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Ilion gray Aug 2018
The people
Are going anywhere
where they will wait,
Where the aluminum tops of pop
Bottles crash to earth
Releasing one last
A kind of
Musical note...
A single sound through the corridors
Of order-
Watching the wind tease the trees/
Like the fastest boy
On the block,
Subtly walking
Over scattered grey
loose gravel
In the parking lot
Of the park,
Running his
Tiny ***** fingers,
The other boys heads
Dusty and
Filthy with earth and
Blood black and  smoldering
Beneath a ceiling of skin,
Every pore
Like a window
Waiting for the
One who knows,
To pass by,
All of them
Believing they
Were chosen.

I watch the wind tease the leaves of trees-
Just this way,
At play,
To the price of days,
Each one,
Their own.
Yet, both
The tree
And the child
Are Subtly dying,
Whilst also
Closer to the
The sky,
Those ageless eyes
their tiny fingers
stretched high
Reaching beneath
The ribs of wind,
the deepest end
Of the Seas of mid-heaven,
Into the sacred
Waves of secrets
God taught his only
Son to swim.

I also watched,
as the wind teased
The trees that held the leaves-
Each decaying
As they rise
They bend forward like,
golden fields of days
Like sun-beaten blades of grass,
Their giant broken bodies
Like stones
So still,
That at times,
unfortunate seconds
Drifting past
Too long
In the sadness,
Then crash
In the silence.

If you ask some of the
They will say
"We are going everywhere,
And yet we have found nothing-
While we wait-"

I have watched the wind tease
All that I can hold in my eyes,
Where there is life everlasting-
Left after
the years wrapped it's hands
Around my neck squeezing
Till my skin began
To die and wither,
Like a brown trout
Tired, and weary
Floating way too
Close to the bank
As the edge of March,
Eat the last days of winter,
Now the evenings
Fall like ash,
Slowly arriving,
covering my shoulder.
The long night has just begun
Solemn and Subtle, sewn with
And hours
Of days that dripping
Never fill,
Arriving always
at the coldest hour
From the woods
That none
Can enter,
Lest you have reinforced your thoughts
With stolen rays of sunshine
Lest you have mapped
Constellations in the
Shattered glass  
From the broken
Windows of your eyes
Amanda Nov 2018
Wish I could do something right
So words would ring true
Wish I met high expectations
Maybe then I could lose a few

I wish I was not weighted with
Weakness well within my core
If only I was put together differently
Strength would emit from every pore

I create my shortcomings
How am I sabotaging my own goal?
Not trying in the first place
Allowing fear to take control

My heart bleeds in anticipation
Before cuts have a chance to appear
Live my life in apprehension
Assuming danger to always be near

My motionless state of insecurity
Realm of dysfunctional doubt
I forever am encapsulated in time
My skull is a jail and I cannot get out
Not so proud of this one but eh.. here it is anyway

Written 8/25/18
Kevin T Wilson Jul 2013
A whispered warning...
What does it mean?
Was it a faint reality or was it a vivid dream?
She was a beautiful machine with fixed tight lips ,perky breast ,and uncuttable iron wrist.
A piece of peace ******* in by God.
A singing voice that seemed to pass threw my every pore ,but faintly spoke.
A message delivered with excellence.
"Come to me me and taste that the Lord is good!"
A fascinating warning!
What does it mean?
Mary a machine?
How can it be?
Aaron Elswick Nov 2018
If you give me long enough
I could paint a vivid portrait of myself
with every blemish and pore behind a brush,
and hush the voices that would criticize
unsubscribe and dance it up over in wonderland with the sycophants

put on my bedazzled pants
let the local singles know I'm a dancer
just a beating heart away
From being another square upon a lattice
a writhing mass of hair gel
and cologne working up the ladder to fuckboi status

Imma walk the line between
a marble arch eclipsing the sun
over an angel statue kneeling in prayer

and a black leather boot clad
bad *** with bad habits
but he's so cool he doesn't care

Look at him go
all on his own
with only a thousand or so, little paintings  
that are equally as photo shopped or filtered
just floating around waiting to see the show
and letting other people know they liked it
or not

What a spectacle destined
to leave us senseless and restless
what a test of the patience to be a ***** to the masses
to see my juxtaposition against the rest of the best of us
and think "I should go with clever with glasses."

What a brutal twist of civilized life
to have an AI made for driving my car
so I can shimmy down and sneak another **** pic
THROUGH SPACE, to some guy who works at taco bell's wife
Laura something or something

I'm so social
What a medium,
Exchanging ideas,
and hunting body heat from out of the ether,
to have the pleasing distortion
of the speakers
drowning out all the wearisome noise
of our contortions

"You gotta learn to love yourself"
She says, and posts another photo
buried somewhere under 60 layers
of dog noses and rainbows, and angel wings

Oh **** this isn't boyfriend material let me change some things

You don't ever need to change girl,
there ain't anything, in this world
That I wouldn't do, to be with you.

And the Brief exchanges we had,
didn't reveal any red flags,
that I am willing to skip on *** over.

So somewhere down the line,
when the filters start to fade,
we'll just kick that can down the road,
and neither of us will change.

And the picture's that we painted of our Love
will degrade.
I can be anything you want me to be, as long as it isn't honest.
Andrew Aug 2017
We're in ****
Can't you tell?
No you can't
You only listen to the teller
All other voices are drowned
Because he's a yeller
For the useless things we're bound
That fill up our cellar
And our living room turns into a dying room
When the seller is the jailer
And salvation comes from tailors
Who can cover up the pain inside
With all the comfy clothes we buy

Money is the blood of our society
It's circulation provides oxygen
But we spill money into spilling blood
And we're funneled into killing love
So we can concern ourselves
With people not getting things they don't deserve
Rather than people getting what they need
Our blood starts clotting
In the fortunate arteries
As the rest of our body goes numb
It seeks medicine for healing
And drugs become our autoimmune disease
Redistributing blood to the suffocated areas
An unfortunate recompensing for injustice
When the persecutors
Become the prosecuted
Lives are exploded
Like Afghan villages
Lives can grow back
Like poppy fields

That's the score
And it makes me want to score
Until ****** drips from every pore
And ******* fills me to the core
I could just live at the liquor store
Where benzos are my father
And **** my mother
So I can ignore the death of my brother
My family is in trouble
Our society is in rubble
Arianna Dec 2018
"... suffocated passion,
Bursting forth at last,
Simmering away between skins in ⸺
Tears? Sweat? ⸺
Or does every pore on your body weep, my sweetest love,
From your heart?
Aye, and my body cries with yours,
The crooks of our knees braiding tight,
Crushing this hollowness of expression...

Watching the pain leave your eyes
In sparks flying
Like fireflies,
Scattering embers across the sheets
As blood and pus
Gush forth from our souls
And into the Open
Between us:

          Open arms, open legs, open hearts,
          A Pandora's box of open wounds
          Emptied at last of evil;
          Kissing, licking
          These ointments of desire;
          Baring all,
          Bearing all of these burdens
          Together ⸺
          Old injuries closing over..."
AditiBoo Sep 2018
.......................................Hold me
.......­..................... Hug me
                                                              ­     Close...............................................
............­..... Invade me
                                                              ­            With all you might................
.........Protect me
                                                              ­         From all the blows....................
..............Comfort me
                                                              ­     Always...........................................
...............­......Guide me
.......­......................Lead me
                            Through life’s little maze...................................................

        ­                                              Teach me.....................................................
..Whateve­r you want to share
                                                           ­          Touch me.....................................
........Like I was your first
                                                           ­                 Feel me..................................
..Every pulse, every pore
                                                            ­          Know me....................................
............Beyond my very worst
                                                                   Trust me........................................
......................­.............To my very core

                                               See me...

                                         ..Believe in me
Incontinence of Pseudo-emotion has engulfed us from the 3rd grade.
It festered dormant for a little under a decade before it’s vessel popped.
A pore filled with ***** media which dehumanizes and objectives human beings
While making a spectacle and esteem of being promiscuous.
All that Dirt
Lathered in an oil of misdirection. A misunderstanding of affection, empathy and apathy.
Those who contrive the most emotion are perceived as actually possessing the most emotion.
Nothing can be farther from the truth.
This is the death of morality. A birth of Nihilism.
The miasma of the rotting corpse of ethos and emotional connection.
Is one that sits in the stomach and contracts illness not curable due to our understanding.
We have been taught that promiscuity will bring us happiness, and yet it is the most depressing.
Without understanding of that we are incurable from this **** affliction.
Momentary bursts of relief chafe the most sensitive areas of our skin. Without treatment.
We will be encased in our handmade carapace which will indefinitely block us from emotion.
Luckily someone invented lotion, soft tissues, and silicone.
touka Nov 2018
the first time I saw Algernon
I was sure, God existed,
but He'd looked away for a second too long
and Algernon was bred, born in that shadow
of the Lord's lashes

the first time I saw Algernon,
the world felt wider
and it all lead to his hands
every road outstretched to meet his feet

Algernon made my life feel precarious,
like it'd topple
delicate as a tightrope of cornsilk
and he tugged on it as so

the first time I saw Algernon,
his eyes bore into me
chipped away at me
like patient cleave to reluctant marble

if a feeling could be a man,
summarily, he was a wrenching kind of curiosity
just like when I'd have that dangerous appetite
to flip to the final page of the book I'd only just begun,
far too ahead of myself
just to see
pore over those unexpected words
though I knew it would only be trouble

the trouble with trouble
is that I am, in some sick way,
eager to see it

the trouble with Algernon was
he kept wise
and kept me none the wiser

he looked on me as a child would a bird with a broken wing
I cannot help you, but for the sake
of my yet untainted conscience,
I will convince myself I can
and let you die somewhere I can see
like the final page

and the cats tongue I ended up on
the band around my finger
the bite that never lost its teeth

the first time I saw Algernon,
it was a repetition of motion
some calculated corrosion

like gnashing fang
and shadow
and outstretching road
and patient cleave

and he was much,
too much

like me
Ted Jan 18
Your love poured over me, I was idle while soaking in your every ounce, that seeped into my every pore, 
I became so accustomed to your gift of Life,
  I lost my ability to tread water,
    now helpless as


We all are LOVERz in the being of BELOVEDz

I keep your LOVE secrets
Hidden in the depth of my eyes
You place your ears on my heaving *******
Listening to your melodious heart-beats

I can't even share with anyone
The intimacy YOU share with me
NO one ever has dared, except YOU
To be brave to enter my skin pores
YOU courageous! - Even to my surprised
I surrendered to your LOVE

YOU LOVE me so much that
I want to end my life in your warm hug
The way your eyes shower LOVE on me
No one has ever seen me like YOU do
I seriously can't stand so much of LOVE
Just swallow me inside YOUR being

Your presence makes my knees go weak
With goose-humps on my skin
With butterflies in my stomach
I run to the bedroom, waiting for YOU

With your breathe touching my skin
Every time, you try to breach
My personal space and private boundaries
You sown seeds and buds bloom
From every cell of my body
Scenting fragrance all over YOU
Every pore of my body craves for YOU
Your graft branches on my soul-***
Flowering colorful blossoms on me

YOU tease me much
Showing so much gentleness and respect
In the way you pluck each flower from my being
You turn me blood red with your foreplay
I bleed YOUR tears begging you to LOVE more

I want you to serve me
I want to tear your back with my nails
I want you to make it happen
Release me in a moment from living
From all the struggles life serves me

Where were YOU all these years?
Now you are here, never leave me!

When your breathe intertwines with mine
There is no gap in our sighs and murmurs
Till you are within me, you color me
Nature's creative palettes of LOVE
With joys, smiles and laughters of intimacy

But when you are not there
I become a whimper expressing
Dislike and unhappiness for every thing
When your roots of thoughts and being
Are not holding me firm, deeply
I die in your longing & crave for you helplessly

I want to run and come in your arms
And loose all my EGO, pride and status
I want to surrender my desired inert beauty
For you to worship me forever

Though I do not show my LOVE openly
I want to tell you this:

I will do everything during the day time
YOU ask me to do for YOU

I will do more for you during the night time
Those things we only fantasize about

I will be-witch you with my scent
I will cover you with my hair
I will embrace you like your skin
I will drench you under my showers
I will hide you under my bosoms
I will carry you within my ****
Where no one is / was / will be permitted ever
And I will release you only
When YOU grant me all my secret desires

This LOVE ballad is sung from centuries
By Zuliet, Layla, Heer, Radha, Meera, Rabia...
And more of us who AGAPE LOVE madly...
I cry for you Argentina
hectic planet’s southern corner
land of passion, crazy arena
aforetime our bonds were stronger.

No longer yours, you never mine
our lives belonged together once
I used to taste your scarlet wine,
your gorgeous girls, your charming dance.

The friends from ages, forgotten stories
so much privation, my heart is sore
my aging parents, the elder brothers
your call is clear I shall wait no more.

Exultant hugs, reunion is great
my parent’s sanctuary regaining life
but there is an end, a settled date
cruel farewell that sticks its knife.

I’ve seen those humid agates before
I've heard how silence can drown the wail
hair-raising feeling on every pore
they'll stand upright, I will be frail.

Oh, childhood playground! my old-time shelter
long time impeded of children laughing
no words no tears, this way is better
my love, my kids, my home are waiting.
Leaving your childhood place leaves a mix of sweet and sour feelings. Visiting back your birth country is an emotional experience.
Crown Shyness Dec 2018
It's true
in my weakest moments
I'd like to arrest you
to be bound together in our own cocoon,
and I wonder about the feeling
being one forever
slimy, sticky,
flesh no border anymore
every pore an open door,
a foreign word,
our hurt shared
rearranged to fur
we're wearing
between us
and the world,
no more difference
between you and me.

We're facing us, arms and legs
as deep as we can, feeling no end of bodies
entangled within the best *******
angle we can imagine, ***** in a self created ****
to come out again as new,
leaving behind what grew through
the pain in our *****
and intrusion further on will be only an illusion,
cause we'd die for an eternal fusion.
Every one of our openings
the other one's home.

Lips locked,
tongues caressing out every single rock
our heart is spitting
to the surface.

Hips crossed
my **** in you whole
feeling you contracting
as you try to be connecting
for the sake of killing
defensive acting.
It's all yours,
all yours
this hard flesh
as our hot blood is flowing
to the border of skin.

No words for what is happening within,
if I'd have to try I could only think of:

"Ephemeral infinity nurtured in waves, in tides,
in destroying the pride
of separation
through two linked parts of one heart.

And I wonder
what would be the offspring
of such kind of melting,
what would be the silhouette
we could be creating,
a new ethereal being
lighting up the world?
Simon Soane Dec 2018
In 1410 the village of Little Darling was a pretty nice place to live,
it’s houses were stout and wonderful and the people had lots to give,
the lord who owned the area was benevolent, he never ruled with an iron claw,
he spoke with softness and kindness, not knowing a cajoling roar,
he left the people to get on with their lives, unless they needed a helping hand
and then he’d be there to provide a peg up somewhere in his land.
Because of this the folk who made home here had it better then most peasants from this time,
who were condemned to a life of grinding servitude as if their living was a crime,
they were happier and joyful and free from the toil of subjugate,
each second was a pleasure and every minute spent first rate,
however there was one thing they shared with those who spent every day under the cosh;
everyone was filthy, no one liked to wash.
Only about once every 10 days would they pull bathing water from the well,
If they were especially filthy and their stink they wished to quell,
the rest of the time they didn’t care that they resembled a muddy shrub,
or their faces were still covered in last weekend’s off grub,
nor did they think it mattered if their hair was a matted mucky mess
or that compost heap didn’t smell more than their locks, it actually smelt less,
to them water was mainly a drink when their mouths were feeling parched and shoddy,
not a soothing liquid  with which to  cleanse their body.
Everyone in Little Darling didn’t mind being ***** and looking a unhygienic fright,
actually not everyone, everyone’s not quite right.
Alice always wondered why folk didn’t wash
and that’s not because she wanted everyone to be pretty, pristine and posh,
she just pondered as she daily made herself all gleam,
“why does nobody else round here care about being clean?
They all wallow around in their own filth like a burrowed germ,
more buried in soil than a busy earth worm,
I don’t get when there is plentiful water from wells not that far away
why don’t they dose themselves in the aqua good at any point in the day?
She thought, “Of course it’s their own life and if you never harm anyone else you can never do anything wrong,
but how how how can they fester in their own awful pong?”
So every day Alice would get up before she heard the going to work bell
and go and fetch some water to cleanse herself of smell,
she’d make herself all fresh and totally sans of grit and straw
and revel in the gleam she had coming out of every pore.
Everyone else in Little Darling all thought Alice was great,
a truly smashing lass who had tons of friends and mates,
yeah sometimes they’d remark to her “I don’t get your penchant for keeping yourself immaculate if I had to say
but who cares, I love you, have a fantastic day!”
And yes due to the mud in the village sometimes Alice would get herself all shiny and within a couple of hours look like she’d just crawled out of a cave,
but she didn’t mind as starting the day with a sparkle was what she did crave!
One fine day the folk of Little Darling decided to throw a big party as they adored a drink, a chat and a jive,
just have a massive night of  dancing, where they could give appreciation for being alive,
as Little Darling was a ace place they invited another village to join in the hedonism,
as they wanted folk to bask in hours through a wonderful prism!
When Alice heard news of the shindig she let out a chirping coo,
as revelling in the realm of fun was what she was really made to do!
As the week whiled to an end the day of the party came,
Alice could hardly contain herself as carousing ran through her brain,
she picked out her favourite garments feeling all of a super gathering quiver,
and then full of beans moseyed on down to the river,
she washed away with gusto and dressed all primed to go out,
“I’m on my way to get down and groove!” was her gleeful shout.
She started making her path to the good times, feeling all content,
she couldn’t wait to be immersed in the hub of blazing merriment,
as she was walking to the barn where the party was she encountered others making their journey to fun,
lit they all were by the going down sun,
someone said “hey Alice, I reckon you’ve spent an eternity scrubbing yourself for this bash”,
another said “yeah, I bet you’ve wasted hours by the river to get yourself prepared for this night on the lash!”
Alice replied and remarked, “yes I may have used my time getting myself ready and not been able to enjoy the chills and sits
but at least I don’t have hay in my hair like you ******* smelly *****!”
Everyone burst out laughing and happy all skipped to the revelry,
the slow dusk sky reflecting calm as far as the eye could see.
They jaunted into the barn with the music already in full swing,
the harp, drum, lute and trumpet players all doing their tuneful thing,
Alice grabbed a jar of foaming ale and started moving her body to the beats,
each noise in the air a consummate amazing treat!
Then from out of the corner of her eye she spotted a guy with dancing around in the air,
who'd cleaned his garb,
and washed his hair!
Alice thought "Wow! That guy doesn't look like his stench would make my opticals weepy,
in actual fact he makes my heart all leapy!"
They saw each other and felt swirls and sparks,
a knowing of what could and will be lover’s larks,
a chance they both knew could never be missed
and finalised their first look synchronicity with a longing kiss.
Everybody else stopped,
turned to look,
and knew a little bit more about
loves' rushing roars,
and couldn't help but breaking out
into a round of applause.
Alice felt a dawn,
reciprocated the smile of her fresh guy
and hand in hand they left the barn,
on their lips a glimpse of forever,
and went to find a empty stable,
where they could become all
***** together.
Nis Jun 2018
Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz.
Ojalá mi cara fuese atardecer de cien días
y se perdiese como música en la marea.
Ojalá mis notas fuesen fuego
que corriese raudo por tus venas.
Ojalá se perfumasen en el aire
y  diesen sentido al amanecer del alba.
Ojalá fluyesen como el agua
suavemente rizando la rojez del cielo.
Ojalá fuesen contundentes como la roca
y cayesen a plomo junto a mi corazón muerto.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz.
Siempre cambiante, nunca la misma
subebajando en el horizonte.
Tierna y vibrante, siempre difusa
alzándose hacia el cielo con alas desplegadas.
Dulce y salada, externa e interna,
por ósmosis entrando por cada poro.
Pesada y rígida, sólida y pura
cercenando la realidad con su ser preciso.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
siendo lo que no es,
no siendo lo que es.
En cada instante de su espacio manifestándose
en cada punto de su tiempo existiendo.
Única e indivisible, aunque difícilmente alcanzable.
Verdadera mentira que perdura tras los siglos.
Satírica cual elefante boca arriba
dando a luz a lo que siempre ha sido nuestro.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz.
Saliendo hacia la luz verdadera
y tornando hacia la oscuridad traicionera.
Volando hacia arriba y en picado,
oteándose a si misma , eterna y cierta.
Creando un nuevo mundo igual a este,
igual de distinto que este a si mismo.
Imitando la certeza de lo incierto.
Pretendiendo con falsedades llegar al verso.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
y fuese objeto de su ser
y fuese sujeto de su haber
y se realizase siempre que le dieses tiempo
y se realizase siempre en lo que siempre fue
y avanzase inmóvil hacia la verdad
y esperase impasible a la mentira.
Ojalá de cada error saliese un mérito,
una esperanza, una virtud siempre precisa.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
tornando el arte arcana en ente nuevo,
aunque sea falso.
En estúpidas epifanías tornando el acto
cual poeta escribiendo estos versos.
Ojalá repetir versos pasados en lenguas nuevas
y llamarse artista.
Mero comentarista y observador
de lo que precedió en tiempo y espacio.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
existiendo con sólo pensarlo
negando el pensamiento mismo,
lógica implacable mintiendo mi rostro,
contradicciones inapelables mintiendo mi ser.
Con precisión matemática ser mentira,
con la etereidad del arte ser verdad.
Ojalá como estafador maestro ante tu mirar
se hiciese música que disfrutar.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz,.
Ojalá mi cara no fuese jazz.
Ojalá no tener cara, ni nada.
Ojalá el solo pensarlo me dejase ciega,
sorda para la música de mi rostro.
Ojalá pasar por debajo de una escalera tirada
para no recibir buena suerte.
Ojalá austera o inexistente,
cual dios mirando tu filosofía vana.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
y unificase tantas corrientes
como puede abarcar con sus brazos.
Ojalá pudiese tornar cierta la realidad
por el mero hecho de pensarla, pero no puedo,
pero mi rostro se muestra impasible
ante desdicha tal y sigue avanzando;
regla dorada entre uñas de marfil,
largos palillos para comer la realidad desvirtuada.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
y revolucionase el mundo con su pensar
y desmontase heregías como ciertas.
Ojalá años más tarde siguiese su lucha
contra el infiel divino hasta su muerte,
y como la de un mono con barba
se tornase contra el padre de la ciencia moderna,
y le enseñase a pensar en sueños,
a soñar en vida, a soñar en muerte.

Ojalá mi cara fuese jazz
y se repitiese eternamente para mi suerte,
nunca cambiando, siempre presente.
Ojalá asesinase al padre de todo
y se adueñase de su lugar.
Ojalá existir antes de ser.
Ojalá rodar por la vida sin mirar a los lados,
destruyendo lo que tantas veces nos ha aplastado
y creando la belleza del arte, que es eterna.


I wish my face were jazz.
I wish my night were sunset of one hundred days
and it lost itself like music in the tides.
I wish my notes were fire
which ran swift in your veins.
I wish they would perfume itself in the air
and gave meaning to the morning's sunrise.
I wish they flowed like water
softly curling the sky's redness.
I wish they were sturdy like rock
and they plummeted next to my dead heart.

I wish my face were jazz.
Always changing, never the same.
updowning in the horizon.
Tender and vibrating, always diffuse
rising towards the sky with open wings.
Sweet and salty, extern and intern,
by osmosis entering through each pore.
Heavy and rigid, solid and pure
cutting through reality with its precise being.

I wish my face were jazz
being what it is not,
not being what it is.
In every instant of its space manifesting itself
in every point of its time existing.
One and indivisible, although hardly reachable.
True lie which endures beyond centuries.
Satiric like elefant on its head
giving birth to what always has been ours.

I wish my face were jazz.
Going out to the true light
and turning to the treacherous darkness.
Flying upwards and in a dive,
scanning itself, eternal and true.
Creating a new world equal to this,
equally as distinct as this to itself.
Imitating the certainty of the uncertain.
Trying with falseness to reach the verse.

I wish my face were jazz.
and it were object of its being
and it were subject of its having
and it came true always you gave it time
and it came true always in what it always was
and it moved fordward unmoving towards the truth
and it waited impasible the lie.
I wish of every error a merit would come out,
a hope, a virtue ever precise.

I wish my face were jazz
turning arcane art into a new being,
even if false.
Into ****** epiphanies turning the act
as a poet writing this verses.
I wish to repit old verses in new tongues
and to call myself an artist.
Mere commentator and observer
of what preceded it in time and space.

I wish my face were jazz.
Existing with only thinking of it,
negating thought itself,
implacable logic lying my visage,
unnappealable contradictions lying my being.
With mathematical precision being a lie,
with the ethereality of art being the truth.
I wish that like master con artist before your looking
it turned itself into music to enjoy.

I wish my face were jazz.
I wish my face weren't jazz.
I wish I didn't have a face, nor anything.
I wish only thinking of it made me blind,
deaf to the music of my visage.
I wish passing under a fallen ladder
to not receive good luck.
I wish austere or non-existant,
like god looking at your vane philosophy.

I wish my face were jazz,
and it unified so many streams
like it can embrace with its arms.
I wish I could turn reality true
with the mere act of thinking it, but I can't,
but my visage shows itself impassible
before such misfortune and continues onwards;
golden rule among ivory nails,
long chopsticks to eat the desvirtuated reality.

I wish my face were jazz
and it revolucionised the world with its thinking
and it disassembled heressies as true.
I wish years later its fight would continue
against the divine infidel until his death,
and like a bearded monkey's
it would turn itself against the father of modern science,
and it taught him to think in dreams,
to dream in life, to dream in death.

I wish my face were jazz
and it repited itself enternally to my fortune,
never changing, always present.
I wish it assassinated the father of everything
and took its place.
I wish existing before being.
I wish rolling through life without looking sideways,
destroying that which always has crushed us
and creating the beauty of art, which is timeless.
Ufff this was a long one, took some time to translate it and I think is as accurate as a translation of a poem can be, but any advise regarding it would be appreciated. I know it sounds pretty random, and it is, as it was made mostly through automatic writting; but there is a common point joining the whole poem and giving it order. If you really like it, give it a few reads and see if you can find it ;)).
You keep asking me about my past lovers
and whether i still have feelings for them.
You become upset when i don’t keep a straight face.

Yet, it is not my fault. For i can’t help but smile when i think about later tonight.
Pore excreting upon pore,
and how my fingers will through comb your hair.
Hira malik Aug 2018
Dead dreams
She was just a maurderer
Whose symphony was unsung
Amongst the mountains capped with glaciers
Melting like your heart in awe of that love
Which u have kept as a secret under covers of its corner
The growing plant, inside the earth, silently u water
And its rooted deep, the same kind of excruciating, killing me softly kind of love!!
And that strong wind, on the top of world
When u lissen its buzzz,
Feel it inside each pore of your windshiled,
Same kind of thunder
Claps around me every second
Since after keeping this love,
Like a sprouting bud
Like a child in the **** making
Likewise my love, u have evolved every corner of me in ur love!!!
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