"muzzle" poems
there is a wolf
waiting outside
the door for you
it has an eye tooth snarl
ready to muzzle you
and everything is on fire
but you
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
*A coarse, yellow coat with dark spot aplenty
Lean as a greyhound with limb long and lengthy,
Faster than hare from a cold standing start
Impossibly glimpsed in tall grasses that part.
Crystaline jewels in two huge hazel eyes
With the svelt of a feline’s cold killing surprise,
Explosively quick with an elegant gait
And a murderous jaw full of canines that wait
For a fleeing gazelle or a springbok at speed
Then a launch that would emulate bullet, when freed.
Incredibly smooth with a fast loping stride
That would tax any racehorse an envious ride,
Snapping manouvers to left and to right
That mirror a quarry’s evasions of flight.
A blur in a frantic explosion of dust
Then the life blood erupts, splashing red as the rust.
Heaving great flanks after thrill of the chase
Wide open muzzle and gore on the face,
Guarding the game till the kittens locate
Then the spoils of the chase will make portions dictate.*
Marshalg
Serengetti Plain
Central Africa
30 November 2012
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
He filled his week bag
with quick picks from the commissary
cover blades and skull cap
canned goods and half stated pearl
liquor bills and bleeders
for the flight of weary
Into the ****** bunks
of the western front
past sivana and nurture sage
past the pomp and ceremony
out of robes and into jumpers
and casings
and masks of gas
Light infantry and yelling men
muscled and scorned
fly boys high in 3 wing flight
mounted gunners filling the night
in hawkers and packards
and scabbard chape
Tarrant tabers and camels
dodge the vicker gun
skeleton hands grease the mill trap
carnage makers mark the rhineland
(buried in bunkers and pile bags and earth pack)
Trench helmets and metal back
under machine fire
minefields burn in muzzle and coil
deep in the shadows
and shrapnel and spear
the razor wire
and dead cold despair
Slouch hats and burning rats
kerosene lamps and droopers
the soldier stares down
the broken lines and limbs
a ****** holds steady
(shelved at a distance)
on ripped and rolled pipe and beam
It was an all in end game
a grapple for the ages;
*** in the fokker pursuit
over rolling hills and fallen comrades
into the bishop bullet
(and sporadic cheer)
which sealed the deal
in an empty field
off the brae corbie road
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC
I know the flowers better everyday
their twisting stems
their curtain petals
their floating spice
I know the flowers better everyday
their capillary roots
their plum faces
their purple stamens
I know the flowers better everyday
their shaking seeds
their modest thorns
their unabashed lust for the sun
I know the flowers better everyday
I know the sun will rise
I know the clouds will rain
I know my daughter will laugh
I know the flowers better everyday
I’ll draw a fence for flowers
I’ll draw a muzzle for the sheep
I’ll draw a number for the man to crunch
I know the flowers better everyday
I know how lovely it is to feel
grass in between toes
the breath of a boa
the embrace of home
I know the flowers better everyday
I am forty
I am a mother
I love fearlessly
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 6:10 PM UTC
(Interlude)
My eyes in 1910
never saw the dead being buried,
or the ashen festival of a man weeping at dawn,
or the heart that trembles cornered like a sea horse.
My eyes in 1910
saw the white wall where girls urinated,
the bull's muzzle, the poisonous mushroom,
and a meaningless moon in the corners
that lit up pieces of dry lemon under the hard black of bottles.
My eyes on the pony's neck,
in the pierced breast of a sleeping Saint Rose,
on the rooftops of love, with whipers and cool hands,
in a garden where the cats ate frogs.
Attic where old dust gathers statues and moss,
boxes keeping the silence of devoured *****
in a place where sleep stumbled onto its reality.
There my small eyes.
Don't ask me anything. I've seen that things
find their void when they search for direction.
There is a sorrow of holes in the unpeopled air
and in my eyes clothed creatures - undenuded!
7.4k
Brass plays a sad tune
Over the motors of the pontoon.
I was lost; now I'm found
Rescued from
The dog pound
Mama! Mama! Go get a doctor!
Send forty days of rain
And a kettle of copper.
Ride that train! Hurry uptown!
That ol' blue norther's pourin'
At the dog pound
Well, it's hard to be humble
In this land by the sea
But it's so easy here to stumble,
Ain't it hard livin' free?
Hear that train? How sweet the sound...
That Burlington's a-blowin'
At the dog pound
Rally! Rally! Creepin' up the alley!
Rope that heifer! No slack on the dally!
Make her now become a cow
And milk the puppies
At the dog pound
And with the storm well on its way,
Back and forth the breakers sway;
Fools rush in, makin' their rounds,
But the muzzle has 'em puzzled
At the dog pound
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 10:48 PM UTC
My good morning
was followed by a statement
In which she said "I stank."
It was the cigarette stank
That made her utter the obvious complaint.
She doesn't know my struggle.
A mind of potential
with the heart of a saint.
Yet bound by demons
And voices that say "I can't".
I wish to tell her.
How they help my mind go blank
And away from the thoughts
That are as loud as voices.
How they help me think straight sometimes
And give me the courage
To make the right choices.
It's just remnants of my fall
From when my mind
Hit rock bottom and I was unable
To make the right choices.
All of my demons, I've fought them
And this is the smoke from the battle
In which they are engulfed
In its flame.
The ending of the cant's and aint's.
The smoke from this cigarette.
So please excuse, my cigarette stank.
Oh How her complaint
Will echo through my mind
And never become faint.
I can't take this
So when I get the chance
I will light another cigarette
To forget all about this
And make me become correct.
**** I hate that
I have to smoke another cigarette.
My good afternoon
Was followed by a glare.
A glare that married women
Should never think to dare.
She could see into my soul
And knew that all isn't fair.
Her beauty was one
That I could never compare.
So right back I would stare
Until something broke my attention
And again I begin to stare.
Until I pictured her bare
And being lost in lust
Covered in each other's hair.
Her eyes were flames of a flair
Flickering off in the distance
and Shining through the night air.
I want to reach you
And see what's up with that glare
But life isn't fair.
It has lead us to where we both
Are a separate pair.
Attempts to become close
Will be followed by no's or I can't
And how our meeting was too late.
Which will be her complaint.
The agony, I can not bare
So I will let it fade away with
The smoke from this cigarette.
So please excuse, my cigarette stank.
Oh How her complaint
Will echo through my mind
And never become faint.
I can't take this
So when I get the chance
I will light another cigarette
To forget all about this
And make me become correct.
**** I hate that
I have to smoke another cigarette.
Another cigarette
Another cigarette
**** I have to smoke another cigarette.
My good evening
Was followed an expression
In which it looked like I stank.
Her face was the face
that God makes when we all sin.
Disappointment cloaked in forgiveness
And love.
She smiles as she gives me a hug.
I look at my daughter
And even with her I can feel the love.
When I'm alone I sigh.
My mind is a puzzle
And my true thoughts are shielded
with a muzzle.
So I let them fade away with
The smoke from this cigarette.
I just hope they excuse, my cigarette stank.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC
Not an amulet, an off white vertebrae; bone.
Brass wire, a loop at one end.
It bends as to make sure this will fit.
A gauge that measures mesmerization,
And we both must get along, but
Not because we're not tough enough:
Most of us aren't soft right yet.
So many stiffs, folly after folly.
The whole carful of loose cadavers,
Dangling, their feet hang with wet snow
And carnage,
Not even musk deer pop up,
They've all gone. Roosting in a parabol,
With X's sprayed to their groins.
Burning pop couples
Doing it like laboratory mice. Capybaras
Hiss, my own burnt blood is also
Flocculating.
Turn the cup upside down and
See the fire's balmy lachrymal opaque
Moss while it does not drip.
This is the story of man you asked me about;
Devoid of a muzzle, fur onto his chest; coarse
Hair in a garland.
It is the God of a tool that buzzes into the night.
A plateau for this most sensible study.
We feel another coming.
And when you awoke, your larval tongue
My eye mush, a song of verse and melancholy.
This half list of greatness, a tally we both wish to see.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:38 AM UTC
I live in the wilderness
The Sun shines on the trees and through the leaves
Warmth envelopes my sanctuary
Until darkness approaches like a fog
The darkness is pregnant with sounds
I hear animals snarling while bones are breaking
Whimpers turn into blood curdling gargles
As the darkness renders invisibility among predators
And the darkness engenders vulnerability among prey
I desperately want to help but there is a darkness barricade
The darkness follows everything
The darkness swallows everything
I can hear planes crash
And the passengers scream
From within the darkness
I can only see muzzle flash
And the barrel's steam
Creating hardship
The darkness converts men to shouts of agony and rage
The darkness blinds us from the writing on the page
The darkness makes us believe
That it's our reprieve
Darkness has us in it's sight
When we choose to live in light
Even when we do what is right
Darkness takes flight
Becoming our plight
We try to fight back with futility
The darkness' bite has more utility
We are engulfed by negativity
As we lose all connectivity
And our mouths begin to foam
When the darkness is our home
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 3:03 AM UTC
A dancing Bear grotesque and funny
Earned for his master heaps of money,
Gruff yet good-natured, fond of honey,
And cheerful if the day was sunny.
Past hedge and ditch, past pond and wood
He tramped, and on some common stood;
There, cottage children circling gaily,
He in their midmost footed daily.
Pandean pipes and drum and muzzle
Were quite enough his brain to puzzle:
But like a philosophic bear
He let alone extraneous care
And danced contented anywhere.
Still, year on year, and wear and tear,
Age even the gruffest, bluffest bear.
A day came when he scarce could prance,
And when his master looked askance
On dancing Bear who would not dance.
To looks succeeded blows; hard blows
Battered his ears and poor old nose.
From bluff and gruff he waxed curmudgeon;
He danced indeed, but danced in dudgeon,
Capered in fury fast and faster.
Ah, could he once but hug his master
And perish in one joint disaster!
But deafness, blindness, weakness growing,
Not fury's self could keep him going.
One dark day when the snow was snowing
His cup was brimmed to overflowing:
He tottered, toppled on one side,
Growled once, and shook his head, and died.
The master kicked and struck in vain,
The weary drudge had distanced pain
And never now would wince again.
The master growled; he might have howled
Or coaxed,--that slave's last growl was growled.
So gnawed by rancor and chagrin
One thing remained: he sold the skin.
What next the man did is not worth
Your notice or my setting forth,
But hearken what befell at last.
His idle working days gone past,
And not one friend and not one penny
Stored up (if ever he had any
Friends; but his coppers had been many),
All doors stood shut against him but
The workhouse door, which cannot shut.
There he droned on,--a grim old sinner,
Toothless, and grumbling for his dinner,
Unpitied quite, uncared for much
(The rate-payers not favoring such),
Hungry and gaunt, with time to spare;
Perhaps the hungry, gaunt old Bear
Danced back, a haunting memory.
Indeed, I hope so, for you see
If once the hard old heart relented,
The hard old man may have repented.
4.6k
I was doing
something
when a flash
smashed out
to every corner
of the room.
It came like
ominous bolts
of lightning
had leapt from
the light bulb
bursting inside,
as though
storms had been
brewing slowly
under a muzzle
of glass frame.
I regarded how
strange it was
to be fed up
to a thrum of
75 watts
in its lifetime,
to finally break
its broadcast.
I look to a
tungsten tongue,
see the ember
flick into the dark
and say,
I lost my religion.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 6:46 PM UTC
The honey in the lion sounds like a delicious thing––
a gentle balm capable of subduing
the cruellest of monsters.
According to the stars and tattooed,
you fancied yourself king of the jungle––
lazy in hot African afternoons.
Golden and tawn with sleepy sun-gold eyes,
shaggy mane, muzzle red with
the blood of a gazelle.
Did you think me such easy prey?
Or was I so much fermented honey,
only a sweet intoxicant.
Sun warmth seeps from jungles of cold concrete.
I mistook your gargoyle wings
for those of a guardian angel’s.
I overlooked your rough skin, your
crooked hawk nose and your skinny ribs,
and assigned fine things in you that didn’t exist.
So duped, I acquiesced to your slimy kiss.
Your mouth a neglected cemetery,
teeth a row of mossy tombstones.
Vampire. Incubus. Your seduction like grotesque death.
You named me tempest in a teacup,
but I was the eye of the storm.
Until the night the eye was eradicated,
and the storm blew in,
striking me dumb with your sound and fury.
But no spattered blood and no spreading bruise
to be found in the pattern of the kaleidoscope.
No cause for alarm.
Today I am lost in a picture show,
a beautiful world coloured by nostalgic past.
Women’s lips the vivid red print of a velvet valentine.
Head in the Clouds, I fantasize about a certain scene.
Because you think violence is ****
retaliation – ********** in my dream.
Give me an eye for my eye,
for all the eyes you plucked, from women and breadwinners.
Give me blood running down your back, sweet as honey.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 5:37 PM UTC
*After five good years of drought
It rained kisses and warming hugs
After my heart emaciating from rejection
I have experienced a resurrection
She kissed me wholly and deep
She sowed and had to reap
Could not recall the feminine grip
Even how to undo a lady zip
She kissed my upper and lower lip
Then around my body took a trip
Tore my favorite shirt,no time to unbutton
She ate my skin softly hard as a glutton
Not sure it was her mouth on my ***
Cause I couldn't open my eyes as she did it
She passed her soft fingers on my chest
Luckily I hadn't on my fitting vest
Crawled about my belly like a worm
While my ****** heart beat loud as a drum
She said something I didn't hear
Because passion had blocked my ear
She then undid my belt and my trousers
Quicker than all internet browsers
Then...then put the muzzle in her mouth
Was she aware of the bullet, I doubt
She cleared all the rust through the years
While in pleasure I cried happy tears
She knew how to hold the whistle and blow
Between where she knelt down low
Her palm around me was a soft tight glove
Felt she's the one that I deserved
Like a snake she crawled back up
And astride the volcanic plug sat Asap
Not afraid of the sharp edges causing harm
She kissed me violently and hurt my gum
I just couldn't care less at such a moment
Of a soothing ride, a welcome torment
Soon overtaken by my inner animal
I realized I could not take it anymore
And took charge of the walk to heaven
While the clock alarmed, think eleven
She arched tout like a hunters bow
And her eyes brightly seemed to glow
My journey deep was careful and slow
But the return as swift as Pacman's blow
I loved the way she clawed her nails
Into me, she reopened all my wells
I wanted to take her for a longer ride
But the wave of passion killed me,I died
Even when we were done I remained inside
Watching her skin as pale as transfiguration
Out of the joy we had shared, I'm glad
I received my emotional resurrection*
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC
His hands are large and strong
I knew this all along
Strong enough to hold me down
Smiles are contagious
His are crooked and malicious
Watching me squirm, crying
My daddy is not safe
I know now because he was taken away
But I thought this form of love was ordinary
I didn't mean to get him in trouble
But I was afraid when his hand was my muzzle
Now everyone looks at me like I'm made of glass
My mom says I can't talk to him
But I just don't get it
He said he wouldn't hurt me
My daddy wears orange
Mom answers his phone call with a look of warning
His clothes are in boxes down in the basement
There's a stack of papers on the counter
That mom's been staring at for the past hour
I think I need to help her with her homework
We make the bed with stains across the mattress
I don't think I can keep up with this practice
I pretend I don't see the guilt in mom's eyes
My mom and I sleep next to each other at night
Because we're both afraid he'll appear in the morning light
Looming over us with his hungry eyes
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 1:07 PM UTC
My Heart is a drunken bipolar maniac with masochistic tendencies .
My Heart does not care about your feelings,
or the fretting of my apologetic Mind.
It is ravenous and deranged;
it will devour your succulent hopes and spit out the bones.
My Heart is one mean ************
it is a rabid wolverine with a hangover who ate razor-blades for breakfast,
and no, it does not want to go steady
or hold hands.
It wants to rip the soft white throat of your infatuation
and watch your eloquent offerings pool around your feet.
Unless, of course, you do not want me.
For met with that alluring indifference,
my unhinged pit-bull of a Heart will curl at your feet with doe-eyed meekness
and follow you from room to room in an agony of adoration
while Self-Respect and Dignity sulk in some dusty corner, thinking
"Please God, won't somebody muzzle that crazy *****
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 7:45 AM UTC
GRANDMOTHER
A singing, child, a singing
about the great stallion,
who would not drink the water,
the water in its blackness,
in among the branches.
Where it finds the bridge,
it hands there, singing.
Who knows what water is,
my child,
its tail waving,
through the dark green chambers?
MOTHER
Sleep, my flower,
the stallion is not drinking.
GRANDMOTHER
Sleep, my rose,
the stallion is crying.
His legs are wounded,
his mane is frozen,
in his eyes,
there is a blade of silver.
They went to the river.
Ay, how they went!
Blood running,
quicker than water.
MOTHER
Sleep, my flower,
the stallion is not drinking.
GRANDMOTHER
Sleep, my rose,
the stallion is crying.
MOTHER
It would not touch
the wet shore,
his burning muzzle,
silvered with flies.
He would only neigh,
to the harsh mountains,
a weight of river, dead,
against his throat.
Ay, proud stallion
that would not drink the water!
Ay, pain of snowfall,
stallion of daybreak!
GRANDMOTHER
Do not come here! Wait,
close the window,
with branches of dream,
and dreams of branches.
MOTHER
My child is sleeping.
GRANDMOTHER
My child is silent.
MOTHER
Stallion, my child
has a soft pillow.
GRANDMOTHER
Steel for his cradle.
MOTHER
Lace for his covers.
GRANDMOTHER
A singing, child, a singing.
MOTHER
Ay, pround stallion
that would not drink the water!
GRANDMOTHER
Don't come here! Don't enter!
Go up to the mountain
through a sombre valley,
to where the wild mare is.
MOTHER gazing
My child is sleeping.
GRANDMOTHER
My child is resting.
MOTHER (softly)
Sleep, my flower,
the stallion is not drinking.
GRANDMOTHER (rising, and very softly)
Sleep, my rose,
the stallion is crying.
3.2k
There once was a little pug
Who's fur was soft and amber.
We got the little thing
On the fifth of November.
Her grumbling so sweet
Muzzle so scrunched
We stared at her face
Even as she ate our lunch!
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 3:46 PM UTC
Who am I? Who am I?
A question I always find myself asking and yet I have no idea why.
Almost as if I expect the answer to fall right out of the sky.
But seriously, do you know who I am?
I pretend that I don't give a ****
When really it's an act; a sham.
Feeling like you do not fit.
Honestly it feels like pure ****
I don't fit into society's giant puzzle.
If my opinion is outside the majority, well let me put it this way, if I were a dog they would force upon me a muzzle.
Freedom of expression.
Really? I think they mean repression.
Do this! Do that!
She's too thin! He's too fat!
He must go here! Now put her there!
All we seem to receive are your endless commands.
Expected to follow at clicking of your fingers or the clapping of your hands.
Did you ever stop to think that maybe we have other plans?
Have you turned me into some kind of drone?
Is my mind no longer my own?
Are my individual and unique thoughts not allowed to be known?
Somehow this hierarchy needs to be overthrown.
We need to let our shining personalities be shown.
Celebrate Individualism!
Let us express, share and have optimism!
And even scepticism!
Being ourselves is a basic human right!
Thank you and good night!
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
oh, **** i'm so full of love it's spilling out of me
like bullet wounds, like i've been court martialed,
like i'm the pinpoint of a broken sheet of glass,
the part from which everything else shatters;
of course i'm the centre of the universe,
who else would be? who else could love this way,
fierce and terrible and hating? who else other than me
could break the universe for another chance at hello
or at two thousand and nineteen?
which isn't to say i'm manic. which isn't to say
that i don't cry in the shower and scream in the car.
i do. but when i do, i'm the main event;
nobody booked tickets to see anybody but me here.
don't kid yourself, world. don't make me laugh.
don't act like everything is okay when i'm breaking the baby-bird bones
of my fingers every time someone else talks.
me, the human stress ball.
me, twenty stories tall and universe-filled with love,
nothing else can even come close. i'm ******* godzilla,
i'm interplanetary, i'm that giant ******* marshmallow man
from ghostbusters getting shot at by the heroes.
maybe there's just too much of me to love the way i need
to be loved; completely, obsessively, like an illness.
oh, god, i want to be loved like i'm sick.
not just another hospital bed but the whole **** ward
all for me. all eyes on me. nobody looking anywhere but me
and *oh, please, i'm fine, really,
i don't need all this attention.*
like i'm daring the world to divert it away.
a birthday list of gifts:
- a fifth of whiskey
- a gun with one bullet
- the attention that people get from the crowd below before they jump off a building
i don't think i'm asking for too much here.
i feel like i'm one of those unlucky ******** born on christmas day
who get half the presents for twice the occasion.
how cruel must god be to birth me anywhere but eden,
into a world where other people exist,
where we have jobs and say hello to store cashiers and divide up our attention like slices of mandarin.
so where's this revolution i ordered?
where are the people making me important?
i need a cause to lead and a muzzle for my heart,
and i'll burn on and out,
not like a star, but like the end of the ******* universe itself.
and here i am, acting like i matter
when i really only want to matter to you.
i don't care how you want me to revolve
as long as i'm a lone moon. as long as the tides
are all mine; see, it's a lot more complex
than me playing easy villain or anti hero. it's not
been about me this entire time.
but i can't write poems about any other subject.
Dec 23, 2020
Dec 23, 2020 at 8:13 PM UTC
Bored of beauty.
**** and ***
blizzard white teeth
insertable parts switched out like lego blocks.
Inching away from this faulty form
with which I was imbued in genesis.
Long live that junk, ******
Gimme those thighs!
Let free that emotional magma
boiling up from beneath, ready to burn this world
or at the least leave your laces singed.
The tip of this iceberg will bring you all down
so ready the life-rafts.
Gimme that.
Don’t give me blizzard teeth, silent in a quaffed muzzle.
Be the jaws, the howl, the tender tongue on young necks.
Great stories don’t read “one day I was beautiful”
they say “the world seized me and tore off my limbs, and I toppled end over end til I came to rest between the legs of the Colossus
and that’s when it got interesting.”
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 3:36 PM UTC
Become medieval when the rain starts –
put coins in my corset, they are pure gold & evil
and show the men using my Thanatos drive:
I could not care if they want me,
I could not care if they hated me alive.
Rather the leaf upon dress-breasts much as
a muzzle, came from a box of cardboard slits
opening like lady-legs. I bribe the thrash with my
whispers & wheels, promise to soak up sky’s tears
but she certainly prefers the black ash haul.
I bring myself to the top of a volcano, its arc,
convinced that it cannot soot me,
not in the rain: such scorch is unreachable.
There is this protruding spiral in the center,
going dark, a pupil. It eats my hair-ribbon and I
sweat, but I am upon all terrains of the Earth
prepared to fall into a clutch, the gold stain my skin
before peeling by storms, how plague-like I seem.
Could be on my back when it implodes –
though my skirt would not appreciate the mess,
I think the idea fine. I am already pink, red’s better.
Wires and flushed cheeks will be what they find,
the men, knowing that I could not care.
And I did not; it was not less than a shot of
lightning stuck under a petticoat, frilled for nobody
but the volcano who turns ********* to embers.
the rain that beasts eyelashes to amputees.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 12:43 PM UTC
Thick dirt matted fur, A warning snarl from between razor sharp teeth, Head lowered to the forest floor, littered with brown leaves, and fallen branches, eyes glowing with a beckoning challenge, hair raised, ears perked, senses alert,
This wolf will not back down, a threat obvious,
As the hunter points the gun at the snarling snapping wolf, hiding behind his man made power, but tonight this hunter will fall, and will not rise again, from behind, the wolfs mate emerges from the foliage, teeth exposed and a determined sway in her pursuit, with a hurried lunge, the hunter swirls, a bang in the nights air,
A gurgled scream, a agony filled howl,
The wolfs mate lay twitching, holding onto her last few breaths, muzzle to muzzle, they lay together,
An alpha and his dying female,
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 11:22 PM UTC
They profit on your silence, and foster insanity
To reef your identity, and fade you to normality
Control is an abortion of instinctual fundamentality
They blind us with a bleach of hypocrisy to fade us to their normality
Gather once in number, to support the dismantling
Fate of compassionate and empathetic rationality, is threatened by a lie of social justice in pronouns and prejudice
This is an infection of our political mentality,
to allow other views to be heard only if they align within sheepish bounds of radicality
******* Ideology. What insanity
Can’t let it fester, or our dignity will be the fatality
Disgusting to muzzle those who believe differently
As long as it’s not hate, preach what you practice
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 2:29 PM UTC
How do I tell someone something that I don't wanna say...
I mean I could but then I will put myself out there
Vulnerable
Open to be hurt
Uncertainties about what the other person may say or feel
Oh my goodness my heart is racing cuz even when I think about them I smile
It's like riding along the Nile w/ a nice cool breeze
Simple full and free
A wonderful cadence of your voice moves my eardrum
Seeing your face gives me unspeakable happiness
I mean some may think I'm a *********
Nah I may jus have a special place for this person in my heart
But all these untold vulnerabilities keep creeping up on me
I don't wanna be seen as a ******
But u tho
R a beautiful melody to a perfect song
And maybe I'm wrong
But all these untold vulnerabilities may creep out into the light
Maybe with a fight
Maybe with a struggle
Maybe even with a muzzle
But I will put the pieces to the puzzle together
And maybe it will all come out w/ me being w/ you
Foot in the right size shoe
Cuz they say if the shoe fits wear it
But I don't know if you think you can bear the strength of my love
So we both lay w/ some untold vulnerabilities
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC