They say be skinny but not too skinny. They say be girly and lady like, for that is pretty.
They say be curvy but only in the right places.
They say always have a smile on your faces.
Who made such rules?
Who were these people so cruel?
Why can't I just be me?
Slowly in my head the truth starts to creep.
They too were never accepted for who they were.
They too were shamed for every freckle, every curve.
It is not their fault entirely, now I see.
They just don't want us to face the hate they had to feel.
In the process of getting the world to like us though, we started hating our own bodies.
Taught to be somebody's instead of somebodies.
Is it alright that they won't let us be ourselves?
Shouldn't they know better since they've been through it themselves?
The world before them changed them, got into their head.
But we must not give in, or the real us will be dead.

They are brave young men, those, who have gone off to war,
“They’ll all be back soon, ” on the posters they saw.
But they aren’t back so soon, and they’ve fought and the’ve fought,
And some feel they’ve fought for a cause that was nought.

Years have passed by but the battles wear on,
And the news comes back home that more young men are gone.
Never to come home to the land of their birth,
As the fall to their deaths on some strange foreign earth.

As the wars carry on in some guise or another,
We are told of a death, and its somebodies brother.
Its some bodies son, or its somebodies dad,
And we all feel the same, this is all so so sad.

But where will it end, When will it stop?
When can solutions be found at the top.
When can world leaders, see some common sense,
And stay out of these wars, just sit on the fence.

We cannot allow for our men to keep dying,
For people abroad who continue defying.
They don’t want our help, they don’t share our views,
The death of our soldiers doesn’t appear on their news.

We need to accept, that their lives are quite that,
Their traditions are based on historical fact,
To them we have no right to be interfering,
In those countries away where the heat is so searing.

So lets bring them home, all those boys far away,
In the countries out east holding evil at bay,
The powers that be need to find the world peace,
But by talking together & making wars cease.

Somebody’s watching…
The heat of a glare bouncing against your back
Following every move every step you make
Sending shivers down your spine

Somebody’s watching you…
Waiting on you to make a mistake
So they can pick up where you left off
And leave you with his foot in your face

Somebody’s watching…
Sit up and take notice
Watch your back
Cause their just waiting to take your place
Move in your space
Leaving you too tired to pick up the pace

Somebody’s watching…
Taking notes
Dictating what you do and what you don’t
Learning your fears and your weaknesses
Watching, waiting…
Patiently waiting to get beneath your skin
To find out what makes you tick
Cause their only there to win

poems are like the seasons,
constantly changing yet always beautiful in their own way--
ironic, tragic, sadistic, blasphemous.
i can smell the sweet scent of the crescent moon
as it's cold white rays dance across my eyes,
around my head, in one ear and out the other
so quickly that a whistling whisper reverberates inside my dome,
yet unknown to me was the feeling of fleeing--
running away to a land of John and Jane Doe's,
nobodies to me, though somebodies to themselves, I suppose.
here we would sit, regressing our last lines,
of crescent moons, yet now the sun shines.
how can it be?
such a social tragedy, to escape and relate
life as it was to the life chosen to take.
no more "dudes", "dawgs", crude words or flaws--
just life as we know it, no need for applause.
the dying days of life astray have taught us and led us on our way
to the tundra of thunder, it crashes down and haunts us,
once cold, no light, now steaming and much too bright.
go ahead, raise me to the Heavens,
i dread the day my angels no longer beckon,
"His path is now set, we can intervene no longer."
demons will rise in rupturing riptides
as Hell freezes over, yet flames override.
Carpe Diem, Carpe Nox,
i've seized the seasons squealed the silver fox.
the crescent moon looked down that day,
upon us all, upon the choices we made.

SOMEBODY'S little girl-how easy to make a sob story over who she was once and who she is now.
Somebody's little girl-she played once under a crab-apple tree in June and the blossoms fell on the dark hair.
  
It was somewhere on the Erie line and the town was Salamanca or Painted Post or Horse's Head.
And out of her hair she shook the blossoms and went into the house and her mother washed her face and her mother had an ache in her heart at a rebel voice, "I don't want to."
  
Somebody's little girl-forty little girls of somebodies splashed in red tights forming horseshoes, arches, pyramids-forty little show girls, ponies, squabs.
How easy a sob story over who she once was and who she is now-and how the crabapple blossoms fell on her dark hair in June.
  
Let the lights of Broadway spangle and splatter-and the taxis hustle the crowds away when the show is over and the street goes dark.
Let the girls wash off the paint and go for their midnight sandwiches-let 'em dream in the morning sun, late in the morning, long after the morning papers and the milk wagons-
Let 'em dream long as they want to ... of June somewhere on the Erie line ... and crabapple blossoms.

I want a nobody.

A faceless commuter swearing as the machine ignores his credit card. Or the guy two tables to the left who isn’t checking his watch because he isn’t waiting on someone. Any hoodie-wearing, adidas-laced, prospective english major rambling along the sidewalk.

I want a nobody.

‘Cause there’s never a somebody that won’t say “I love you” because it’s numbed by too many mouths that don’t form their lips the right way. The somebodies slide it off their careless tongues—

because little words are pennies in tip jars.

But Nobody, he’ll say

I love the way you put on a jacket
like some kind of whip-snap in the lapels and collar
tipping your chin up and
hooking your silver-ringed thumbs in the pockets

and I love how you flip through books
eager to break the spine but not fold the pages
holding your breath to hold the focus
propping open a paperback between long tapered fingers

and how the barista at the coffeeshop knows your face!
and blush rises like foam on your cheeks

because it’s so ******* incredible how
when you drum your fingers
you don’t drum you press
into a phantom piano
the treble clef of Linus and Lucy
or The Entertainer
or, if your eyes have already gotten deeper
—in a mossy well of thought—
it’ll be Augustana’s Boston
dancing C-E-C-E-G-E-C-E
in the jumping tendons of your right hand.

                  *

oh darling, I’m in love with
your clumsy movements when you fall into bed
wrapping a thick comforter over your bare shoulders
curling your legs as you settle on your side
hair fanned out on the bedsheet because
the pillow’s too close to the wall


but lovely, I don’t love you
because I’m not real at all

It is all just a little bit weird.
Seriously. Even words.
WRONG! multiplied by echo { to the power of F(t) }

Soliloquy. There is no audience.

Imagine an empty hall. People were there once. Somebody left a ticket stub.
Dated 1984, 268 AF (after ford)
Sometime round then. They existed. Somebodies. People.

F(t) is exponentiality

It's a tale as old as time,
Like a fine wine that's aged.
Getting more bitter, rather than sweeter.

I look in the mirror. My reflections stares back at me.
The edges blur and fizzle, waiting to reveal, to see.
The face in the mirror resembles my face, only less clear.
Instead she looks at me, eyes wide with fear.
She snarls her nose, growls and hisses.
I look back, in time, she reminisces.
About the days we would share the same face.
About a time, we lived in the same place.

Now she shouts, WHAT DO YOU WANT?
I scream, she continues to haunt.
Why don't you like me? What's so wrong?
YOU ARE WEAK, I SHOULD BE STRONG.

I look away, count to three.
Ground my feet, think of me.
I am not weak.
I look at her again. I am NOT weak,
I say with a look so bleak.
YOU ARE she judges,
JUST LOOK AT YOU, she begrudges.

I bite my nail, look away again.
I try to hide the pain.
The girl in the reflection laughs and chortles
YOOU ARE FEEBLE, just like all mortals.

I AM NOT! I scream. I AM ME AND WHO ARE YOU TO SAY?
THAT I AM JUST SOMEBODIES PRAY?
But look at you, getting defensive against your own reflection
You could say it's merely a deflection,
Of your self worth
You might as well be a still birth.
You bring no value to this world.
She spits the words, lips curled.
I HATE YOU.
I HATE YOU TOO.
OH BOOHOO POOR ME POOR YOU.

I collapse on the floor,
I can't take much more.
What will the next face bring?
I rise from the abyss,
I can barely withstand this.

The next face is kinder.
Another meek body behind her.
Who are you?
I ask askew.
I am you, and you are me.
Let me show you what I can see.
I see a person whose been through a lot.
Every-time they get back up, down they are shot.

I nod cautiously, is this a trick?
Quickly she'll be coming back, I'll be quick.
There's many faces that you can see,
Be it you, us or me.
I understand the torture you hold inside,
Let it go, be free, we want to take your side.
But how? I cry, tears falling of my cheek.
Keep going slowly, week, by week.
I nod slowly, I cry a lot more.
My arms are shaking my throat is sore.
I can't keep fighting, the monster in my mirror.
Every day she keeps coming nearer.

That's okay, you will see.
One of these days you will be me.
And the little girl hiding behind you?
It's another face of you know who.
I shakily nod, and enquire,
Why she's hiding, as if about to transpire.
She's hiding from the face in the mirror.
Just like you, it's becoming clearer.
We don't like what we can see.
I don't like it anymore please believe me.
I know, I know, my reflection says.
But please let it be just a haze.
The girl in the mirror stood before you.
You can choose what she does do.
It's a hard rope to walk, and I walk it well.
I know it's hard, for you to tell,
But you have a choice, a voice, a speech and sound.
It's hard when she's screaming, I feel drowned.
Shush now, it will be alright.
I can't keep fighting this ****** fight.
I feel so tired, exhausted and spent.
I know, I'm sorry but it's time we both went.

I stare at my reflection. She stares back at me.
Eyes brown, hair soft, no expression to see.
She doesn't blink. I don't too.
We are now the only two.
Blankly looking out at me.
Wishing that we both were free.
Who are you? I mouth at her,
She copies me with silence despair.
I don't know and **** my head.
She does too, heavy as lead.
I'm so drained, she echoes my words.
Is she mocking me, like mocking birds.
She scrunches her nose, as do I.
We nod to each other and say good bye.

I avoid the mirror the next day or two.
Hiding from the reflection, keeping out of view.

i wasn't tired until you
fell into my arms

and i wasn't tired until
i threw a thousand
weightless snowdrops
to the ground

and i didn't hurt until
the first word
and now
my home is a loud
roar of reverberations
that pass through me

(like a million spoken knives)

and i didn't understand
pain. Until your somebody
stumbled into me

and i couldn't let go
(because they were made of ash)

and i felt the weight
of so many somebodies
(suddenly)

and i began
to think

that - my existence
(the sea
the sky
and the nothing between)
manifested to
pulverize
the
planet
with
each
further
strained
breath
until
it
can
feel
each
pinprick
loss
of
life
it
enforces.

And maybe my rage
forged bellowing
stormclouds over deserts
or made rivers flow backwards
from storm surge (tear driven)
but the somebody i'm not

and the somebodies i carry

will never
be more threatening
than a fadeaway
wind that cries with the lone
wolf.

How ironic to not seek the tools yet drool on them
To see the instruments and break down like a phlegm
How naïve of us to use the gym as an excuse
To prolong it, as if it were drug use

Some call it dopamine others call it clarity
Most see an opening to showcase their barbarity
Called less of a man to those "better off"
Called less of a woman to those showing pictures with their sweater off
Lust driving companies to show children compromised
We see these plaything while revenue boosts the enterprise
Anime, video games, novels and Tv
Nothing seems too extreme for these mediums
Beheading, shredding, **** and made "Dream-like"
Topics have been explored beyond their tedium

**** is accessible and Ai makes your dream man
Merge yourself with your idol beyond the imagination of a regular Stan
Be praised for wearing Japanese ******* and condoning said behavior
Treat somebodies feet pics like your very own savior


The beast wins not with wit, but with a pattern
To catch us in the act frozen still like Saturn
Internet connections show us the milky way
And your hands remain adamant, your mind filthy

The beasts doesn't care of November, nor valentines or about your crush
It waits to clamp you, and turn you into dust
Too ashamed to seek humanity, too far gone to find morality
Repeated until insanity, Your mouth blurting profanities

And yet we blame the beast when our relationships end or we cant break a ***** habit
Then try to pray to catch up to the Sabbath
Why Lie to the beast and to ourselves?
To those who use their hands or run to cheap hotels
Is ******* more worthwhile than redemption?

The beast is with me as I type this, judging my every move
It laughs, uses slurs and denying my attempts to improve
It lives in you, no matter how content you are with your sexuality
And does its all to destroy your Mentality

I drown my broken heart with the slow poison beneath the orange glow of the exit sign. Cheap goldent tequila wreaking havoc on my liver. Nothing changes from day to day for me, my misery stems from selfishness thinking of myself and my problems and my own tears_ while the true broken hearted sleep on cardboard beneath the stars. I've been in love before, I was a child, I wanted her name tatooed over my heart I wanted her lips on ny neck and my chest. Her arms tangled and legs spread, teenage ***** moan heavy on my ear. I rember sweat and hair being pulled and ciggarette smoke and perfume and love letters, shaving my head in the livingroom. ******* in the attic of the church while your aunts wedding went on downatairs. its not easy to forget those things, smoking a joint after a long night of drinking and ******* like animals, you looked at me, and you seemed a million years away, your black hair stuck to your sweaty skin, on your neck and your naked chest and the pillow and you said, Jacob, I love you. Cutting me with blue ice eyes. Your knees pressed into my stomach as you carve your name above my heart. I thought it was beautiful when you took that carpet knife quickly sterilized in whiskey and pressed it to the white skin of your hip and carving an ugly "J" big and red and bleeding. Wiping clean the drops with your long white fingers and mingling our blood on my chest.
Asleep
Your eyes fall into the steady rhytm of dreams,
Thoughts of us having white babies
And going to church
And growing old
And being young
And being somebodies
I slip on my pants and boots
And step out of the trailer for a smoke
Looking at the moon
Looking at the light on in the neighbors bathroom
Looking at the bikes in the yards
Looking at the birds
And your name carved above my heart
Red
Torn
Flesh
You tore away my innocence
As I tore yours
We were children
And I had much to learn places to go and not too long away
Back when the drinking was fun and the needles were fun
Back when we were Sid and Nancy, back when I fell asleep inside you and mingled blood on my chest like some ritual of fate.
Back when we rode fast on the ******* Harley  next to the sea
And I picked you up at work
When I broke my hand on Jeremy jaw for slapping your ***
But now
I hate your name
And the scar on my chest
And the cigarette burns around it
And the faded blue tattoos
I love another now,
Someone gentle
Someone understanding
Someone with a real red beating heart
Someone who understands
That the world spins
And we are just two specks
Seperated
And clinging to the same earth

Glowing Windows embedded into mouldy brick walls
Ivy climbing the gutters of neighbourhood roofs
Skies becoming burnt out like charred blackened fields

Tall spiny trees project shadows onto the road below
Leaves curl up to receive some weakening light from above
A formation of sputtering cars cling to each turn they decide to make
Cloudy milky light bounces off faulty windows that exhale the aroma of somebodies impending supper

A heavy truck manoeuvres itself into the blistered bitumen horizon
Dry deflated branches make obscene gestures towards passers-by
Gardeners rummage through their bags as they near the end of their working day
Their faces filled with an expired enthusiasm for breathing

Parked hunks of metal pelted with dead itchy leaves
Windscreen wipers hold fragile twigs down against grotty neglected glass
Chain-link fences link disparate housing and the sleeping people within
Some dispirited unsatisfied psychos gaze up as they catch a moving bus

Smoky Incense billows down from some apartment balcony
The air becomes cold and sharply fills these ordinary streets
Engine sounds try to supress the divine quietness
They only merge into it

Now the stars are out and about
Bright specks waddling in an aerial pool of dark blue
You turn the key and walk through the front door

The winter outside is cold,
But the pale skin pales in comparison to the ice in peoples' hearts.

We're deprived of organic necessities and forced into community peasantries,
That rely on the institutions as much as Wal-Marts.

Historical facts are often masked by watered-down history books.
What if I told you the facets of your life
Are managed by murderers and crooks,
That **** the livelihood on all who're deemed below?
They've all the world-wide power within their grasps,
Yet to none other than blood will they bestow.

The media's mediated control over our minds,
Refusing to let you grow and flourish.
Throwing pesticides on what you choose to chew,
Yet we tend to believe we're well-nourished?

The sky has been taken over, with contaminates and missiles.
Confined with egg shell on our feet,
Because we've chosen to blindly oblige government officials.

The relationship is similar to that of scientists and lab rats.
We put our best efforts in for a minuscule piece of cheese,
While they make money off of you while producing more as they please.

So maybe we wanna follow our dreams,
And earn degrees to ensure that* We really are Somebodies,
...Then fall into a dark debt hole for doing so,
Barely able to find jobs in the fields we gave our whole.

..Then we rush to the polls..

High on promises and a "better America",
Forever blinded by the Right and Left paradigm
That you don't realize those you've been arguing with are right there with ya!

This regime we're under, it's been said, follows a model of the Roman empire.
The Revolutionaries that exemplified love, justice, and courage,
Are being picked off to this day, and you still think I'm just here to conspire?
Well there's an opening now, I'm gonna take it
And spread truth against all those that forsake it until my body is to retire.
I may go down without a blaze of glory, but I won't be known as a liar.
If you don't take a stand with me, know that you too will fall prey.
Invest time into knowledge and self-awareness,
So that one day peace and honesty will find a home in the land of the brave.

This world's a brutal business, manipulative and cold.
But it can't compete with the heat emitting from my soul.

We are one, help each other thrive, all while having fun.
The conscious revolution will emerge, before our time here is done~

One love, that's all the ranting for today
I hope peace is with you, Namaste.

I finally ******* get it
I need to know when to stop
I need to know when to focus
Enough of the smoke and mirrors
And all the hocus pocus
I’ve got to be preoccupied
To keep everything off my mind
What am I doing with my time?
Am I only a distraction
Instead of being the action
People wanna move
Standing still will make em snooze
Instead of being tight
I’ve never tried with all my might
Nobodies going to tell me what to do
If I expect it I’ll be *******
I cant let my **** be loose
Waking up is only the beginning
The rest of the day still needs some filling
My level needs to be higher
So I can gain and be desired
My brain had gone haywire
But I’ve finally fixed the wires
Finally some of my demons can retire
There are more moments when my head is clear now
Maybe I can finally get the standing ovation while I bow
I want to inspire
Be more than just admired
I want to truly be love
Tired of the when push comes to shove
I don’t want to fight anymore
There’s somebodies children I want to bore
What kind of mother would I be if I was just another chore

“There’s 7 billion, 46 million people on the planet and most of us have the audacity to think we matter” –George Watsky  

Dear George,  
You were there for everyone else. I cried for them all while my dad begged you in whispers,
and you melted into the crowds of people,
and you dove from the balconies,
and pretended like the world consisted of somebodies.
You left me with cold copies and ignorant earth.  
Somehow you made 4am into something selfish.
I was losing lessons I was willing to learn. I had no songs to sing,
while you were serenading the ****,
and were packing his bags, and became his love letters for her,
and you made me lose someone I never had.

You wrapped every lesson I ever needed up in an empty inbox.    
You painted San Fran diamond sidewalks empty gold,and I needed you!
You were there for the mutilated, and kissed their filthy trigger fingers, and spat on birthday wishes, and you made me desire the life of a passenger.
You were the only one that reminded me how to smile; you drowned out slamming doors…  
You didn’t have to make the water thicker or make the bottom seem so far.
You didn’t have to give them boats of Titanic shards!
Your silence  made sinking inevitable.  

You gave me more with empty hands than I ever would have thought.  You taught me that every hero dies,
and that I will always love the traitors,
never love cardboard cutouts, or dream of cardboard castles.
You showed me how it feels grasping at ghosts,
and how much you can doubt,and just how much that hurts.  
I hope you never write your idols.  

With Love,  
The Girl That Will Never Learn

Haven't you met anyone yet?
They like to ask

I've met a lot of somebodies
But I am a difficult person
Even I wonder how I live with myself
I  complicate things when I don't  overthink them

Why would you ask that?
Haven't you met me?

No. I cannot say that it's okay...i wanted to be the one to say that, but i let you in...let those scary unrehearsed parts of me dissolve into the dark of your three a.m. bedroom...allowing you to be close to me...believed in an us...trusted and had faith you wanted this, me...

No. i cannot say that i am okay...i came in looking for you to reject me... gave you every chance to take it back...constantly checking your temperature to see how much ground i stood upon, unsure if tomorrow was too uncertain for plans...your lips stamped reassurance on my forehead and hands tugged at my waist reeling me into your bed...

No. I cannot say that i understand...with you i felt joy and peace...you sliced through the silence with your early morning exhortations grieving for the pain you already knew you would deliver...raw passionate vulnerability...you ****** me so tenderly and moaned my name...smiled and met my gaze telling me your stories...i fell in love with who i am when i am with you and you cannot tell me why i won't feel that again...

No. you cannot tell me why you made a fool of me...connecting so completely disarming my heart with false pretenses...betrayed my self preservation and doubts to feel you closer to me...you watched me glow and giggle, sigh and shiver, kissed me long as if i belonged...as if to say "here's what you can't have,
lovely isn't it?"

No. I cannot be angry with you...i am aching with the salty sting of your tears as i held you to my breast...i do not want to hurt you or be painful for you...this is not who i am...i want to be the girl who lashes out with six hands and no hope to contain herself exploding into sobs when you say in cliche that you just want to be my friend...you told me when i just couldn't fall apart...

No. i cannot say that i will be the strong one...you will maybe talk to me a while out of guilt or self-esteem garnering reproach...and then disappear into the ether of somebodies i used to know...from whence you came...

No. you cannot tell me that i do not have a hole in my heart...dejected, replaceable, unlovable me...i doubt i'll ever know why, how you could do this to me...thought that i was coming home via chicago...traveled eight hundred and twenty three miles...you broke my everything down...

You are all those words left behind...the haunting almosts that were caught by my heart on their way to my mouth...
I am everytime you hold your breath... exercising patience and terror simultaneously...

our souls we're much too big for our bodies,
it was bursting out the seams of our small limbs.

maybe everything started that one day
in seventh grade when we lied about what movie we were
going to see,
and we put up our hair in brown piles on top of our heads
and squeezed into pants so small we could feel our bones pressing against
the fabric.

when we walked into town,
miles from your house in the dusty summer,
with me dragging my skateboard along,
with the skull on the bottom
and you walking with you long legs slightly in front of me;
drunkards with
swiveling eyes whistled at us from
a green jeep and tried to cajole us into the car,
my small ******* was ****** high into
the sweltering air
"******* YOU MISOGYNISTIC *******,"

we couldn't get into the movie we wanted to,
so we snuck into a different one
filled with snow and dark
and twirling tendrils that reached toward us and
made our stomach crawl.

sometimes i miss the times desperately
when we would pack things into a small cloth
sack
food, knives
we'd trek in the forest for hours and
this one time we broke into somebodies pool, dipped our feet in
then got chased away by their livid dog.

we had left the gun we brought there,
you had two and we liked feeling it cold against our
empty fingers,
so i had to run back and get it.

sometimes i think about how if i had never met you,
my life would be so different.
i would have never smoked my first joint
with you on your trampoline
encased in large, fluffy blankets
under millions of stars that couldn't quite fit in our
eyes all at the same time.

we would have never pranced in
yellow drying grass,
and almost fell into your creek, with
your brother laughing behind.

i'm glad we wrote songs
together even if they were about
blood dripping slowly from our open carcasses;
we weren't the most optimistic kinds of
girls.

we had wills as hard as
hitting iron,
metallic in spurting bloodshed.

we were rebellious,
like other girls we're pretty,

and we fought like warriors should
in small, bland classrooms
with teachers who knew nothing of being hurt.

our voices were strong,
unwavering like something found in the depths of a morning sky.

we raised ourselves well, darling.

you'd think in life
we'd be able to do anything
and not let emotions get in the way
...........................................................
s­adness
crying every night
watching the latest soap operas
and you think you might die
anxiety
for that upcoming test
you try to study
but your brain feels like a huge mess
fear
a shark in the water
biting at your feet
hearing this
you may not be able to sleep
anger
you get so mad
you may blow up
and bite off somebodies head

Twelve days without eating, and I’m feeling rather ill;
My failure to come to grips, well, it gave me a great chill.
Throwing Fists and throwing glass within my twisted haze;
Everything before now has been swept away.
So check the seams of your diamond rings
And underneath your rugs-
You may find somebodies blood.

It felt so wrong so dangerous to walk into the streets,
But I was tempted by political jive and jab and confrontation with the police.
Then I found myself stuck between pepper spray and a checkout line at the mall;
Think fast, everyone’s gone mad
This must be stopped or stalled
I’m a rag-tag revolutionary
With a pocket sized copy of Shakespeare’s dictionary;
It’s a good one…

Now truth be told I was all-alone in an alley with Peg-Leg-Pete;
With every step he took he nearly broke my foot, and with his hook pointed back to the street;
There was a greeting from a whaling trumpet, which threatened me like a storm.
In the blink of an eye funnels fell from the sky,
And Pete yells, “You’ve been warned!
You’ve got to keep your head, or end up dead
In a twisted up puddle of muck.
Keep on moving, don’t test your luck.”

The revolution is in full blaze, and the tires are spinning hot;
The examiners are walking all around, examining what they’ve not got.
Through the toxic fumes and burnt out storefronts they tried to take my life:
“Yes, I can give you hat you’d like, but first you’ll have steal a knife.”
And I prayed for strange, as I ducked away
From the rally-men, and their fights
-God help us!

The president of the united world is taking off his clothes,
And showing off his birther rights so everybody knows
Who he is, and where he’s from; they’re searching for a flaw
To Guarantee their living land is one of love and law.
From the screeching tides of TV sets,
To the valley of the ******,
Just people looking for a hand.

I say Yo-**! Yo-**! The pirate’s life for me!
I was feeling low and all alone, so I went looking for Peg-Leg-Pete
To find a job, or gold doubloons, but I just came upon a note
In the back page of a lonely book, it was Peg-Leg-Pete who wrote:
“I’ve seen twisted shores, and rattled doors
But never quite so much sin
What kind of world are you living in?”

I've been brainwashed. Several somebodies have taken a cerebral antiseptic to the outermost crevices in my head, trying to scrape away my thoughts deemed poisonous. Condemned, pieces on the wrong end of a long finger, almost touching the targeted areas. The finger long and rigid attached to an arm, long and rigid, like that of a cruel king delivering a death sentence.
    Scrubbed me clean, they did. They know I am fond of it, so they went deep, taking extra precaution. Scoured. Sent me off, bid me goodwill with farewell kisses, waving handkerchiefs from modest doorways and lattice windows, farewell. Be careful out there, remember all we've taught you from the kindness in our hearts and the space in our pockets, our hungry bank accounts.
    Play along, play nice. Let's sit and try to write poetry when it feels like we forgot what it was. Smoke more cigarettes than usual because they're lights and it's the same. Walk to town, around town, back to the second floor to your strange home. Forget how to measure the passing of time without using hours and days. Nothing catches my attention when every minute's watched, waiting for the next small thing to happen. Live a life both empty and full. Miss your friends, experience a dull ache in your chest, then clean away that sad feeling with the next small thing you have to do joy-free. You don't have to like it they say. You just have to do it so I'm told. Just do what you're told. Don't think about how long it's been since you felt alive. Don't think about why you don't feel alive.
    Just do what you're told. There'll be time for being young when you're old and comfortable, when everything's set in place for you to live without financial difficulty or crushing loneliness carefully ignored. There are several minds I miss. There are people who remind me to feel alive, remind me that I want to, remind me of the hunger carefully ignored but all pervading, present as a dull ache. Remind me what I enjoy, remind me what it feels like to want something. Rekindle the cold ashes that had once been ablaze with glorious thoughts and words to strike dumb. Remind me how it feels to be powerful.
    A life of endless toil, tireless subordination, unbefitting of kings among men, we who see what others cannot, we who endure the suffering of madness because poetry is the fruit of our sacrifice, the music constantly in our heads. We for whom simply being alive has never been enough. We for whom the thought of ending a poem after it's begun feels like admitting a friend's passing.
    We who don't know how to stop.
    We who will never want to.

I stare at the green dot next to your name
I pray to something I don’t even believe in just for a “Hi”
I told you I needed time
**** I don’t know what I want or what I need
I need you
I. Need. You.
Twenty five minutes in and that green dot is still there
I’m still staring, waiting, hoping for the ellipsis
The signal that I’ve crossed your mind.
I stare at the green dot next to your name
I promise myself not to message you first
But I know what the reality is if I don’t
We become nothing but strangers,
The perfect somebodies we used to know.
That green dot is still there
I break my promise
I pretend like the last thing I sent you wasn’t a confession of my heart.
Forty two minutes go by and active now is ever so prominent.
My messages go unread,
From the tap of a keyboard we’ve gone from talking everyday like it were our last
To never breaking silence.
Who knew it would actually be our last.
Your finger print is etched into my heart,
But I have so much left to say.
As the minutes roll by and that green dot glows
I hope for any form of acknowledgement
But it never comes, that green dot disappears.
In that moment I know
We already became strangers
The perfect somebodies we used to know.

small talk and voices abound as
swarms of somebodies walk past.
i tune them out,
allow the words to dissolve to nothing but murmurs.
time passes slowly
sitting in a cold, hard chair,
tapping my toes and sketching stars,
writing and rewriting
the grace that I need
and stenciling it on my skin.
time passes slowly
sorting through files and answering calls and
smiling at strangers with obvious intentions,
but their surface-level adoration
only makes me laugh.
because you love what matters.
time passes slowly
my feet hit the pavement
in steady rhythm,
drops fall down my neck,
and the effort required only strains my muscles,
my mind left free to roam.
time passes slowly

and then,

i see your face,
   hear you laugh,
      touch your skin,
          breathe you in,
              curse the time,

and all too suddenly, say goodnight.

and as i walk away,
again,
*time passes slowly.

This is one for all those sad girls
Who just can't seem to understand
How beautiful they are, how perfect
The girl of somebodies dreams

This is one for all the fuckups
The one's who mean well
And try to be good
But always go down in flames

This one is for all the rejects
Sitting alone on the stairs
Life get's better son, I swear it
Someday this place will be yours

This is one for all the people
Who couldn't find a way to deal
So they checked out
Forever

This is one for you
And here's another for me
Raise your glass to the outcasts
Pray for them to be happy

Nothing is right, everything is permitted.
If I was the king of the world, I'd make more things round, nobody's
Baby ought to be put in the corner. Nebraska full of skyscrapers for earthquake And hurricane victims, the soybeans and corn there is a machine of mutually Exclusive syrups that taste the same. We could go back to calling sugar what it Is, sweet.

I could make you a prince, her a dutchess, myself just another worker among Workers. This hive society is getting old, and Britain holds half of our honey in gold bullion. I would make stone soup, and make it Special on Friday. Acorns would be exclusively for dendrofied alum, and not for raking or Rattling. We could call the bad sick, because there is no bad; and we could Eliminate the goods and musts, and mustn'ts as they just make people feel low. No one can feel fat, they can only think they are.

We too could have an organized society of writers and editors and critics Whom decide what words we allow into the English language. Commercials Are poisoning our youth, our mainstream, our middle-American allies that Rebel against us with their extra-laminate NRA cards. My right to bear arms Allow me two, a left arm and a right arm. That should be plenty for many of Us.

I would call the president a model citizen, since he only models. Change Fitness Journals into Fashion magazines- everyone would like to dress Similarly enough as it is. The costs are high, and the big cities have rifles and Shotguns aimed at us over their shoulders. Data sharing, wi-fi could come With high-fives and we could all use one cable for everything, and one Password of password that unlocked everything.Perhaps we could begin Banishing people to live outside of Rome again. The hunting is better in the kept gardens. so we should allow this.

I've done something wrong, I've been rendered invalid by the bell, cowardly When it comes to giving advice, and if I was the king of the world I'd make More 24hour pizza places in Chicago, following the outdoor food-styles of New York CIty. Given names should serve as middle names until people are Old enough to choose what to call themselves.

We should reward more nobodies, and depopularize all of these "somebodies," leaving a little room for the poets to do their work.

If I was the king of the laughter, I'd package laughter and ship it Internationally, bottle up messages and send letters. In fact I don't have to be The king to send letters, I just need some postage and an envelope. One for Every person on the planet, to send a thank you note for being alive, a flower To bring them comfort, a quarter, and a bottle of pear nectar to nourish and Show them that I care.

That I care about we and not just me.

Intangible, trickling, and howling in between.
Everything is somewhere but most times I am nowhere.
Everyone is somebody or a couple somebodies.
Sentiment is at sea or at least appears to be when my yellow bird is away.
Descending beads of my work
Jewels of (1) sustenance, which water the bird and keep thy beak from (2) drying.
Everything is the cause but the cause itself. Everyone is (3) reacting to an event or an event maker in between. Somewhere, somebody is something
and they are howling in between.

Remember back, yes it was a long time ago
When England and its minions lost their one and only,
Lizzy the Busy, she did get about for an older kind of crow

Flying to her outposts and then in her nineties
Still dragging that old codger about, Philip the Greek
Insulting the natives, well he is a kind of royalty

His odd quip on the colour of somebodies skin,
Never mind how are, what a lovely child and how have you been
She married a corker there, no messing

The lands that carried her name all bowing to her superiority
Many of them just peasants not knowing of her really
From Gibraltar through to Hong Kong where they made her royal tea

Man landed on the moon, remembered for a thousand years
If real or made in a Universal studio
The passing of our Queen so real, some still holding back their tears

Reality strikes when you see what she has left of this once great land
Down to her kids to run this Island of such history
And not left it drift to the sea as if built on sinking sand

Monarchy and Royalty march hand in hand from the times of history
Lets not forget the power that we once held
To be banished away by the politically correct to leave us as a sad story

As she would turn in her grave if this once great power dissolved and died
She may not have said it but her wit and allegiance were British through and through
Grow a backbone and be proud again, and show them at least we tried to be true

JJB

Today I was born again,
To live in somebodies head,
I lived the way he would for a day,
But no more...
I'm out of spirit and I'm out of head,
Nothing short of a miracle,
I'm thankful for every breath I take,
Unlike the others,
I've died and come alive,
Encapsulated in the jar,
In that soulful sound,
Protruded in the absolute,
Thirst for knowledge.