I strive to be
like a Bo-Tree,
Dwelling so Deep
my Roots that Seek
water and nutrients from soil
Yet High I Rise
To be more Wise
Within creased paper lie binded souls
Firmly held within my clutch ,
Ideology hemorrhaging as non-opposables only bend so much.
Thirsty i reached for a swig of your cup
This vessel mishandled
the contents soaked through bedrock
Its remains a drink for the decrepit.
Despite your self-assured sense
violence begetting violence
is no solution.
It's true, though satisfying
violence may yet be,
joy in crying and dying
is awful, you see.
Try understanding the cause
of bad behavior,
their reasons will give you pause;
teaching you'll favor.
There's a door
Its open to all
Who wish to walk through
It leads to happiness
And a better you
But to get to the other side
There's a decision to make
A choice to decide
Sometimes there's a sacrifice
Sometimes there's pain
But in life
Without losing there's no gain
It's give and take
It's love and loss
Just a random gamble
Gotta give the dice a toss
Because in the end
It's not what you had
Or the money you made
It's what in your heart
Even after your body fades
With every scary part
And every gory detail
Doing what feels right
Decides wether you win
Walk through the door
Get to the other side
It's worth it all
Forget your damn pride
And true morality
Nothing means more than family
Love and loyalty
First glance, I’m a good Christian girl. But dark purple flecks decorate my neck.
In leather and lace I forget to pray and let you do what you want with me
because pain is complex and melded with pleasure.
Do you know what they say about girls that enjoy sex?
They never dare to say it to my face but I can feel them staring from the pew
at the dark purple flecks that decorate my neck.
Your hands, more powerful than God, make the earth of my body quake
while I draw fault lines down your back with my nails under the broken
crucifix above your bed. The pain is complex and melded with pleasure.
Deep, growling voice shakes the dusty rosary on your nightstand when we fuck.
Your handprints are left on my flesh and the hand around my throat
leaves the dark purple flecks decorating my neck.
Coffee in the narthex and I’m labeled a harlot. Sinner. Sacrilegious. Branded as freaks…
Brush it off. I know what you like and how you like me. God will have mercy.
Sensations blend because pain is complex and melded with pleasure
and I can’t have one without the other. To reach our peak
you leave me red, marked and breathless, gasping, “Oh my God.”
Questioning my beliefs with dark purple flecks to decorate my neck,
I know pain will always be complex and melded with pleasure.
In all, without morals, the concept of happiness would be indifference of stale misery. Spinning all in the concept of life in circle, for morals go in a straight line and never need to recount the same point of what you already know of happiness. For you have all the time in search for more.
Did you know,
Cigarettes taste like instant coffee,
The kind I drink at night,
When the dark keeps me awake.
And poetry feels like salvation,
Specially when it doesn't rhyme.
That headaches are the best thing that can happen to you,
When you're awake.
And sleep is a just a lie life tells you.
But you believe it,
Because it's the best fucking lie you'll ever hear.
Man in the subway
do you have a purpose
is it to make music
or to make others sing
the song of the subway as
the trains screech by
ignores you completely
throwing money proportionally
into your jar based
on their income and
based on their morals.
Every stranger on the street
has sunk deep into the night at least once,
or twice, and I'd wager
that at times their thoughts have unfurled
into black dishrags soaking up
the insignificant amounts
pouring pride into the sewer,
praying desperately to recover.
Eventually, time pries a crack
into the soul, and peels back
the skin of morality until the lines
no longer meet and the mind
reels- searching for the baseline
of sanity- save me, someone
Why I walk the street in a cobbler’s shoe?
What’s new, you may ask, that we all do!
But nay, this one, I had to borrow from him
Still one furlong my shoes ran out of steam!
The cobbler was visibly aghast
Doubtful looks on me he cast
Then he said in a garbled groan
I sell shoes not give on loan!
I cursed myself and the shoes I wore
Brought months back from a big shoe store
Price was high for the branded trust
A mere few months and the pair went bust!
So here I’m at the cobbler’s door
Walk I must a furlong more
Begging for an old worn shoe
My humble feet with that can do!
The guy though felt ill at ease
Seeing the misery bowed to my wish
Brought out for me a dirt stained one
Going barefoot could not be fun!
I tell you friends a story that’s true
The cobbler loaned me a pair of shoe
I could only give him good wish
Before I hurried on my way to office!
If you ever beg love of her
This small story you must remember
She hasn’t a way but make you her own
Can either sale love or give it on loan!