ACTING OUT

Trackdown, smackdown
Hit them with the facts.
Showdown downtown.
Teach them how to act.
Outloud, outproud
Backing down no more.
Outloud our crowd
Now we know the score.

It used to be we had to
Keep quiet about it or lie.
They could even jail us
So we didn’t even try.
We changed the gender
Of lovers when we shared.
We could say we married.
Nobody even dared.

We made up these stories
About roommates we had
Wanting any more than that
Could only leave us sad.
So, we used euphemisms
Like confirmed bachelor
To create a smokescreen
For our nosy neighbors.

Trackdown, smackdown
Hit them with the facts.
Showdown downtown.
Teach them how to act.
Outloud, outproud
Backing down no more.
Outloud our crowd
Now we know the score.

Nineteen seventy
Came up suddenly
And a few million of us
Wanted to be free.
So, we hit the boulevards
And sang the marching songs.
Out of the closet, into the streets
And millions more came along.

Trackdown, smackdown
Hit them with the facts.
Showdown downtown.
Teach them how to act.
Outloud, outproud
Backing down no more.
Outloud our crowd
Now we know the score.

Brent Kincaid
6/3/2014

The musician cries
As he sings a sweet song
He feels the same way
As he has for so long
The feeling of love and
The feeling of worth
Has all been crumbled
And put in the dirt
After a show he gets peace of mind
Finding room to breath
But still not all are kind

That night they caused him to crack
Pushed him to the limit
And that was that
He wrote one last song
Recorded it there, played it outloud
In case someone cared
Noose made from the strings of a guitar
He walked off the staff
And stopped his metronome heart

You were the FINAL straw.
I refuse to to be SILENCED anymore.
My word speak VOLUMES
And I'll PROVE it to you.

I am SICK and TIRED of being stepped on,
Being JUDGED,
LIED to,
Taken ADVANTAGE of
like I'm WORTHLESS and USELESS.
I am NOT gonna believe that lie anymore, I know I'm SPECIAL.
I am not afraid to EXPRESS myself any longer.

I have people who CARE about me, who LOVE me for who I am,
Not for who I may have PRETENDED to be.

The choices in my life are MINE to make, because
I CONTROL my destiny, not you, or anyone who says otherwise.

I have the POWER to PERSEVERE,
To PREVAIL over any odds.
And GUESS what?
So do you  you and you,
We all have a CHOICE.
I'm stepping up so my voice can be HEARD.
What about you?

Read me outloud
It doesn't hit the same without it
Empty room yet mind is crowded
How to sit and stare up at night sky
Without thinking about
All the ground and concrete and skyscrapers compressing chest
So heavy I'm convinced we'll all sink down into the earth soon enough
Not that it really seems to matter anymore
I can still feel doom tugging at the corners of being
Still see dead faces of everyone flashing through mind
"Hello nice to meet you, I can see you rotting in my head"
A brisk break room conversation
Not that it really seems to matter anymore

Sitting there yesterday at the football game,
Watching my son tackling the quarterback,
Feeling the warm sun and watching him earn respect,
From his teammates, made my heart proud.

Looking around, I saw the cheerleaders, 11 yrs old, too.
Yelling and flipping and shouting.
Then from nowhere, "My glitter is sweating off!"
Makes me laugh outloud.  

Little kids running everywhere,
Parents watching their kids, visiting,
It was a great scene!

Until I looked down in this sneezing little boys face,
And watched him scoop up some boogers
and have a snack.

Looking back I suppose it is only to be expected
as part of the scenery, and I can laugh now.
Just as watching the cheerleaders commenting,
And the poor kid who pulled a groin muscle,
Hobble off the field, is part of the scene.

All in all, a beautiful day, fun, family, and reality all at once.

1.
there's a gun in your hand that doesn't belong there, a windmill where your heart should be
painting on the inside of someone else's skull screaming "i don't give a ****"
did your voice break? OH MY GOD YOU DISEASE
YOU GREAT UNDERESTIMATER, YOU FILTH
THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU TURN A PERSON INTO A JACK-O-LANTERN
scooping out seeds for your masters degree
"new advances in science every day" can you smell the ink drying on the back of your wrist
ghost stories arent the same thing as ghosts
"why do hospitals think white is calming" and other laments
sorry, i mean bulletholes
sorry, i mean manmade caverns, tunnels built for metal to crawl its way out of membrane
question: what kind of science experiment requires a human corpse
answer:
answer:
answer:
you will never understand the answer to this question.you will never understand why someone stands up in their seat, screaming "i don't give a ****"
its raining outside.its raining outside.seven of your family members are lying in trash heaps,limbs discarded
and you don't know this yet
but it wasn't my fault.it wasn't me this time (stop looking at me like that
tail clenched tight between your teeth
you smell like a swamp,oh god)
choking to death on someone else's blood: typical.you're a cliche
this has happened before, hasn't it?we were murdered before,
but you don't remember that, or you do but youre pretending not to.tend to
your wounds, lick the blood.
papercuts are a gateway drug
you used to be something pretty.shiny and unkempt,
pretty and a ***** kinda clean:i wanna rip my own throat out
carve triangles in the pit of my stomach so
at least part of me will know how to smile.
clawing at yr eyes like itll make the flies go away
its in their nature
god,what kind of monster are you
what kind of beast.
everything you know up in flames:wither
do you know how fast human bodies decay?welcome to wormfood.welcome to paradise
coughing up tar and feathers "you came prepared"
for what?for an execution?happy doomsday
punch the wall.rub your knuckles.try again
make it bruise
****** and mangled, paint chips cutting off your circulation
YOU JUST NEVER KNOW WHEN TO QUIT DO YOU
youre so kind.thanks for everything,thanks for
the hollow chest,thanks for
****** fists
(you knew this would happen eventually
can you even take a punch?can you even take a punch?)
severed conscience, or whatever it was.
"No One Will Miss You Anyway"
is that what theyre saying?
your nailbeds are sticky
soda and something sweeter and dirt
you had so much to live for,until you didn't
(isnt that what they all say?god,youre such a cliche.)
found dead or dying,isnt that how it goes
no one just drowns
"we have reason to believe--"
you can hear every star dying,all at once
kneeling in front of a toilet that starting to look a lot like you
theres a gun in your lap and a bullet in your head and you dont know which one to trust
this isnt your fault.this isnt your fault.
clean yourself up,god youre disgusting.
how to say your name without choking on it
holding hands with a girl you never met
isnt this what its supposed to feel like?arent you supposed to feel full?
emptiness is your native language.the hollow space in your body echoes back at you
chimneysweep swallowing dust clouds,brushing their teeth with acid and magellanic galaxies
JUST STOP, SHUT YOUR MOUTH, GOD IM TIRED LISTENING TO THE SOUND OF YOUR SCREAMS
paranoia is smooth, blurry around the edges:
its not your fault you couldn't meet a deadline.

2.
war in your sheets and the soft folds of your belly
(and in the soles of your feet
i feel rough ground, rocks pricking into your skin
do you smell blood?)
not quite human, but vampires havent scared you for years
"**** me dry" can you taste it yet, can you feel the fear crawling up out of your stomach
your throat is so empty, a cavern without bats
stalactite secrecy pooling at your feet: this is what it feels like to be alone
sorry about the mess we made
sorry about the paint on the walls
scrubbing glitter into your arms,rubbing skin raw and red
arent you pretty? arent you pretty?
tombs cracking, mausoleums wishing for more graves to dig
havent you robbed enough for one lifetime
write eulogies for people who havent died yet,this is your calling
arent you pretty?
WHITE NOISE ON REPEAT, 10 HOURS
boxed wine stinking up the trunk of your car
(well,that and something else)
dont feel sorry for me darling
you say my name like it’s killing you,and maybe it is
thanks for the flowers and the card,what kind of greek tragedy is this
are you tired? are you tired?
what a spectacle
you,lying on a bed that doesnt belong to you,dying without permission(How Rude!)
dionysian struggle,and look,now the wine’s spilt over everything
i told you this would happen
what a pretty train wreck you are!2:30 am,still alive,
god youre bleeding on everything,how rude.how rude.
heart cut out and beating three thousand miles away under your mothers bed
oh,sweetheart
YOU KNEW IT WOULD END LIKE THIS,dissociating,can you feel the earth bend away from you?
what a demon
crust,mantle,core,screaming at the sight of you
when was the last time you believed in magic,hands on thighs
walls of the abandoned building screaming back in your face
(“i don’t give a ****” like someone can hear you
like someone cares enough to listen)
a broken Bic lighter/someone else’s EpiPen/a ****** handkerchief, shoved in the pocket of a jacket you dont remember buying.
wrapped up like holy things and you think maybe they were one time
“******* with no end” god youre so cool arent you?how edgy,how punk.how grotesque, the mess on your hands.
shouting your **** streak in the dead of night
is that supposed to impress us?are you putting on a show?Holy Prophet
here to forgive your sins
a woman sitting across from you is bleeding and you imagine swallowing her hands whole
“just let them win this time” how sweet of you,how kind!
this isnt my fault.this isnt my fault.
im just a corpse,remember?i hope you regret every part of this
i hope you choke on her fingers and i hope you die
MY GOD IT MAKES ME LAUGH
painted in the image of god:how funny.how sweet.what a nice thought
you called me a weapon like it was supposed to mean something
like it ever did

3.
mistaken king centuries old stepping on Holy feet
(can you see him?pressed up against the grass trying to disappear
god, what a ******* poseur)
frostbite kissing you,what a nice sentiment
crying with joy as it curls around you
“you just gotta be numb to it, you know?”
please marry me, oh god, i’m in love with you
my heart beats thirty feet out of my chest when im around you (that’s what love means, right)
you feel it ripping you apart,glory
smell stardust in the air and then stomp it out
it never mattered that much anyway,or at least that’s what
you tell yourself
you move like it’s your death wish, like “better here than somewhere else”, like
they taught you how to bleed in all
the right ways.on cue. on cue.
broken telephone wires/that Bic lighter, again/a pile of pumpkin seeds digging
into the palm of your hand
How To Cauterize An Open Wound
torn skin, and blood, and maybe some of your intestines, too
stick knives in your stomach(look, we match!)
there’s still a gun in your hand and it’s smoking and you don’t remember firing it (but that’s
okay, isn’t it? this has to be okay)
you built a shipyard in your ribcage,sent sailors off
to die in your throat
choking on a swarm of ******* bees
youre so cool arent you?youre so cool arent you?
you feel the ***** coming up ten years before it actually does, feel your stomach
bloating,the stench of it all
terrariums bleeding onto the streets, how ugly.what a putrid sight.
youre missing teeth,mouth gaping open
stubbed and ****** where nothing new ever grew in,
don’t know know that hate breeds hate
precious metals ooze off your tongue, join the parade! fall into
a stupor,
collect your wits and die,just die.
“i’m sorry for your loss” written on twenty different greeting cards, did you
think i wouldnt know it was you?
i bruise so easily and you know this, even with a gun breathing heavy against your ribcage.lace spiderwebs
around your neck and pull them tight this time
lighting fires with one hand,putting them out
with the other
YOU’RE SUCH A ******* MARTYR
YOU GRANDIOSE *******
your shoes are too tight, your toes are turning blue,
and i’m still in love with you even though
i don’t even know who you are anymore
god, im a cliche
does that make you happy?
god, i hope it does
you tell me, “poems are supposed to have a rhythm”
smiling like i just said something funny
i’m sorry about the dead flowers.im sorry about that night in the living room.
sorry for the things i said.
the feeling of being in motion/radiation vibrating across your tongue/a handful of snow
listen to the church choir singing--
in. out. dead. it wasnt your-slash-my fault
you say it outloud:
“your-slash-my”, the only way you can tether yourself
to something else.
someone is digging into the small of your back (ill
give you a hint:its me)
can you feel the talons? you take off your clothes, press
your body to the concrete
let the frost build on your spine,your fingers,your
legs
kiss the spool of ants where your ear used to be
swallow hard.
o, songbird! o, thrush!
the mellow winter calling (your mouth
curves around the word vociferous like you cant breathe without it--
this was always my favorite part)
“who told you the ending” and you say
god,  i just knew.
holy, holy, holy, swept off the palm of your hand like dust
rusty spoons and nails And Other Artifacts pooling at your feet
***** with revenge, or desire, or both.
[ SEVEN HOLLOW CHAPELS SINGING ABOUT LONELINESS ]
dont bury this too.not the bibelots, not the science experiments, not the smoking gun
carving itself into your palm
you will forget the ships on the horizon, the feel of someone else’s stomach beneath your hands, your tongue, your skin.
all these things, too: she said.

(9-24-11 instrumental)

it takes 2 years to forget 6 years,
it takes 12 beers to forget your tears,
and it's those tears that flow so near,
this backyard that you hold so dear,
i held you here in better years,
i'd cheer you up, when i'd hear your fears,
the taste of beer and sky so clear
steer away now, it's in the rear,
view and that feels so cold,
i only see you through untagged photos,
youtubing high school talent shows,
or recitals, it's vital, that no one
actually knows, that i'm caught up
bought to get lost up,
another drink, another think,
i'm just a flawed ****,
but i play it cool and act strong,
those other fools won't last long.


another sad song, i make it better,
got a new chick that's wetter cause
she aint afraid of that weather,
umbrellas discarded, in the bleachers,
teachers, gawking from the sidelines,
it's all fine, it's our time,
no need to dodge landmines...
call me minesweeper,
call me mindreader,
call me timekeeper,
call me justin bieber,
call me baby, baby baby,
call me jay-z, call me kanye,
call me all day, call me homewrecker,
call me and say i can do better,
call me about your sweater,
that's still at my place,
call me ghostface, call me action bronson,
call me hot one, call me ******* loser,
call me a waste of your time,
call me and say that this rhyme's, too simple,
call me jimmy kimmel, sarah silver-man.
i'm a better man, i'm business-man, i'm a gentle-man
i'm stan, writing this down in a crazy letter
no ink, self-mutilation and a feather,
better yet, i'm saying this outloud in the booth,
kick this rap game in the tooth with these red wing boots.

YOU HAVE
TO WANT IT



MAN
“go outside,” the doctor says,
“stand on the grass for fifteen minutes a day.”
you’re here because today you want to get better.
“tell me how you’re feeling.”
“I’m scared.”

“I mean physically.”
“so do I.”




ANGEL
an angel can come in a burst of a blister,
on the tip of a finger.
he always starts small
with the whispers,
         “i know about love,”
   like you asked for it.

he prefers to come at the end of the month,
            amid deadlines, another set of blood-soaked, ruined *******,
some traces
     of the relationship with your father and failure.
but you like that: having an excuse that sends you
   scrambling for car keys.

    at first it’s forests, their fires,
the flowers that follow once the ash and skin and soil
are mixed. at first it’s earth and rubbing it in,
     seeing god behind your eyelids.

so you clean the pipes, keep washing sheets.
      the voices they stop coming; once in a while you
      read online how many kids this week have overdosed
    on ****** and it’s foreign. kids with dirt
under their fingernails, kids in basements, kids
with ***** canvas shoes and overgrown cuticles.
           they don’t look like you. you still look like
you.




MAN
                   mike sparks a j in the basement.
        we chew on xanax and no one’s paying attention to the TV.
some white static and early afternoon rain. it’s made me gone
ghost, sitting on a leather recliner, silent with a cigarette.
              it’s a right of initation to carve your name in mike’s
coffee table and sign on the back wall. this summer I added
   mine alongside the kids I used to get nervous around in high school.
                       his mom comes downstairs with a joint of her own rolled
and a French manicure. her lip liner is too dark for her
lipstick, and phil’s warmly lit and ivan leans so far into the
couch he isn’t human.

mike sits up, “ma,
you know you owe me some money?” he changes the channel.
she laughs throaty, her insides a swamp. she’s
prettier when she’s high like this.
                       “I got your money,” she promises. it gets soft
from there and phil smiles over his body and ivan moves
further into the couch. she touches mike’s hair.

“good kid,” she tells me and I smile up at her. I wish I had
a body but I left it wandering through
the thunderstorm outside. ivan nods his hazy head.
          mike hands her a diet coke and she hands him a fifty and she goes—through the walls—
       phil digs his hand into the couch cushions to find papers. I go
ghost in the seconds it takes him to spark his lighter.

the ghost lights herself a cigarette.
   the ghost lights herself another cigarette.
               the ghost lights herself a cigarette. “are you chain
smoking now,” phil slurs playfully. “yes,” the ghost agrees.
     “are you having fun,” ivan turns to her.
                “yes.”

HUMAN
i don't want to know what love is like i want
                                       air that
                     tastes like apples and
       i want real raw
         brown sugar
       i want to shoot up every
grey second for two weeks— get frantic then
       take benzodiazepine until i shred my
stomach lining, singing
                                                    
            i want bud light and
a backyard. bed time stories and
            white furniture and ritz crackers
             with fancy party cheeses
                              i want to complain about the drinking age,
                              new york’s black-dusty wind charm. complain like the
                              moon is still lonely and not a destination
                                          i want to wake up in the sun spot
                                          i want to wake up to a baby crying
                          soft like mothers do, going to
                                     that dear one to quiet them down,
                                        i can be here to kiss you calm
                                                              i want to get out of bed
                                                              i want to call friends back
so winter can come and i can still
                              go home.



       WANT
         throwing on the rag&bon;; jeans,
         neither rag nor bone more milky skeleton-ized, eyes
         pin headed. faces struck yellow all tops of the heads
         with umbrellas and sorry throats. "here take mine" no
         "you'll get sick" it's fine
                                                        the gothic church with social strangers
                                                       ­ tweakers and nodders all smiley side-
                                                        eye­-Y
                        i know the gimme gimme
                        i know the routine
         and blondie (they think) here she comin she twenty years clean
         blondies a baby she weak as **** she dont know what she got
but i know the "i want" "i want"
         and the ok baby,
         Got U




HUMAN
i dont want to know what love is like,
                  i want to walk the manhattan bridge at sunrise
                  i want
                       grass wisps and capers
                       chicken noodle soup
                       a night at the new york city ballet
                       and pauses in sentences, in breath
                       the breath before a kiss or the breath
                       after it. i want instant hot chocolate
                       and reality television, ugg slippers with
                       faux trim. a bicycle painted lilac with a
                       basket, and clear skin. i want pier 63 on
                       a 70 degree day, the weepies playing
i want to be a ghost
            where ghosts are white sheets with two button eyes
             and make jokes about halloween and their past lives
i want to go there
to street fairs
and watch fireworks and write out names
in fresh concrete patches
                                                     i want to eat blackberries in the bathtub
                                                     i want skin to make me feel safe again
                                   i want to want to live
                                   but i know the "i want" "i want" and the ok baby,
Got U




WANT

they were right,
                               they were all
              going (right
they were righjt
they were right

air hanging eyes to dry
blood pull in push out brown golden push IN
  

they were right they were all right
nothing could ever make me as happy again



WANT

it’s a hold on something so quiet and soft in your hands and no one knows what it is and you dont know what it is. it’s the pin drop in a hospital room and so lemonade refreshing. im in a snowstorm and i cant see the city, cant see past my own two feet. im on a long highway drive and it’s rain that comes in sheets so hard i cant move. i walk and the world writhes underneath me and we put needles in our arms. and we wait for the blood push. and i watch my life go away in warm *******. and i watch it go this way like it’s not me. and i’m going home to ****** and i’m scared, i say outloud to maggie, “i’m scared i’m going to do something stupid,” and she is so quick to say “like what” that i know she knows what it is. and i’m so scared.





WANT

give up on me , I Know where im going. don’t follow. don’t even look for me. keep
Counting sugar cubes and stirring your coffee , it is my wish for you that it always tastes sweet.
I love you












WANT


i just wanted to be kept warm by something that looked like love



MAN
i walk slower on the streets of manhattan; stop at
   the strand, look for the man with eyebrow rings
asking "do you know where a girl in this city could get some relief?"
         he laughs, says he just looks like someone who would know
            that. he asks, "is that Monster Blood?”
                             &nbsp

In that position again...
You know,
the one where I need you
way more than
You Need Me.

i have such an urge
to tell you of all
the beautiful poems
i had spent nights creating
in memory of the day
in memory of the way
i fell in love with you
how madly i wanted to love you.
special enough
to carry a whisper of your name
deep within their meaning
a whisper of how much you meant to me
a whisper of how much you mean to me
so impossibly beautiful
that it makes me afraid
so very afraid
that you will scan
my written words
over and over again
with the same hazel eyes
the same eyes
that i saw galaxies in
the same eyes
that i still see galaxies in
and see nothing
but lost letters
on a sheet of paper.

My hearts beats against my ribs in rage, screaming don't lock me up in this cage, I'm in too much pain. These tears are all the same they take no fault or anger for my emotional complaints. I'm not a devil nor a saint. You promised you'd one but you never came. I think out loud who's really to blame for making me beautiful in my pain.

me me me me me me me
now that I’ve got your attention
I come from a long line of poets
if you could prop up all my fathers
the line would extend back
one hundred generations
so I know what I’m speaking about
so here it is:
there is something and there is nothing
something is divided evenly
between potential and actuality
the Tao is much more about the balance
of what could occur and what has occurred
than what is and what is not
because that is where the real action is
and we know very little about nothing
and don’t you forget it

My minds shut, insides ticking and about to erupt
I'm holding in all issues within
Wish my stubborn **** would just speak up
Nightmares in my cup, rolling on a bad dream
Walking alone with reality, my perception of you ain't what it seems
Ask "are you a human bein?"
Maybe he's still a villian..
Don't hide what you have inside, please...tell me your "true" feelings
As my ego remains in intense healing
With jokers I continue dealing.
Criticism as my decor, with old habits thrown on the floor
Clipped wings, so I jumped. Knowing ill plummet and never soar
Pushes becomes shoves
****, I've lost so much potential love.
By the way, I'm still a hopeless overthinker
Nothing has changed much.
But it has. I no longer feel I'm a spawn of my dad
I've grown into my potential
I can feel now what I couldn't reach
I listen to what people say
I no longer care to preach
I'm sorry to my uncle, I was lost without respect.
I apologize to my family, who never knew what was coming next
For my deception, lack of perception
I'm sorry to my ex.
With many words and few steps
I'm giving my all and nothing less
It's just so hard to improve your past
When people rarely saw your best.
With god by my side, I can't lose any fight
I will remain humble in my journey
I will help guide dark eyes to the light
I beg for the world to not quit, continue to doubt but learn to accept me.
It's not my family, it's not a woman, it's not my friends...I'm the only person who can reinvent me.

**Learning to enjoy life, if you work hard, it's okay to be proud
Excuse me for saying so much in a silent room...I was just thinking again...outloud.

"Ignore her" he said.
It was how this society reacts
"When someone isn't of interest to you."
Ignore her. Yeah.
I know how it feels.
To be pushed away without a chance
Or led into the dark and abandoned.
And when I get the power to do so...
When a girl overwhelms me with love
And I just cant....

In the end its inevitable.
Someone will get hurt either way.
And im supposed to live with that?
Until I forget?
Until it happens again?

In the shadows
grows the nightshade,
I know this well,
for we wondered there.
He laughed outloud
and promised love --
a promise I held fast.
I begged him once
to be in good faith,
and yet he strayed.

In the shadows
I plucked the blossoms,
bitter handfuls,
for my witch's brew,
made so sweet with wine.
He laughed outloud
and drank it down.
I watched and waited,
and smiled at last...

In the shadows
grows the nightshade --
there,too, my lost
   love lies:
lips so cold, and
   vacant eyed.
True to me at last.

I cannot be gay, say  
I cannot be gay, just say
I cannot be gay, gays
Think I'm pretty ugly oddly.
No guy crush can change my mind,
Say this outloud over one thousand times.
Given his kiss didn't beg for it,
That kind of affection could confuse a Pope or priest;
Could make any insecure boy think into it too deep.

we’re riding in your best friend’s car
where yah tell me that I’m cute
I just bow my head and say
you’re pretty cute yourself
you put your arm around my shoulders
and tell me I’m adorable
my body responds by touching your leg
my head just thinks “how can he be mine?”
he sings outloud, “please fall asleep so I can take pictures if you
& hang them in my room”
I just close my eyes and bob my head
to this tune that reminds me of you

It happens every Tuesday night
As faithful as can be
Her mama comes to spend the night
Just to torment me

She sits in my recliner
Her stinky feet, up high
She'll always pass a little gas
Each time, as I walk by

With her false teeth on my table
And hair all over her back
She grunts outloud when she chews her food
She sounds like a half starved yak

My toilet has to be replaced
It's never quite the same
That woman's as blind as she can be
And doesn't have very good aim

She falls asleep in my favorite chair
With her bladder like a thimble
She always pees where ever she sits
Then smiles, and starts to tremble

My wife just sits and shakes her head
Knowing, that I'm in pain
She says it's just an accident
As I clean up the stain

It happens every Tuesday Night
Old faithful, at its worst
Some men love their mother-in-law
But me, well, I'm just cursed

To live with a purpose takes more effort than they tell you.
Saying it come naturally might just nationally be the biggest lie.
When passions strikes you ride the wave, because it just comes and go's it never stays.
The way we make ourselves so vulernable.
Putting our own lives at stake to take place in a dust bunny we call history.
To stare and be amazed in aw we praise.
Those who rise with this struggle and come out with strength.
Riding that passion till it dropps you off straight.
Straight into the waves of life.
So you try to swim back to shore, and look back realizing theres nothing more.
They don't tell you when you start the descent you have to lose everything.
They just tell you to let go when you fall.
Hoping that we all,
Understand this life with half meant sentances disguised as fortunes.
Make it yours and live on your own.
But what does that mean.
You'll spend your whole life searching for something greater than yourself just to find out you are the greatness sewed in every seam.
And you live your life thinking it could be all a lie.
Its just one great big comply after comply.
So you lose sight. You might even forget how to breathe.
You might scratch at the surface just to remember the peak.
You might hope every night that the sunsets in remembrance.
So when you wake up at least something was consistent.
It's a daunting task.
Living for yourself.
But just remember,
You're the only one who'll take care of you when everyone's left.

On the bus,
the other day.
I saw a man who had nothing to say.
He was talking on his phone outloud, everyone could hear.
I never get that.
How can people be so open?

Are you one of those people?
Do you talk like that on purpose, trying to show the world who you are?
Like you do with your clothes and hair and music
This is ME, Look, I'm fun/interesting/intelligent
I'm a little quirky, I don't give a ****, I fit in
I BELONG

You what?
I BELOOOONNNGGGG

Or is it just where you came from, your family?
They were open - they were loud and confident so so are you.
I guess, like most things, it's a bit of both

W
E
L
L
L

I listened but as I said he had nothing to say.
So I looked to my music and pressed play                 <=========Super Cool Rhyming, So good at poetry
- to listen to more people with nothing to say.

But at least the way they said it sounded good

There is a song that few have learned
That make the fairies dance
A secret spell that must be earned
That puts them in a trance

Late at night, when the moon is full
The queen will soon appear
All the fairies push and pull
In hopes of standing near

For tonight, the queen will choose a king
When the song is sung outloud
As all the fairies begin to sing
She passes through the crowd

They bow their heads as she walks by
But each one steals a glance
Their wings point high toward the sky
As the queen begins to dance

They sing her songs of romance
In the meadow where fairies dwell
Hoping the queen will give them a chance
As each one casts their spell

Her king is finally chosen
The queen has picked her king
The fairies voices are frozen
'Til the next time the fairies sing

I’ve found myself feeling sad at night.
This is not something I say to make myself sound poetic or wounded.
Because no one should ever try to be those things.
They just are.
But as I was saying.
I’ve been feeling sad at night.
And I’ve tried my hardest to find the root of this emotion
Because every morning I wake up with the sun on my shoulder
And I swear I couldn’t thank God enough for the chance to breathe again.
For the chance to see and feel another day.
But I’ve felt this emptiness lately that the night seems to share.
This feeling of unfullfilment.
I’ve thought a lot about the cause of it.
The reason for this.
But there is none.
If anything I have every right to feel fulfilled.
I’m breathing, I have family who are very much alive.
I have friends I speak with every day
And still.
There is something
Missing.
I don’t know what it is.
I haven’t the slightest idea.
And this alone is the most unsettling part.
No root.
No cause
Nothing.
A perfectly healthy 18 year old girl
Who finds herself unhappy at night.
Sounds strange to say outloud.
But there it is.
And I know some would call it selfish.
Stop ******* about your feelings when people are suffering
People are bleeding
People are starving
People are cold
And I’ve found that it’s very easy to say these things about people I don’t know.
But I don’t know the struggles of others , and they don’t know my struggles either
So I can only pray that people don’t say these things about me.
Selfish isn’t it?
Nothing worth talking about.
But still I am.
I’ll just wait for the morning.

The alien aborigines ,  
They are a foolish bunch
Who do as they please.  

The alien aborigines ,  
They are good at everything,  
Like spreading ****** disease.    

They don't see me standing there,  
right beside them.  
That's because they're so easy to scare.  

I don't want to have to **** them..  
But for the planet's sake.  .  
Their future is uncertain, and so dim.

I should clense the planet earth,
Before they spread..  

Stop them all at birth,  
Till their kind is dead.  

I don't want to have to **** them..
Starry-eyed  and saddle footed,  
The cold wolf's gaze is grim.

Cut the throat in the sleep,  
Press real hard,  
So the blade sinks deep..  

You cry outloud,  
As mountains lie naked,  
Your species is too ****** proud.  

The alien aborigines,    
They know I'm here now,  
Theres overwhelming fear and unease.  

I need help badly,
You must come and save me!
They are looking at me madly.  
Think they are gonna **** me,  sadly.

These are the last days,  
Of a forgotten world,  
This is the end of a faze.  

Everything crumbling and dying,  
All the broken spirits,  
Even their souls are crying.  

If I die,  
Send another one out here.  
This is goodbye.

I sit in the waiting room until I hear my name
“Jennifer!?”
I stand and follow the nurse into the tiny room
As I sit she asks,
“Last name and date of birth”
She takes my blood pressure and temperature
“Do you feel safe at home?”
I answer yes for I live on my own.
I feel safest by myself.
“Any thoughts of suicide or self harm?”
A pause
“No” I quietly mutter outloud
And on she goes
Little does she know what’s going on inside my head
I can just imagine the look on her face if I had spilled out everything
“Well you see, I have extreme anxiety, I overanalyze every situation I’m in, I get panic attacks, I think about cutting at least twice a day, I contemplate suicide on the worst days and am depressed beyond belief
But you’d never be able to tell just by looking at me.
Even she wouldn’t know what to do.
No one would know what to do
Not even I
For I argue with myself every night
Back and forth
Back and forth
I don’t think I have the courage too
Every time I get close I just can’t.
Deep down I know the people who care about me would be devastated
Maybe one day it’ll all go away
And my mind will be clear
Maybe... just maybe

cool, just call me , we are juggling our sanity and the days like paper lanterns on rivers being used as paper weights for a days wages never paid,

and the walking dogs have all their leashes in a knot, but do not fret, I got this thing on a bet and a prayer,

with some help from good friends and one heck of a pinch hitter,
who brings the cows home on the bases loaded and the football bat is all out of whack and did it with a whiffle balled mad  hatter.  

as we are all a tasted disquieted and alarmed silently outloud of the load of horse **** and bravado  of the slightly deranged considerations to any being ******* the dead for their secrets ,

so yeah. But with our werewoof feet , Mohawk eyebrows in the alias mode of method of obfuscation uni-brows and mustaches, cause lets face it, with such stage as to fain the rain of a stain,

we need to rewind the kine and uncage the page of line after line of sweet *** whine, wine and more time blaze all the rage when beards don't do the trick in landing the babe with the need for a tree of good root and a wild spine eyed fool all hillbilly and too schooled in the dark arts of **** knuckling bad ways and stays into a gifted consorted construct while she sigh the not so **** shy, yes dizzy and high, and say, oh ****, who whoulda thought,

,, still I thought you would have been bigger,, like road house in the dancing days of rolling thunder and pouring blames mane all to educate mine eyes and teeth as to what is real to eat and all that is plastic fruit looking all to bitter sweet,  

including all the critters of varied skill, poise and swinging lawn mower blades like, biscuits and mustard, pathfinder style, calculator not needed but ****** is optional, and never forget the nuts that bolt all us fools into a clustered fuckery all betty crocker and country **** legs spread , I can't believe it's not butter said in the voice of Otis Redding ,

Signs of that sweet smile and of **** some body going to get a ******* tonight look in them eyes as they tool away and hint to my silly day and keep me on point like the six tossing a bloodhound a big round steak of shhhh, we are hunting rabbits here,

never mine us six foot white rabbit all werewoofed and donnie darkoed in our get the show on gear, lol, but ****, all that in such awesome packages as the friends and things in my head, all keeping me fueled in the art of war on the undead.

now this my friend is a day in the life of the It Squad, and we hit the **** like you cant quit the **** sqaud, so have a coke and a smile, laugh a while, we got this ****. ;-)  

What, I'm just shakin a spear at a bad bacon boy all francis nancy like... so funk yo skunk up son.

oh, da boy got the lo hold on the roll Soul, ****, son, swing lo sweet chariot, commin for to carry me no mo alone and in a **** good tone with a nice private home to give the good dog a bone.

So, yeah, weak like a good weeks hard glazy nights, all sir and silly, but you cant call me a lil *** ***** with my good hillbilly goofy eyed and swilly, Mooooon Shine on me .

Say love son, Yah to the Jah , Alma. cause you got tha soul sols, and if ya don't get this, then you don't have it. but we workin on that, right?

A crooked jaw through the middle of my bottom teeth
is a reward for a night well spent.
Charisma and charm,
the loquacious chasm between a visionary and a car salesmen.
Spent time, people, and energy
on credit
so that no one was left to stand between me and the pavement.
Now a canyon runs through my jaw
and I can’t smile right,
and my ear always hurts,
my chin clicks,
my eyes sit deeper,
my neck aches from looking over my shoulder,
tongue bleeds from biting,
mind’s weak,
linguistic chess,
anticipatory dialogue ripe with plastic fruit.
It leaves me nourished with doubt to speak outloud
and move outside my shadow.

Prematurely mourning
for a heart that hasn't broken yet,
I know the path is dangerous;
I'll risk it all again.

I see can see the quiet
illuminated in the night;
the silence speaks outloud inside
each time I close my eyes.

Nostalgic, painful memories
frozen, falling like hailstones,
and I hear whispered warnings
hidden in each wicked wind which blows.

What is normal for the Mother,
Is complete chaos for the child.