"neil" poems
when Merry Clayton
sings "Southern Man"
i think of all of you
and i think **** you
and if i was Neil Young
i would start a band called Hateful Bigot
and Mike Watt would be the bass player
and i would write a song
called "social justice warrior"
(in all lower case)
and dedicate it to all the children that have been ***** by the gay mayor of your tiny house town
and Merry Clayton would sing that song
there is a parade in tiny house town
for everyone who's arrived 50 years too late to the civil rights party
and the mayor is coming round
to shake your hand
all your tiny houses coming down
all your tiny houses built upon the sand
tiny, tiny houses get smaller and smaller before blowing down
everytime you shake his hand
you have even less to say
about all the children he *****
than the NRA
even less to say than the NRA
everytime the gay mayor rolls down the windows
before he rapes the children in his hot car
everytime he's comes around
to shake your hand
he's got ten dollars in his other hand
tiny, tiny houses blowing down
all your tiny houses built upon the sand
i can't wait til they come down
all your tiny houses coming down
tiny, tiny houses coming down
(nothing to do with the fact
he's a gay democrat
nothing to do with the fact)
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 1:44 PM UTC
THERE'S RUDOLPH, FROSTY, SANTA CLAUS AND GOOD OLD EBENEEZER
THERE'S CAROLS SUNG BY EVERYONE FROM KISS ON THROUGH TO WHEEZER
THERE'S CD'S OUT FROM NAT KING COLE, THE BOSTON POPS HAVE TWO
THERE'S ONE OUT NEIL DIAMOND WHICH IS STRANGE BECAUSE OLD NEIL'S A JEW
THE STORES HAVE TINSEL EVERYWHERE, THEIR TREES TOO,LOOKING NICE
THERE'S WRAPPING PAPER, CHRISTMAS LIGHTS AND EVEN PLASTIC ICE
THEY ATTACK YOUR SENSES CONSTANTLY, THEY MUST THINK I'M A FOOL
FOR ALL THIS STUFF IS ON DISPLAY, BEFORE THE KIDS GO BACK TO SCHOOL
THERE'S A RASTAFARIAN SANTA CLAUS WITH DREADLOCKS KNOWN AS "STONEY"
GENETICALLY ALTERED TURKEY MEAT THAT TASTES JUST LIKE BALONEY
PEOPLE DON'T BUY CHRISTMAS GIFTS THEY SEEM TO JUST GIVE MONEY
SO THEY GO SHOPPING BOXING DAY, AND THIS I FIND QUITE FUNNY
THE CHARITIES ARE ON THE PHONE AND AT YOUR DOOR EACH NIGHT
THEY WORK YOU WITH SOME CHRISTMAS GUILT, AND SAY "IT'S ONLY RIGHT"
TO DONATE TO UNFORTUNATES AND THEIR FOLKS NEED IT MOST"
AS THEY FLASH THEIR SMILES, FAKE I/D'S BEFORE THEIR PHONY BOAST
PEOPLE SHOP AND BUY AND BUY AND THEN THEY ALL RE-GIFT
MOST TIMES YOU'LL GET CHRISTMAS CAKE, THAT'S REALLY HARD TO LIFT
YOU WORK O.T. AND DO YOUR BEST, YOUR CHRISTMAS CASH TO SAVE
AND YOU SMILE WHEN YOU GET YOUR GIFT, AND IT'S THE ONE YOU GAVE
CHRISTMAS IS LESS FESTIVE AND TO ME IT'S GOTTEN RATHER CLINICAL
WITH SCHEDULES MADE AND SALES AND THINGS, IT'S MADE ME RATHER CYNICAL
TO SAY WHAT CHRISTMAS REALLY MEANS, I READ THOMAS ACQUINAS
BUT INSTEAD, I'LL USE A QUOTE FROM SHCULTZ'S PROPHET LINUS
..."AND SUDDENLY THERE WAS WITH THE ANGEL A MULTITUDE OF THE HEAVENLY HOST PRAISING GOD
AND SAYING "GLORY TO GOD IN THE HIGHEST, AND ON EARTH PEACE, GOODWILL TOWARD MEN.""
AND THAT IS WHAT CHRISTMAS IS ALL ABOUT....PLAIN AND SIMPLE.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 3:13 PM UTC
to live a life so brief as this
and beg for less
is to acknowledge
that life must be beautiful
or else death take its place
rendering the body immaterial
the soul inconsequential
only the circumstances remaining
to form a memory
of our brow-beaten brothers
who felt for so long and hard
that their passionate resistance
of oppression
became nothing
Jun 25, 2012
Jun 25, 2012 at 11:05 PM UTC
Neil Patrick Harris
a man who is
Legend
(wait for it)
Dary.
Whether he plays
a doctor
a womanizer
or even himself
N.P.H
will forever be
a badass.
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 5:32 PM UTC
Brackets
Your mum picked you up in daddy’s BMW,
we had to wait an hour while they scrubbed the brains of another son off the roof of the 125
(Why they built a multi storey car park on top of the bus station is a mystery to me.)
You carefully colour coordinated your files and scrutinized your revision schedules,
we watched nicked CCTV footage of two blokes smoking crack and burning down the bowling pavilion next door
(the old boys never did raise enough to repair it.)
You snubbed each other because of different tastes in jumpers,
we watched acid casualties talk politics with football hooligans
(a hastily rolled joint bridged the obvious gap.)
You lounged in the common room in your study periods,
our lesson got cancelled because John had been smashed in the face with a fire extinguisher
(and our tutor used to be a lifeguard.)
You worried about fashion and discussed the injustice of last night’s X Factor result,
we watched Neil’s head crash into his keyboard after he’d scoffed all his methadone in one go
(again.)
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
A caveman discovering fire,
he can now stay warm in the cold and see light in the dark,
It feeds him and protects him, and he does likewise.
Electricity suddenly figured out,
the harnessing of lightening used to capture the suns impressive illumination,
Dark corners seen where shadows once resided.
Neil Armstrong's foot touching the surface of the moon,
as stars swirl around him,
and the Earth looks innocent, safe, and beautiful.
The first successful flight of an airplane,
finally feeling free like the birds,
and touching the once elusive clouds.
A heart surgeon looking at a sensitive beating *****
knowing that rhythmic pulsing is necessary to sustain the body,
and caution must be taken not to hurt it.
Like a free-falling with a parachute.
Like a delicious appetizer, entree, and dessert all at once.
Like puppy kisses, or kitten purrs.
Like looking down from the top of a mountain.
Like every single sunrise and sunset you've ever seen, combined.
Like tearing up when you see people reunite.
Like meeting up with an old friend.
Like laughing until your stomach hurts.
Like that refreshingly calm breath after crying real hard.
Like holding a *** for too long but then finding a bathroom.
Like your first cup of coffee in the morning.
Like snow, a fireplace, hot cocoa, and a blanket.
Like a flower blooming.
Like the sound of the ocean.
Like a cool breeze on a sweltering day.
Like a good, long embrace.
Like a shot of hard liquor that warms your insides.
Like getting promoted.
Like finishing a creative endeavor.
Like your favorite sports team winning.
Like a baby smiling at you.
Like finding a good book or a good series.
Like fixing something properly all by yourself.
Like finding blue or purple sea glass.
Like mail with your name on it that isn't bills.
It's probably not like any of these things,
*it's probably a whole lot ******* better.*
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 3:37 PM UTC
RUSH
"SUBDIVISIONS"
Words by Neil Peart, Music by Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson
The Trees
There is unrest in the forest,
There is trouble with the trees,
For the maples want more sunlight
And the oaks ignore their pleas.
The trouble with the maples,
(And they're quite convinced the're right)
They say the oaks are just too lofty
And they grab up all the light.
But the oaks can't help their feelings
If they like the way they're made.
And they wonder why the maples
Can't be happy in their shade?
There is trouble in the Forest
And the creatures all have fled
As the Maples scream 'Oppression!'
And the Oaks, just shake their heads
So the maples formed a union
And demanded equal rights.
'These oaks are just too greedy;
We will make them give us light.'
Now there's no more oak oppression,
For they passed a noble law,
And the trees are all kept equal
By hatchet,
Axe,
And saw.
by Rush
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
HelloPoetry Blessed us all , no matter where we live.
I am truly Blessed by each and everyone alike here.
There are so many here on this here site that I am thankful for.
Sally Bayan, Mike Hauser, Iamdaisie, Olivia Kent, Wendy Ronshausen,Brandon Nagley, Earl Jane, Rachel Sia Jane Lloyd, Lydia Monet,Neil Aranda, Mark Cleavenger, Ann Marie Johnson, Melanie Wilson-Herring, Mike Essig, **** Paz Its Gonna Make Sense.
PrttyBrd, Vicki Bashor, Kripi Mehra, Willyam Pax, Poetess Bhumi, Kelly Rose.
Elizabeth Burnettge, Toni Pugh, Paul Champman, David Lewis Paget.
Ryn, Sean Scibbles, Aurelia, Kim Johanna Baker,Yasaman Johari.
Lady RF,Crazy Diamond Kristy, Weeping Willow, Alyssa Underwood.
MydstopiA,adhi das, South by southwest, Petal, soulsurvivor.
reformdancerecover,Ashly Kocher, Mack, Travler, Randolph Wilson.
Plus many more whom are very special indeed whom did not make this poem love you all in Christ.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 2:03 PM UTC
She reads Neil Gaimen
by the light through the window,
a facing forward seat on the only train in Greater Anglia
without any heat,
yet still she peruses the pages with
a flick and a ****** and her eyes begin to wander
in marvellous repeating horizontal lines.
She is blonde and reading Neil Gaimen.
Another blonde another book,
this time Mr King under her palm,
spread like her great legs, wide
and easy to read, yet not easily led;
telephone-line straight eyes
on a north country face,
buttoned up below her is a white blouse,
lace-trimming hiding last night’s pudding-
cake baked by a daughter, I heard her conversation earlier:
there was laughter.
She is blonde and reading Stephen King.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
1969, one voice sent the world's radios to dancing because we were passing the torch from dreaming to reality as we took to the soft landing
That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind
and for just a second, everyone alive got to feel like Einstein but
I bet you as Armstrong looked down he didn't picture the strife and denial of life to so many in sight 40 years later
street riots and technology gone violent controlling the fears of children peering through glass stained in dust as nightmares rush passed the idea of life, crushing everything in sight
we even wrote it in our constitution
Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.
but you'd have to sell your soul to bail from a life ended where money knows no measure
and you can not tell me that shooting an innocent human on mistake is neither cruel no unusual
but the constitution has turned into a wall
to push people so far back on that they couldn't turn and run
or read what was suppose to be a guarantee in the land of the free
and that's just the beginning
we're denying people from entering a country for body modification
when we've been altering our appearance longer than we have had boundaries to deny people from
because we're still leveling cities like we did when we were daydreaming and knocking block castles down
because we're still enslaving humans because of their genetics
but behind sheer curtains, it's all ok
because if you don't see then there's no need to worry
it's easy to ignore it when you have comments and feeds to read before you give the world news a chance at your attention
but what i've never understood
is how innovation and careful thinking placed a device in your hand
and all you came to do with it was carefully craft a 140 character string of ********
but i guess it goes to show
like our constitution
that though manifested to be great for the people by the people
at the end of the day, we're still too self obsessed to look at the rest of the picture
we're still too afraid to peer down at the entire world
so, Neil, I'm sorry, one giant step for man but mankind hardly remembers
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 8:35 PM UTC
Good old Hawk. He was quite a guy. The truth of the matter was that Hawk was a needle freak. He was hooked on morphine. He had hepatitis. There was a whole in Hawk's arm where all the money went. Sad but true. Except for enough money for two beers for the Hawk and me.
Who has to hear it. No one, everyone. Needles can be useful for medicine: they can also be a curse. You pierce the skin and feel the ruch and the juices flow unil you get your fill. But there never is a fill until it's over. Don't kid yourself. It will be over because it's a dead end trip.
You'll crash at the end of your last trip. And the trip you have on earth will be on of misery and despair. Nirvana doesn't come cheap. Hundred dollars a day habit could lead to desperate measures. A life of crime, scamming, pawning, betting, borrowing, and stealing. I'm glad to say Hawk held himself above all this. It could not have been an easy road out to travel.
He overdosed three years before the end.
Hawk actually died and was revived by some kind of good fortune, or was it good fortune? Hawk after this had no memory or regular thought process. Hawk wasn't the same man after that. It was not a pretty sight. He was a hollow man, a mere shadow of his former self.
I grew tired of telling Hawk the same thing over and over again. He lived with us for a few years. He moved out into a group home which he didn't like -- too much macaroni. About six months later Hawk was found on the floor of the group home bedroom. This time he was really dead. I don't know if needles were involved. I never heard the details. I like to think needles were not involved for the last three years of Hawk's life. I know he was clean for all the time he stayed with us. However, a great deal of damage had already occurred when Hawk came to live with us.
Hawk was a night person. He would lie there on the couch watching TV all night long with our dog Ming faithfully by his side. They loved one another those two. They were soul mates. Hawk gave Ming her favorite toy - a little blue ball.
Hawk never gave up. His sister would come with raspberry pie and Hawk would glow for a few days.
Anyway, I gave Hawks eulogy. The song for the eulogy, "The needle and the damage done" by Neil Young.
To soar like a Hawk. To crash into the ground.
I'd like to think his spirit soars like a hawk. Maybe now Hawk has found the peace he never found in this life.
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 2:38 AM UTC
Somewhere on the moon last night, Neil Armstrong came back to life and was standing in the middle of the Sea of Tranquility in complete darkness. His frail, decaying hands that were no doubt filled with formaldehyde, held a rather large and sure-to-be extremely heavy boombox that loomed up and over his head, blasting “Total Eclipse of the Heart” on repeat. He said that it crossed his mind more than once to replace the six faded white American Flags with the stereo, but ultimately decided against it.
In mythology, bleeding is considered to be a feminine attribute:
“I bleed, therefore I am.”
(But this is also the downfall of a version of feminism that is not intersecular.) ((Your lunar cycle does not necessarily need to function in order to be considered a woman.)) (((I am not sure of which, if any, version of feminism Neil Armstrong subscribed to.)))
When a woman is bleeding, they say that she is at the height of her power; she is aligned with the tides and the cosmos. She is celestial. Blood is sacred,
eternal—the very essence of our beings—
but if the Blood Moon was
really just the moon on her period,
what could she do last night she could do at no other point in her life?
Where was her power? She was isolated,
forgotten by the sun,
hidden away inside the umbra of the earth.
(Which is the part where the masculine power of the sun rejected the most important feminine attribute of the moon.)
Michael Collins flew solo around the moon while Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin played with dust and rocks. For 48 minutes he was completely alone, radio silenced behind the shadow, and he thought about death and being the last man standing from Apollo 11.
Inside Neil Armstrong’s speakers, Bonnie Tyler was crooning that
“your love is like a shadow on me all of the time,”
and I have not yet decided if this is
good or bad.
Instead, I am wondering if Buzz Aldrin feels sore for
eternally being second best? Or if he still thinks that the view from the
moon is still one of “magnificent desolation?” And
does he feel this way about all three of his ex-wives?
Do they know that the moon was his first love?
We name missions to the moon, to
Luna’s surface, to Diana’s territory, after a
Greek and Roman god of the sun, when
wolves howl to the goddess
instead.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC
Freewill
Rush
There are those who think that life
Has nothing left to chance
A host of holy horrors
To direct our aimless dance
A planet of playthings
We dance on the strings
Of powers we cannot perceive
The stars aren't aligned
Or the gods are malign
Blame is better to give than receive
You can choose a ready guide
In some celestial voice
If you choose not to decide
You still have made a choice
You can choose from phantom fears
And kindness that can ****
I will choose a path that's clear
I will choose free will
There are those who think that
They've been dealt a losing hand
The cards were stacked against them
They weren't born in Lotus-Land
All preordained
A prisoner in chains
A victim of venomous fate
Kicked in the face
You can't pray for a place
In heaven's unearthly estate
You can choose a ready guide
In some celestial voice
If you choose not to decide
You still have made a choice
You can choose from phantom fears
And kindness that can ****
I will choose a path that's clear
I will choose free will
Each of us
A cell of awareness
Imperfect and incomplete
Genetic blends
With uncertain ends
On a fortune hunt
That's far too fleet
You can choose a ready guide
In some celestial voice
If you choose not to decide
You still have made a choice
You can choose from phantom fears
And kindness that can ****
I will choose a path that's clear
I will choose free will
Songwriters: GEDDY LEE, ALEX LIFESON, NEIL PEART
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 4:15 PM UTC
My use of personal pronouns
Puts me in my poem;
I can roll a rock with Sisyphus,
Be in a ceiling flame in Rome.
I can bring you back to life,
Sharing tales and tea;
Sitting there before my fire,
For all eternity.
I go marauding with Attila,
Walk with Neil Armstrong,
Fly high with Amelia,
Be a Beatle with my song.
My pronouns give me presence
In my lover's residence;
I'm just a specter she can't see;
A spirit roaming outside of me.
I can jot an I with you,
I could pen an our;
But that's just ink on my notebook,
Not as sweet as sour.
I can use my pronouns
To put you in my verse;
And then I lay my pen down,
I'm cursed, but none the worse.
You're just poetry to me.
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 11:38 AM UTC
Life is a journey that slowly ends,
but not allowing you to make amends.
How can I right the wrongs I have done,
With all the lies that I have spun.
Nobody teaches you right from wrong,
not in this life's tragic song.
where will I be in 10 years time?
what about this old heart of mine?
Love is for poets, or so they say,
not for my heart to wilfully stray.
for my heart is broken and scarred today,
there is no hope for tomorrow, so into the fray.
As Life is a journey, or so they say,
Nobody will love me or even pray.
So how do you travel on this exhaustive trip?
How do you travel without a stumble or slip?
Hope is a friend that regularly visits,
Hope is a friend that stands and spits!
But without this friend, how do you travel,
on this road of downtrodden gravel,
But hope is a friend, a true friend of mine
Hope is the one thing that's with me through time.
One day this journey will abruptly stop,
with hope behind me when I hear that knock.
The knock I hear so loud and clear
From deaths door alas I truly fear.
Life is a journey so full of promise
sadly its mostly full of solace.
what will be said when I am gone?
good riddens to ******* I hear from some.
I have tried to travel with love and compassion
but others may say I am just like fashion
as fashion changes and never stands still,
I am true to this hardened will.
Here lays Neil, may he rest in peace,
as his journey now has begun to cease.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 5:06 PM UTC
almond shaped eyes
the color of fertile earth
deep
deeper than marianna and her treacherous trench
i fall deeper into your magic with every glance
the mere thought of your existence sends lightning bolts through my bones
you give me butterflies the size of ostriches
and someday soon i'll take flight
astronauts and the smell of stardust
nasa
here we come
i can hear the static pulse of the universe in your laughter
you leave solar flares in your wake
you take my breath away
a presence as heavy as the vacuum of space
not burdensome
but welcomed
like an egyptian cotton blanket over bare flesh
or the pressure of the lakes surface on my naked ribcage
an embrace
with god
with darwin
with satan
and neil pert
it hurts me when you frown
deep
deep down
i drown in despair at the earliest glimpse of your discourse
but when you smile
hot ****
that smile
i shiver and shrink
like a scalp in a glacial pool
you're strong as a sequoia
proud as an ancient peak
yet for some reason
you see me
in a far more flattering light than i view myself
i wanna take you
far
far
far away
and make you stay forever mine
forever perfect in my eyes
poetic strengths
prose-like down falls
and it all reads just like Rumi
classic
timeless
true
i can't wait until the day you admit
that you can't wait
to be tangled up in me
and the sheets
and the seams of the fabric of time
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 11:05 AM UTC
She stopped at the light
outside the Double Drop D in Cortez
and looked me over
I was day dreaming about a girl
with finger cymbals
between shows
Her top was down
and I could hear Neil Young
singing Cinnamon Girl
on the radio
...*i could be happy
the rest of my life..*
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 9:56 AM UTC
This One Time,
I stripped naked
and ****** my couch.
This other time
I threw a copy of The Fountainhead
at an RV moving at 64 miles an hour
I have a tree
In the foothills
named Clementine Valencia Jeff
and the same day, me and John
made a religion with Adam based
on cloud formations
You see, I'm a weird guy
I got
I got problems
I see a therapist
Her name's Rhonda
She likes Batmaa aaaaan
She sees people worse than me
but recognizes I got problems
and she
she tries to help
cause
cause I got problems
and the
and the problem
with having problems
is
is function
You
You can't do anything
You live to defy expectation
And - and it's really hard
to get into college
You never really get accepted
and and
and even if
even if you do you
you
you never really accept that
It's hard out there for a freak
I get lost within my own
ridiculous quandaries
You feel like you're not
you're not built right
like something's wrong
and you just punch and
and kick and
and destroy
Whatever feels des-
destroy able because it gives
purpose
Bu
But I finally think I -I
found my mantra
My my
My compass thing
My map whatever
It has the same number of
letters of something very very dear
to me
and
and that holds meaning
I
I wrote it on the back of my door
my door
and- and I sprayed it on a
shirt
I actually got it from a videogame with
with a
with Ayn Randian themes
It's religious
and
and every night now
before I go to sleep
I
I- I look into Neil Patrick Harris's
eyes
feel the warmth of my wonderful blanket
admire some handiwork
read about serial arson
close my eyes and tell myself
She is our Salvation
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 2:05 PM UTC
i am grateful for stretch denim on days
when
**** it
is a fashion statement
for lavender laundry detergent
because that smell reminds me of the home i've built in my head
for tea at
2 a.m.
when all the things i've done race in my head
because the next morning, i usually get my **** together
for colds
because they make eating an entire roll of cinnamon buns
completely justifiable
for the mountains that surround me
for NPR and good, rated M fanfiction
for def poetry when i can't find the right words
for finding a pack of cigarettes when it is only
11:30pm on a thursday night
and i am well past drunk in a slightly damp armchair
for harry potter and neil gaiman
for when twenty dollars fills up my gas tank
for my grandma's potato salad and biscuits with honey
for feminist zines that make me want to smash the patriarchy
for burts bees chapstick and jasmine-green tea
for friends who let me cry on their
bedroom floors
for books that keep me entertained
(even if that means me crying in my bathtub while reading them)
for courtney love and joan jett because those *******
have ridden in my car with me over many
heart-breaks
for well-water and sulfate free red wine
for johnny cash and new orleans and whiskey
for salt-- because that **** can wash away anything
for farmer's markets and co-ops
for bottles of water and for cookie dough
when my mouth
is the consistency of cotton and my mind is a little bit gone
for warm days in January and cold days in September
for breakfast and for hikes that begin at five a.m.
for summer nights drunk on wine and a little too much fire
for friends who call me 'momma bear' and for friends that call me 'baby bird'
for poems that give you cold chills
and flowers stolen from my neighbor's yard
for skin that smells like the sun and sage
for beeswax candles
and the smell of clean laundry
for days when i wake up and realize
i could have died on a bathroom floor
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
Living is often like drowning, and sleeping like flying,
So bridges and tall buildings always tempt me.
When I talk about death I feel brave.
I've always hated how recognition can so easily turn into pride.
They say pride comes before the fall,
But I believe that various kinds of self-centeredness are the origin of all unholy descents.
I remind myself that I shouldn't take my life because I didn't give it,
And my heart continues to beat on its own.
Blood doesn't stain crimson red,
It darkens and crusts on the skin.
Everything that is dead becomes only a memory,
Then it disintegrates and washes away, eventually becoming nothing.
I can’t remember anything from before I had the ability to reason,
So when did I come alive?
I wonder if all people valued beauty,
Would there be peace?
Because I sometimes wonder whether Neil Armstrong meant to say what he did as took his first step on the moon.
I think trying is as valuable as doing,
But justification is a dangerous tool.
I am cautious of failure and success;
But count this as my eulogy
A list of things that I am going to say before my untimely death.
*I recognized the world for the canvas it was and I didn't waste my life.
My dreams were my motivation,
And they were fueled by those that underestimated me
I walked streets day and night and prayed that I would somehow run into the girl of my dreams,
and when I finally found my missing rib I looked at her like she was a piece of art that I just couldn't keep my eyes off of.
I suffered and I found its nectar bitter-sweet.
I didn't get the best of life, but then I made the best of life.
I never stopped caring,
my love for the unlovable made me daring.
I trusted too easily so I was always broken.
I always found things to love, but they never loved me,
But despite it, I still loved, hard, even though it hurt me.
I couldn't comfort because I had never been comforted.
After a lifetime of battling myself, I finally took off my crown of thorns.
I didn't let the past get the best of me,
I gave the future all of me.
I hated animosity,
War was despicable to me,
And I always preached peace.
I prayed constantly that my efforts would not be in vain.
I never actually could stop sinning, but despite my ugly sins, I never stopped straining.
I was not perfect, but I did the best I could.
I never ceased to hear the music.
I still played, even when I felt like I was playing solo, I still played my part in this symphony of life.
My eyes were aimed at the director, and we played through the storm,
We played even when all hell was against us,
We played, and played, and played
Until eternity came through.....*
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
We would never work. I need stability and security. I need safety. But you, you're inherently unsafe. You seek out chaos and conflict intentionally because you think it's interesting. If you were on the Titanic,you'd be pouring champagne and singing while the ship went down. Everyone would be screaming, getting into lifeboats, and you'd be standing there on deck, with your glass of champagne, laughing, and you'd still find your way off the **** boat without even trying.
Are you familiar with the story , "The Monkey's Paw?" There's this magic monkey's paw, like a rabbit's foot kind of, and it grants any three wishes you want . The problem is, for every wish that comes true , there is a terrible, huge cost. Being with you would be my wish. You're everything I want, and everything I'm not, and you would ruin me. You don't consider consequences, and if we were to end, you would move on to the next experience that seems interesting. But I would never recover. Being with you and losing you would devastate me so much that I can't even consider taking that risk.
You're like a high -risk investment. You could make me extremely wealthy, or I'll end up on the street.
I've never known someone with so much anxiety and so little fear.
Face it, the reason you're into feminism isn't because you want to raise up other women-- it's because you want to be held to the same standard as men. You know you're not just better than most women you meet, but that you are smarter, fiercer and more ambitious than most men, too. You want to be recognized as the best PERSON in the room, not just the best woman.
Do you really want me to try and stop you? You don't , because no matter what I say, you're going to do it. If anything the best way to discourage you is to encourage you, but you'll still do what you want anyway.And if you choose not to do it, it won't be on moral grounds, but just because you want to deny yourself a passion to prove that you can say no to yourself, that you have control, and that's not much better than doing it anyway, isn't it?
You are the strongest woman I've ever met. You hardly ever know what you want, but when you think you want something, you go out and get it. You never hesitate, you ignore your fear, and you don't care about morality. Sometimes though, you feel ashamed of yourself , and hide in your charms. You do it for so long and try so hard that you forget yourself. Don't forget yourself. You seek out people who have the passion and motivation you think you lack, but you have these things more than anyone. And most of all, you are powerful. I can't explain the power that emanates from you, but it's like a force of nature. You can't hide it and you shouldn't. You need chaos and conflict and madness to keep going, because you ARE chaotic, conflicted and mad.You need to stop feeling guilty and afraid of yourself, and be the person you are, not the person you think you should be.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 2:14 AM UTC
"And when your fourth love leaves you. You will want to **** yourself, but you won't Because you no longer think of suicide as a house you will build one day" ~ Future Tense by Neil Hilborn.
I keep hoping
That if I keep writing enough about you
About us
What happened and what you did
It'll be written out of the existence of my conscious
That the memories will melt away
As if they were frost coated blades of grass
In a lukewarm spring morning
I care you know
About if you're happy now
Maybe
I keep hoping that if I bleed enough ink
Everything will finally stop
And fall
And reorder itself
That the past five years
Will fade out
Through the tip of this pen
The insecurities will be gone
The trauma will be gone
The memories will be gone
You'll be gone
For good
Never existing
A total and complete stranger
Because who you are now
Isn't who I first met
But that's life right?
People changed
I changed
And it hurt like hell
But after that
Everything melded
Faded together
The sun and moon
Will no longer fight for supremacy behind my closed eyelids
Sadness will finally move out of happiness's home
The unwanted roommate
Never paying their rent
Leaving behind tidbits of loneliness
That would always cover
Your vortex infused days of sun
Cozy winter mornings have reappeared
Snuggled in a blanket
Snow caressing my window sill
A gust turned into
An extinct lovers laugh
Because my days are brighter
My pen is lighter
And the ink that I've bled
Over the past five years
Has finally been staunched
From the incisions
On my ugly blue battered
Gun powder heart.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 1:48 AM UTC
darling moon
dear moon
do not be offended
we have stripped you
down to rock and a plain face
and we show pictures of you
in black, gray and white;
and though a writer of verse,
in this verse,
I strip you of your romance and aura;
be not angry
for after all,
you will understand,
we are children who come after
Galileo
and Neil Armstrong
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 4:28 PM UTC