years ago
you chose to have us. Not because I think
you do not love us, I know you do, but
because of the sorrow my sleep brings to you
on the Sunday mornings I sleep in. Love,
I imagine, is returning from church and
still bringing bread to those who wish not to
consume it in any meaningful sense at all,
or, if consumed, to satisfy hungers so basic
you marvel at what that converted energy
is used for. I have failed still to explain that
I pray in different and marvellous ways that
I don't think are invalid but will still hurt you
nonetheless. This is part of growing up.
There are many dances that you and my
grandmother have surely danced that I
do not have the rhythm for, but there
are many dances that you and her and I
have that are the same, just as in the Old
Testament there are so many prayers and
blessings and cursings and legacies passed on
from one child to another to another child.
During these passing-ons there are surely
missteps
where some son is bound to step on some mother's
left foot as the rhythms change on time's dancefloor.
There are many examples of this that exist
that don't need to be said. It is all the same.
It is all different. I have pointed these things out
before. Before I finish, let me point out
that when I point out these things
after laughing it is not because
I am making fun of you, but only because
I love you enough to point out the seriousness
of everything in this world with a smile on my face.
How else could I possibly repay that great push
you gave all those years ago
to allow this poem to breathe in this form?
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 8:37 AM UTC
Walking in the morning fog,
icy patches, watch those missteps,
the mist it hovers, street lights
get glowing eyes, squinting, sizing
up their appetite, as you are devoured
going forward.
Then out of the soup that tastes like
every asthmatics worst nighmare,
comes a howl and a growl,
we will call him greybeard, and
it was weird how a grown man,
growled and howled while he
sat on frozen wood, at five fifty-six AM
and growled and howled at the
glowing eye above him as there was
no moon.
He never saw us as we moved past,
picking up the pace we moved fast,
he must have ice in his veins,
ice on the road, and sidewalk,
veins of light and in his body,
must have been the hand sanitizer,
coursing through his veins,
having a howling goodtime,
with the cold empties lined up behind.
DWE012014
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
have ten thousand hours come and gone,
master?
can time go faster??
have feet taken ten thousand strides or walked
ten thousand missteps?
no regrets
is there ten times one thousand miles of ink
in these dusty notebooks?
constant flipping pages with
darting looks at each page seeking to add it all up.
read ten thousand books
to write one story, surreal ratio
live a thousand days time ten
doing one thing very well
with out your head to swell
and you will be a master,
not by your own admission
not of your own volition
only to begin your mission
to give back what you have
learned, that a talent is a gift only, once it is given freely away while shared.
©DWE102013
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
I’m sitting staring at faces so unfamiliar they don’t know me,
no stares no afflictions or brief awkwardness I am alone,
surrounded by souls that don’t know I exist,
please someone say hello,
someone needs to read my palms and tell me my lifeline in so that I know I’m needed,
I know what my worth could be but I need purpose to believe in because I’m struggling inside,
I feel like crying constantly in corners facing away from a society of glances from strangers,
I walk in circles and circles and circles trying to find direction for my future,
I’m being mislead by life’s curriculum and I feel like I’m above average in general miseducation,
I’m screaming silently help me!
I don’t want to deal anymore but I want to hold on if not for my sake then for those that need me more because I have to believe that in order to be,
How could you all not notice me, I’m yelling internally, I’m jumping and prancing in the bathroom away from everything not even staring me in the mirror,
I’m closing the doors before I open them so that I can never hurt again,
I’m avoiding chances and taking backward leaps to make sure that I can’t be touched, burned, or disturbed,
I’m going to find me first because I don’t know who the **** I am anymore,
I’m not even sure I ever knew which makes this challenge even harder,
I don’t even see it as a challenge because if I did the semantics would take over me,
I equate struggle and failure with success and greatness because I fail at all,
I’m reading my mind closer than ever before making sure I spell out my intentions to myself before I take one step out the door,
I feel as if I have OCD making sure that everything feels 100% right and if it isn’t I will not move,
I will not progress and maybe even digress to fix my missteps from prior years,
I don’t know where to go from here,
but I guess I’ll start with whistling and whispering in someone’s ear.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 1:48 AM UTC
Confident sassy and brave
All of 13, on her way
Chasing a boy she thought she could love
She’s coyly flirting
Civilizing him
As only the fairer *** can do
They’re innocents
Pulled by that mysterious force
It usually starts around this age
Of course, there are missteps
Guffaws along the way
Romance at any age
Exciting, enticing
So inviting
Young emotions
Are volatile, fragile
Compelling
Dangerous
Wholesome
Sometimes puppy love
Turns into real love
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 3:26 AM UTC
it is temporary
the mirrored faces reflecting back into one-
it is as temporary as the sun.
it is temporary,
this burning body of youth.
it is temporary insanity
and temporary truth.
it is movable pieces
in the bottle of corked vermouth.
it is ungrateful youth
and all her fantasy
her ****** opportunity-
the days of endless sunshine
fogged with cascading rain,
full of superficial pain,
that only sets into the skin to rise up
much later.
blemished traitors
of your failing past.
it is temporary,
the primping of memories undone-
it is as temporary as the blazing gun.
it is temporary,
it is fleeting
and no matter how these products
keep us believing
they are nothing more
then distractions, they are deceiving.
as the sand is thrown in our glossy eyes
and stars that once opened in the night sky
just for us-
open no more.
we retire from the bridled gore
of youth and her tireless war
and forever more,
must sing the songs of fading youth.
must curse the uncouth,
the way the years
have wandered by
without any proper goodbye
and we, as strangers
in this looming unknown
we must come to know
as past our prime,
past our time,
and be spectators
into the theatre of vanity
we are now excluded from.
oh, how we wish we’d undone
the regrets and missteps-
but we are denied
to ever confide
the wisdom we’ve gained
since beauty and youth
have fled-
we are condemned
to be voiceless passengers
on our train ride to the end.
yet, this is temporary.
as temporary as you and i,
the ailing sky,
the aching stars,
the rolling hilltops,
tracing to the mouth of the river
and when we are at once delivered
to a final resting stop-
we pray, we hope
as tooth and nail dragged
we try to cope,
to be temporary no more-
temporary no more-
temporary no more-
temporary no more-
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 7:11 PM UTC
ELYSIUM is as far to us
As the gentle winds of dusk -
And the very nearest gloom
That Death shall doom
If in that doom, thou may await
We shall see our Fate -
Serenity of doom,
Or clarity of gloom.
What fortitude your soul contains! -
To fight through our loving pains,
To search for our love’s cure,
Such adversity it must endure!
Only the Lord must give you strength,
To see out our missteps at length -
As the gloom of clarity,
Our love’s Serenity.
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 5:38 PM UTC
Donning the mantle of godparent
cannot be blamed on an accident
it is both a gift and a choice
in which the child has no voice.
If it is a decision lightly taken
the deciders should awaken
to the burden it imposes
and the thorns of the roses.
An honor to the invited it might seem
but think about what it means
to the parents of that baby
and how vital to them it may be.
For if this is to be your child
it will not be for just a while
but for a lifetime of growth and pains
a multitude of joys and strains.
In a manner quite distinct
you are asked to be linked
to this person in the ups and downs
to hear both tender and awful sounds.
And think of where you may wander
in your journey out yonder
how your beliefs might alter
and your path might falter.
Wherever you go whatever you do
know this person is joined to you
through your good and bad breaks
with all your missteps and mistakes.
And above all remember you are kin.
You don’t lose. You don’t win.
You are never never exiled
from Love, for you are both God’s child.
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 3:13 PM UTC
****lovely Saturday morning....
might we dance a bit today
to ease off some sadness?****
DANCE
(A repost...some editing done)
The neighbor's stereo was playing tango music
too loud, it made me look at my red painted toes...
i realized, my feet hadn't even swayed
for so long now,
they've grown timid...and wary
All i want is to dance,
to be safe, warm,
close to one, as close as
cheek to cheek,
go left, then right,
lean, cling, then hold hands,
be held on the waist,
dip, then circle gracefully,
and step, a stretched arm away,
be brought closer once again,
hearing clearly the sighs
as the music reaches a high.
But, it was a chicken dance i had joined then,
the shaking and jiggling were so
repulsive...convulsive...confusing.
it mattered not who fell out of the beat
the desire waned,
fires die,
fires died, alright.
My feet are raring to swing back,
to be alive once more
on life's dance floor
no more falls, trips or missteps this time
just steps with a slower beat
with more grace now,
who knows,
this could be my best dance
ever!
This has got to feed my jazzy mood
play my chosen music
maybe do the shimmy for a while,
then shift to the bossa nova,
swing to its cool, hip-py rhythm.
Whatever the beat may be,
my partner and i,
we shall blend in while we do the mambo,
the rumba, cha-cha, even tap dance,
to celebrate this new chance on life.
I only wish that on our first dance together,
we may dance the samba on the wide floor,
let the hours fly by.
Then, with a waltz, we'll take it easy
until we finally get weary,
until we decide....to slow drag
the night away.
************
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 11:23 PM UTC
You've taken a step into dangerous territory
Unbeknownst to your wide, naïve eyes
You're heading into a deep abyss
Where only the lucky have survived
Before you proceed any further
I will give you this warning now
I'm utterly and dangerously fragile
And my patience is running out
My warning signs are on full display
For those who dare on this journey
Caution is written everywhere
So that I know you won't take this lightly
I see the longing looks you're giving
And I can tell you see me as a challenge
Your cockiness will lead to your missteps
A guarantee I experience irrevocable damage
You think you will treat me different
But I know you'll ignore the signs I carry
There's no easy way to let my guard down
When your intentions with me make me wary
You continue to walk into dangerous territory
Unbeknownst to your wide, naïve eyes
Foolishly, you jumped into the deep abyss
But you were not lucky enough to survive
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 1:49 PM UTC
To become aware of the single moment that needs interpreting
To be jolted from sleep between sheets creased in the tribulations of dreamscapes
Clammy hand pressed to neck you remember yourself
And before it slips and crumbles spiraling up to the cosmos it is captured
Pinch your eyes together and draw the cool water from the well
A friend’s arm around your shoulder; a sweaty smile, meandering through
The crowds of faces, each one drab and still, motionless for you
Tendrils of tenderness wandering o’er a body consumed in secret greed and corrosion
And the cheeky faced attached returning curiosity masked in love
Flitting up and down the stem of the one you knew to be yours
Yearning for her to open her petals and reward arduous labor
The repose of correcting ages of missteps and the satisfaction of
Correctly placing lost experience
Enjoying the rhythm pounded out by drums of progress, and then pacing
To one all your own
Reasserting brutal individuality in spite of legions upon legions of conformity
Then ironically setting the trend
Once seized, every vague trapping melts down weary head, past hunched back
Beyond knees bend to reach toe tip
Revitalized by the comfortable shade of your whole self, the parts unwanted, unseen
Usurped, intangible, inconceivable, and most illustrated purely glow
A self if surely sacked, a reanimated soul now softly speaks, and sexuality is assured in
Each slow step
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
In love's tapestry, a tale unfolds,
Where Cupid, the archer, his story molds.
A fateful day, his aim went astray,
The wrong arrow struck, leading hearts astray.
A quiver full of arrows, each with a role,
One for passion, the other for the soul.
But Cupid, in haste, confused his art,
Shot the wrong arrow, tearing love apart.
In the labyrinth of emotions, I found my way,
Entangled in love's web, where shadows play.
The arrow meant for joy pierced my heart,
Yet sorrow's seed grew, tearing love apart.
A tragic chapter, my love story unfolds,
As pain and heartache, in its pages, molds.
Cupid's error, a twist in the plot,
A love story woven, then tangled in a knot.
People say it's a folklore, a tale to be told,
Of love's missteps, where hearts grow cold.
A saga of pain, with a sad, bitter end,
Yet in its telling, generations transcend.
For love's not always a tale of delight,
Sometimes it's pain that colors the night.
A twisted arrow, a love story's bend,
A folklore passed on, from friend to friend.
So, in the echoes of the cupid's wrong aim,
A love story born from sorrow and pain.
A folklore woven in the fabric of time,
A cautionary tale of love's subtle rhyme.
Nov 20, 2023
Nov 20, 2023 at 9:12 AM UTC
This is my mountain
My greatest challenge
Although I began strong
I found I can't finish what I start
Now lying at the bottom
I can see all the mistakes
All the missteps, the faults, and the cracks
That caused this avalanche
Every inch I get closer, every step
It's a new chance for failure
The peak is hidden
With the mist and clouded judgement
So how close am I?
There it is again
That familiar rumble of demise
What started as a pebble
Became my downfall
Falling down
Getting lower
And lower
Until
I
Hit
Bottom
Crushed by the snow
My fears and regrets
Frozen
Numb
Lifeless
Now what?
I dig my my way out
But Why?
It's only going to happen again
Like so many other times
The fine powder so heavy
The face so steep
Yet I persist
I have to finish
I'll go down fighting
This internal War is getting to be too much
Higher and Higher I ascend but it's always the same
I continue to be knocked off, far from finishing, but it's not enough
I have to reach my goal
These obstacles only motivate me
But I can't overcome them if I can't amount to them
So here it comes again
That agonizing rumble
The crushing weight
Slowly crushing my hope
I give up
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 10:33 AM UTC
I've walked upon the roots of trees for long enough to know
the deeper in the ground you are the more you'll have to sow
For what is surface but a skin that boils in the sun
then turns to dust our fragile bones the second we are gone
Let's trace the lines our veins have mirrored underneath this earth
and reconcile missteps we make for everything they're worth
The pulse of Life is beating now and asking you to breathe
"Come find Me in the stillness where you'll never cease to be"
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 9:37 PM UTC
Postopone the trip
To help another
Continue the journey
Postone the trip
Embark a new one
With your soul
You are the mistress
Of the path
From tears to fight
Repenting missteps
All your way
By filling others
With delight
Postpone the trip
And understand
The real purpose
Of all travels
To find a truth
Not reach a place
Inside your mind
Not on the map
Postpone the trip
And you shall find
The source of light
Inside your heart
Postopne the trip
You are your home
Regardless of
Where you shall live
Be the destination
You want to see
Be the change
You’re looking for
Postpone it
And you will realize
The end is you
It’s always YOU...
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 12:58 AM UTC
"plan a" was to be cordial:
you said, "coexist."
we toasted with our cappuccinos,
"to coexisting," before replacing our masks.
smile. wave. be polite.
I suppose some dozen missteps by me rendered this plan
useless.
"plan b" is much harder.
put your hand on the table.
the knife comes down, quick,
press the hot metal to the wound.
amputate. cauterize.
use your friends as a tourniquet,
like the one I've been twisting you into for the last year
and a half.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
Why are you here
What is your importance
How were you created
Does it feel emotions
Is it excited that I’m here
He recognizes that I’m living
And that I can interact
Having something else to interact with
I think that makes him happy
He’s running
From the back of his cage
To his wheel
And then he returns to the feed
That’s all we’re doing
Except our idea of a “cage”
Is much larger
He scratches out of the cage
For what looked like a corn nugget
I picked it up and gave it to his hands
And he took it
Sat and ate
I just helped that animal
It couldn’t reach the nugget
And that made him sad
Because it’s something he can usually get
But when it’s out of his reach
His internal cycle missteps
Causing him to break down
He jumped on the side of the cage
Revealing his genitals
Shaking them is somewhat of a snooty fashion
Does he know what humor is
It doesn’t have cognitive thinking
It can’t decide for itself
Why did it do that
For what purpose
What is driving this animal to do anything at all
What is the significance of its existence
How were you made
What the hell are you
Humor, sadness, joy
Can it feel all emotions
It’s so basic
So simple
Does he only feel one emotion
One emotion
All the time
I am such a complex human being
I can’t even image a life
An existence
Where I only have one emotion
And that’s what makes us special
And that’s what makes us human
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 1:58 AM UTC
Another day, another night.
You say their debt outweighs their death.
Logic dispels the search through trash and mildewed lore.
Makeup runs and your choices stay.
Becoming much thinner now yes?
The air is unintelligible.
These things will last.
Abandoned not loved, the fate of your newest choice;
a most crystalline series of poor choices, calculated missteps and those carefree mistakes.
Like the smoke flown from your lungs over the roof of neon discotheque.
Either/or.
You smell of spoiled treasure.
Move past the decay, past perfumes and powders.
There is you, skeletal and shaking on a small bed in the middle of a dark place with a hint of light all around you, shadows form on the edge, the mythos surrounding your empty head, but never bending to enlighten you.
Stay still.
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 11:06 AM UTC
Remember art class in the big room
with spray painted concrete ground
where you were given a tiny mosaic
square and asked to recreate it on a
much larger piece of canvas when
you knew full well you weren't an
artist and you never would be? You
spent the time mixing blue and white
acrylic paint together on a small piece
of a former gallon of milk, adding and
adding until there was more than you
would need but the color matched
perfectly and of that you were proud.
Now you're older and you know a bit
more about hue and saturation and how
difficult it can be, working with imprecise
mediums, to do that, to make something to
fit a very precise set of guidelines with no
missteps, no miscalculations, no question
as to its perfection. You wonder if the color
really did match back then, or if you are
remembering something that never really
happened, if you wanted it bad enough
that it changed your recollection.
That day, everyone's large square canvas
pieces went together into designated
spaces on the wall to make a composite
image and all the blues were different
shades and that made you frustrated
and nervous and disappointed in the
other third graders sitting around in a
circle on wobbling stools wearing dad's
old dress shirts as smocks and throwing
brushes at each other and giggling as
eight-year-olds do. You stared at the
tidal wave on the wall made up of all
these disparate pieces and you told
yourself that you'd notice when things
matched as though they were meant, as
though they were destined and divine.
You see the waves lapping at the beach as
we stare out at the vast Pacific. We stand
on the shore and you tell me that my eyes
match perfectly the colors of the Sitka spruces
reaching their arms out wide behind me. Your
flannel shirt matches the gray November sky.
It took all the way to Oregon until it happened
again, but you keep your promise to yourself.
You notice the matching colors. You
smile to yourself and look down at me.
You grab my hand and pull me closer.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 6:29 PM UTC
I need balance
I’m too extreme like my beliefs
Far too sorry to apologize
Forgiveness would be a lie I couldn’t live with
Balancing under pressure became a crushing defeat
Misfires and misdirection can land the highest man beneath
Untreated wounds breed infection
The lessons learned are easy to remember
Dismembered and off-kilter
Unbalanced drunkards lay wasted like death
Effigies of what used to be
**** it¨ attitudes
Added to the frustration
Of falling and failing, my fault
I brought shook hands
Like an addict
Moderation is balance
My mode is moody
****** off and impatient
I meditated to medicate anger
¨Endangered species fighting for survival!¨
Was the greatest lie I ever told
I fought a war for peace
More violent than buddha’s
And I won
I won a deadly victory
Balance was not built for chaos
I’m a riot, raunchy
What I want no longer haunts me
I’m not a victim of crime
Im the victor
Missteps led me away from destruction
My mistakes were made
To save me
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC