"subverted" poems
Part II of "Got 0 Followers"
aim high
to keep
it low
expectations
such an
Awesome Awful
curse
others infect
you with
don't, yada yada,
ya wanna be like
Tom, **** and Jane,
even Harry, a transgendered
friend and fellow (ha) outcast,
all with a good job
prospects of a
goodly tented long life?
so ya write poems
to nobody
about nothing and
you are pleased
to be pleasing just yourself
in writing you have
nothing to prove,
so read them
like keepsakes
ya like,
keep 'em & me hid,
in the shoebox
under the closeted
pile of ***** clothes,
special designer outfits concocted
so they keep my remains,
privatized and unsanitized,
my equity,
hidden,
disguised as disgusting
but for god-sakes
don't follow me,
unless
you want to curse us
both with
Expectations of Expectations,
then comes with
illiteracy of
Affection
then the literary
pre-tension
that always follows,
leading to
Affectation,
the first derivative of the infection of affection
yeah,
then comes
caring
and it instantly it's too late,
you're *******
right up the mental heine,
lost condemned
ruined annihilated
crushed subverted
crushed into
mental death camp suffocation of more, please ma,
can I have some more?
crap, why did you have to go and follow me?
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 8:14 PM UTC
The name Theodore has its Greek anthropologies, Jewish anthropologies and also Germany anthropologies. The Greek anthropological perspective of The name Theodore indeed has something to do with the gods.However, the Greek way of looking at life was a frustrated thinking.To them everything was a god. They had a plethora of gods; utopia,cacotopia, Thespis, muse, clio, calypso, and Theodore was a half a god like Gabriel who impregnanted Mary on behalf of God as Joseph the cuckold carpenter patiently looked musing the ballad of a cuckold peasant . So Theodore and Gabriel were godsend.I have not delved to know what it means among the Jews, But am aware of the the cultural and anthropological surroundings of the name Theodore in Germany . It is a name of a male person signifying extra-masculine behavior. I also write poetry in Deutsch, so i know substantial cultural values of the people of Germany. Like in this case the modern social naming systems . I am aware of the anthropology of this Deutsch nomenclatural position.Why would link this name to Greeks but not Germany may due to some silent social and emotional disposition in Europe that the English speaking Europeans have a soft spot for the Greek culture.While at the same time they become victims of high adrenaline level when exposed to anything Germany. they always get repulsed when the word Germany is mentioned.So one's thesis on nomenclatural values of the name Theodore depends on which side of European consciousness one is found; is it Germany friendly consciousness or Germany threatened consciousness? The dystopic component of the name Theodore is purely cacotopic with zero element of utopia , as extra-masculinity is a swine of engendered civilization all the times.
Yours
Alexander k Opicho
NB/ i kindly invite Theodore to come to Kenya so that we do a joint research on the Swahili perspectives of the name Theodore, in Kiswahili the name Theodore is subverted to bwana tadayo
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 10:57 AM UTC
She wanders with a ponderance
of an unfulfilling existence .
It's like she missed the instance
when life was handing out
purpose. She became subverted
by her own thoughts.
Self-image contorted
like spaghetti noodles or dreadlocks.
The simplicity of existing has become brutal.
She keeps the gold within
vaulted like Fort Knox.
That protection is like an island
preventing her journey's beginning.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
They are silent and beautiful,
gorgeous in in the white halo,
cemented in a beautiful terrazzo,
baring the names of fallen soldiers,
the European soldiers that fell in Wars;
second and first and the heinous silent wars,
i hope this is why they have a proverb; white sepulchre,
only baring the white dead, only chiefs but no dead Indian.
Common wealth graveyards are all over in Africa,
in India , panama , Latin America and europe,
the active fronts in which the allies fought ******
they are beautifully placed in silently posh areas,
in langata when in Nairobi, in Mbaraki when in Mombasa,
in Matisi when in Kenya, In Namusungui when in Lodwar,
They bear horizontal silence with white names engraved
on their beautiful face shouting the glory of European empires,
which provoked the evil sense in the heart of the king's horseman
in Kenya, in the city of Nairobi, to steal the graveyard lands,
he made them his urban home with an uppish courtyard,
for him the dead white neighbours are better than in-corruption.
I walk around the commonwealth graveyards,
in the all quarters of erstwhile British empire,
looking for the names of African soldiers ,
who died in thousands fighting for the queen
the royal bloodied woman of England;Elizabeth,
Looking for the sons of Ethiopia who stood with
the second duce Benito son of Mussolini,
fighting for Hitler,for Shintos in the European war,
i have seen no name of any African,
I have not seen Wandabwa wa masibo,
who was conscripted into the first world war,
Along with his father Biket wa Khayongo,
Biket back after seven years in 1918,
carrying Wandabwa's Belt,
Wandabwa died in the field,
Where was he buried, he is nowhere
Not anywhere among the soldiers in cemeteries,
I have not seen Nasong'o wa Khayongo,
who was conscripted in 1940,
to fight against ******
he was conscripted on his nuptial evening,
even before he had had the first ***
with his new wife, he went away crying,
he never came back, his name is nowhere in the graves
the commonwealth graves that bare names of the fallen,
Fallen soldiers, but they all bare white names in the black world.
you come to Africa, Kenya, Nigeria, Malagasy,Egypt,
whatever the geographies of Africa, and you keep keen,
you hear someone is called Mr. Keya, or Madam Keya,
or you come to Bungoma county of Kenya,
you meet a man that is of the circumcision age group,
Known as Bakikwameti Keya, Bakinyikewi Musolini,
Keya is subverted sound for Kings african rivals; KAR
the African sound for KAR is Keya,
in reference to mass conscription of Africans
into the KAR, to fight ******
A child born during that time is Keya,
A man circumcised during the time
is in the age group of Keya,
A simple lesson in regard to our people,
taken away to fight the colonial power
and left to died and rot away in the bush
with a simple courtesy for ceremonial burial,
that come along with the death of soldiers,
who passed away in the battle field.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 4:13 AM UTC
All lies diminish me ---
As a card carrying member of the human race,
I consider it a disgrace,
when truth is subverted,
truth is diverted,
puts a frown on my face,
puts me in a bad place,
when truth is perverted in any way.
Lies weaken the laws of modern man--
If it's a shell game of opinion while avoiding fact,
modern society might as well take a giant step back.
To the plague days,
to the guillotine ways,
when might was right,
carry a big stick.
I dont want to go back to that.
Each lie told damages the soul ---
Are we here on earth to be false to each other,
to con with words or sister and brother?
To smother or dignity,
break it and fake it,
knowing wrong from right but go ahead and forsake it?
I think no.
And the outcome of lying---
When those you trusted lie,
but don't get busted - cry.
Consider it the day truth died.
And down with the ship of truth goes honesty
respect,
rules,
civilization will fall.
Tears to lend, prayers to send,
lies will be the beginning, the middle, the end.
Lies will be the death of us all.
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 8:04 PM UTC
Shriek of humanity
The cries of innocence
Ahh yes, this song
You don’t hear it?
Tell me, what does she sound like?
The Symphony of string and percussion
The pounding of her heart like tip tap of water
Nearly empty
Thinning strings as she wails with the violin
Angry, Yearning for an audience
Harmonizing the dissonance she is struck with
It’s almost beautiful
Chaos that is in tune with the hearts of men
A song for you
A mimic of you
Muffled by the mirrors we build
Allowing only the slightest murmurs
A mere echo of their subverted lives
We can’t face the music
Fearing that we’d see our blemishes
Our faces crept away for centuries
A false lifestyle
In a carnival of plastic mirrors
Everyday the world is asking
New questions keep arising
Many still left unanswered
One day in your life, she’ll run out of breath
The silence will choke you
You’re loosing something
You’re not yourself
No longer spoon fed by her patience
But you’re still filthy rich
Yet something’s still missing
Maybe then you’ll be curious
What could be playing in that song?
How can we find out?
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
Perspiration accumulates into salty beads,
Falling into her eyes, eyes that have lost their gleam.
We’ve been trapped like savaged animals for three agonizing nights.
Diminutive apertures in this death box supply minimal light.
The screech of the rails are a bittersweet melody to our ears.
For we only know what these horrific monsters have taught. Fear.
As the door slams open, I’m pried from my wife.
I wonder if this will be the last moment I see her smile.
My people are marked with terror and pain.
I realized were barricaded in with barbed wire chains.
My subverted clothes reek of secretion.
This camp is untrustworthy, raising apprehension.
They claim we are not human.
But I ask, do we not bleed, when we are injured?
Do we not dream blissful thoughts?
Do we not pray to the same God?
The same God that punishes the innocent;
Bringing blithe to those sinners that shed blood.
When we lose our cherished, our loved ones,
Do we not shed tears? Do we not mourn?
No! We must not, for we are not human,
According to what the Nazis see.
We are the innocent, robbed of life.
They are the monsters who roam free.
At least, that’s what I see.
I see men, women, and children stripped of clothing,
Stripped of dignity, stripped of all things humane.
While these barbaric monstrosities make allegations.
Claiming they are purifying society, when they are to blame.
Men lose wives; children lose mothers.
Families are torn apart; sisters lose brothers.
Those of us who survive, work until brittle.
Still we carry on, if our minds are able.
Backs of men are scarred from arduous lashes.
While the sick are trapped in rooms imbued with gases.
My hands are enveloped with calicoes and cuts.
My mind grows weary, I dream an ending abrupt.
I’m crippled with anger, and tears that still drip sore.
My heart crescendos with pain, about to implode.
It’s difficult to refuse the tears when I hear the desolate screams.
I’m trapped in a perpetual nightmare, a ceaseless dream.
Still I carry on in life, for that is the greatest revenge.
The day we feel the kiss of freedom, will be the day we have avenged.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
We have let go of our frantic lust
for the shiny metal in the Sacramento hills.
It was hard for my grandfather,
in coming west on horse and with wagon,
dragging a family across the pimpled skin
of the young land, to help John Sutter
build his new empire.
He then found that his dream of good land
for ranching was subverted with easy gold.
Grandfather’s first home on the bank of the river:
a tule hut, or grass hut, left behind by
Mi-wuk Indians, who wandered with
the elk and circulated with the
wonderment of passing stars;
no regard for what shined beneath them.
It’s in the luring poems and the stories that the
old California adventure comes back to us.
No one longer builds much with grass,
and cannot so easily pick out fortunes
by following the earth’s deep cracks.
Some would walk away from jobs and cities,
bulging packs strapped on shoulders,
and head up through the openings
and narrowings of the valleys,
and into the foothills of the Sierras.
Camp beside ****** trout holes
and dip into the riffled water
at the edge of perfect green mirrors:
to find what is precious and become
free from the cycle of the frantic lust.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 10:15 AM UTC
There is a void outside my window.
Pitch cascading into itself.
No. I am mistaken.
It is just night.
Someone was knocking on my door at some point.
Nipah. Nipah.
Nevermind.
A curious hollow groan runs through the house.
Perhaps a tap is being turned.
Hiss.
A moth catches in a stream. Wet dust clambers for existence, affirmed in the moment of death.
Sometimes it escapes.
There is a glow.
A streetlamp lights up the void, strong enough to reveal a small part of the world, but too weak to remove the grain. The noise of existence.
Blood rushes through vessels. Neurons fire.
Silence is merely the body experiencing itself. The self subverted into the other.
Oh. I have slept through the day.
A train rumbles in the distance, sonorous and bleak.
A bird cries out into the void.
Nothing responds.
A miasma blankets the city.
The choke of lack.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 12:15 PM UTC
Queen to Osiris
Gleaming Iris
Goddess’s’ power
Took all the pieces
To put her lover
Back together
Under the cover
Of Ra’s radiance
Feminine power
Birthing history
So how is her story
Stolen and forgotten
Name subverted
By sons she never gave birth to
Nations under another religion
Violence
Silencing the feminine mystique
Shrouding beauty and wisdom
Beyond black veils
Of bullets and ****** bodies
Instead of concealing their sickness
Behind the Muslim Religion
They should take another name
Like crazy murdering *************
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 9:14 AM UTC
too much interference
has been extensively run
by those who hold
the kingmaker's gun
as a consequence
of this kind of thing
the democratic process
is under a clouded ring
the flow of votes
which were meant
for the out in front candidate
got subverted somewhere
in the ballot box's victory pate
foreign countries meddling
with other country's domestic autonomy
so the results of elections
will satisfy their sovereignty
transgressors are employing
their technics from nations far away
to determine who'll wear
a crowning array
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
Inadvertently avoided through mental thought processes
Subverted into
New shoes in an off white tint
And a new addition to my collection of lint
I'm sick of window tint so dark you can't see inside
I try my best to catch a glimpse of another person's mind
Striving so hard to manifest itself through the body it's been placed in
I step on the gas and pass their *** just so I can think to myself:
I Win.
Feb 11, 2010
Feb 11, 2010 at 9:03 PM UTC
The blades of grass untidy over some sub saharian variety.
The cumulus clouds are more down town
with illegal builds shimmering in the corners.
We look back at our hopes
and belatedly realise baristas have
subverted our national brew.
Sub let flats with strangers passing through
leaving catering oil drums outside.
Our national prerequisite minding ones own
allows everything unknowing to go on,
including a morning benefits agency raid.
Rules and queues consigned to ailing England
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 9:33 AM UTC
We are the things that get swept under
rugs. A ***** mass that the world strives to keep
hidden. Flecks of skin and strands of hair. Toe nails. Trapped
in the carpet with the bodies of the bugs
of which we have been bitten.
Gaze not upon our swollen parts;
inflamed. Your eyes will entice us to spread
rashes. The forbidden always in our thoughts
like stubborn mattress stains.
We are the things that live in closed
closets. Tearing at the threads meant to keep you
sheathed. Disembodied torsos on wiry hooks. Scarves. Chewing
holes through the garments with worn-out teeth.
Chills will let you know we're near
as you toss and turn in bed. We are the shadows that
watch you while you sleep. Our goal is to fill you with fear.
Your soul is ours to reap.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
**** the sunglasses...
double ****
dinner... making my father lunch...
triple hush hush ****** third....
i might be a drunk...
(burp)
but i have my obligations;
the day doesn't begin
with or without a dosage
of sleep...
i tango with a sputnik...
what?!
you know just your random ****
sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet home
Idaho!
Ghana?
**** i misspelled Missishippi....
no,
not exactly Family Guy funny,
but you know,
you spend a night with two Germans
tripping on mushrooms,
watching American dad...
with an Egyptian drinking *****
all quest-west in Amsterdam...
and you're not seeking the company
of a Puerto Rican hubbly-n-bubbly...
touch of flesh...
the night must be pretty entertaining...
so that's what you call exfoliating
when given into excess...
... .... .... (the excess pause)...
and then shhhhhhhhhhhhhh
in a makeshift metaphysical library...
literary... yes... (burp)... literate...
the sunglasses are working
just fine...
the sun isn't...
why do i always sit through the vanilla
sky of a sunset, why?!
hush darling...
Shakie Shtevens is going
to tell you all about what gives him
the Shakes...
shakes? if you drink... hot sweats...
one minor posit of a subverted
hangover...
a slap, a punch, a slap
once more, oh look, i'm found and bound
to sober;
getting drunk,
and then returning to the leash:
well...
covert for: a pristine afternoon.
p.s.
quasi-headbanging to a meat-head
tune...
yeah.... Slipknot... what?!
no.... MC Hammer!
i'm touching jack-shit...
look at me...
touching... clapping using jazz hands.
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 12:46 PM UTC
An important message for Christ’s saints,
is to guard hearts from becoming downtrodden.
Attacks started immediately with Man’s creation,
knowing that Adam lost the first estate of Eden.
People must not lose sight of their Godly identity,
during this critical age of holy dispensation.
The Great Commission is still relevant today,
for bringing souls unto the revelation of Salvation.
Eternity is a serious subject that no one,
imbued with the Holy Spirit, should take lightly.
Avoid messages of subverted ideas about the Kingdom;
continue in a Truth-filled life… that shines brightly.
Your belief system demonstrates the way you think;
therefore, daily renew your mind with The Word.
The power of speech yields a degree of influence;
be sure to understand what you’ve learned and heard.
The love of Christ constrains us to spend time with Him;
we’re to repeatedly lift up our voices in prayer.
Cultivate your ongoing relationship with the Lord,
insuring to diligently remain… within His care.
Though we have not reached the fullness of time,
we must remain alert to avoid eternal damnation.
Allow the Holy Spirit to lovingly reveal Truth,
so you may embrace the Kingdom’s fullest dimensions.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Matt 28; Phil 2:1-11; Rom 1:16-20
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 12:22 PM UTC
With your eyes full of hate
As venom drips from your fangs,
Your pores oozing contempt
While anger courses through your veins.
A putrid cloud of malevolence
Surrounds your black heart,
While animosity and revenge
Rips your sanity apart.
Your mind has been poisoned
And your spirit subverted,
By the slow death of your soul
Which you could have averted.
You chose to consume
The evil and hate,
Eating every rancid morsel
Served to you on that plate.
You wash it all down
With that liquid you hold dear,
As you continue to drown
In your own misery and fear.
This sickness has destroyed
Everything you held true,
You’ve traded your life
For that foul witches brew.
Unable to see
Past the darkness and lies,
Even deaf now to hear
Your soul’s pleadings and cries.
Unsuccessfully you try
To wash it away,
As you drink from that bottle
Day after day.
I pray for your soul
And the torment you face,
But the truth about yourself
Alcohol can never erase.
Dec 17, 2017
Dec 17, 2017 at 6:24 PM UTC
An important message for Christ’s saints,
is to guard hearts from becoming downtrodden.
Attacks started immediately with Man’s creation,
knowing that Adam lost the first estate of Eden.
People must not lose sight of their Godly identity,
during this critical age of holy dispensation.
The Great Commission is still relevant today,
for bringing souls unto the revelation of Salvation.
Eternity is a serious subject that no one,
imbued with the Holy Spirit, should take lightly.
Avoid messages of subverted ideas about the Kingdom;
continue in a Truth-filled life… that shines brightly.
Your belief system demonstrates the way you think;
therefore, daily renew your mind with The Word.
The power of speech yields a degree of influence;
be sure to understand what you’ve learned and heard.
The love of Christ constrains us to spend time with Him;
we’re to repeatedly lift up our voices in prayer.
Cultivate your ongoing relationship with the Lord,
insuring to diligently remain… within His care.
Though we have not reached the fullness of time,
we must remain alert to avoid eternal damnation.
Allow the Holy Spirit to lovingly reveal Truth,
so you may embrace the Kingdom’s fullest dimensions.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Matt 28; Phil 2:1-11; Rom 1:16-20
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 10:14 AM UTC
As much as the **** female is central to underground society, she comes to me in my bedroom.
Those sources of her pulsate with the richness of her beauty.
How many geniuses have been subverted from thought by her.
How many have plunged into desire's depths, reliant on her picture to allay their suffering.
Without sensuality they derobe as if to go to battle. With her in one hand and their shlong in the other, they make their towel wet.
Now with their desire fed, she looks as a mere distraction.
Just another human body she is now.
Her image has been worshipped and they have found no god.
Feb 2, 2021
Feb 2, 2021 at 3:46 AM UTC
Stack up. Second man, remember to cover right
and keep your elbow out
so third doesn't catch the door
swinging back on hinges.
Here comes the rock
1
2
3
and the rush.
I've come here to do business tonight,
business with that personal devil
on his aching throne.
Memories to sift through
experiences to re-live
and renounce.
One can't simply shoot
at a conception that needs
to die.
And here I come again,
pushing through wreckage
and half formed nightmares
wailing at the sky.
"I have come, in spite of myself,
to practice the acts of forgiveness
upon you who have stolen so much."
You who have subverted my love
and my hope
and my faith.
You who burned into me your belief
that everything and everyone
has a price.
You that made me into less than a man,
who corrupted my heart
and taught me to laugh at Love as folly.
For these sins I forgive you my Father
not for your sake
but for my own.
All that I have done and not done
as a result of believing you
is over. Ex Nihilo
Here is my sword,
ill used.
Here is my horse,
lame and ******
Here is my lance,
splintered.
Here is my armour,
rusted and heavy.
Take back these things given unto me
I have no need of them
on this new journey.
I go now,
with or without
she whom I love,
to create beautiful things,
to bring light and peace,
to be a true human being,
to live my own life
rather than trying to atone
for yours.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
He remembers the day
Although the date eludes him now,
When, after several weeks plumbing dark
Recesses and posing unfathomable questions,
And conducting evermore bizarre experiments
Engendered by this yearning, burning chaotic search,
And impregnated by newly revealed secrets colouring his perspective;
When he lay his head troubled and confused;
When he seethed in frustration and vividly imagined instant death;
When the night was riven by his revelation.
That night everything changed,
For better or worse - worse he suspects.
His brain exploded; his mind expanded;
He touched his core and it seared his soul.
he threw himself out of bed
And danced, and laughed in ecstatic rapture;
And the energy flowed, powerfully emanating his whole being;
And those visions cascaded, joyously unimpeded,
But too quickly to give him any answers:
Just the feeling of a thousand births;
A glimpse of his name encircling the Earth - 200 miles tall;
He an observer, far above a white-clad Assembly
Watching someone (himself?) walk down an adoring aisle;
A million other snatches too brief to echo through the passage of time.
Regardless of the tumultuous avalanche,
The knowledge imparted was certain - it resounded universal truth -
And he knew; knew with an absolute conviction;
absolutely KNEW! His spirit vibrated with celestial significance;
He knew what the chaotic slideshow revealed;
And the revelation enthralled, excited and scared him.
He knew what was meant, but the logic escaped him;
He knew, too, the ramifications, and they dampened the exhilaration;
He knew...and he whimpered in anticipation and awe,
That he was the One. The One!
The One destined; the One Chosen;
The One awaited; the One feared;
The One loved of Gaia and the Universe;
The One cause and the One result;
The One responsible: The One, Alone.
He screamed as he cavorted,
"It's me! It's me! It's me!", and he knew the truth.
He knew, then...but now?
He knew, then...and the certainty infused every fibre within his body.
But now...? After all these years?
Now the doubts prevail;
Now the doubts hold centre stage,
And the certainty crouched, cowering in a dark corner;
Now the doubts, reinforced by countless others, dominate;
Now the doubts twist the glorious vision into delusion;
Now, after stigma and derision, it's delusion, not revelation, acknowledged.
He cannot shake it off -
The kernel of delusion sits hard and solid, stoic;
Colours interaction and coincidence, but is checked,
Subverted to fit a prevalent worldview;
Acknowledged, but swallowed whole -
Lest he succumb, savouring the enshrined power, and becomes another sacrifice.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC
I am,
I will do,
however many times,
verily, I say to you,
that I am about to die
I am so close.
I can hear his breathing
Behind me when I walk
And I see his shadows behind me
Whenever I look.
However subverted I may seem,
Scythe marks replace footsteps
satirical monologue replace thoughts
Awkward uncertainty replace fate
I am no fool.
I am not ignorant
I just seem to know that
death is very close to me
And I am certain
Beyond all doubt
That there is no foreseeable future
This isn’t a monologue reading of my depression
I am not reciting verses to cure myself
Of these thoughts
in hopes that they will leave me
I’m simply here to express
My distaste for the living
How sweet those secret kisses I stole from death
when we shared the shadows
so in fact
I am not dying
I am falling in love
Which is just the same thing really
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 1:59 AM UTC
The realisation that this violent red came up in me, that it had put itself out there, against my peaceful blue
hidden underneath my skin I thought, but once this/the disconnection came up, this unsafety, the red escaped
and in an instant, alien became less distant, fluid in my daily countenance. How I've always assumed you
were the rock and I the water, how it turned out to be still and all. Me fully capable of standing my stones
in the fluidity of waves, in this life of ebbs & flows. And even while I peak over the cliff edge, with the wind
in my face, drawn into depth & distance - I know the cracks of then and the hills of now will become a passage,
a progress through the fragments I breathe, for the joy I feel. You went along to trust my inner world, while
you wouldn't anyway. So I decided to wend my place that provides me to dream up and survive nonetheless.
Once your heart has jumped out of your body, the rivers & tides will smooth over. Structured daydreaming will bring
out the bright, fresh morning I need to scare off the ghosts of my lost night, a subverted realism to coast through a
clear consciousness over some guilt and uneasy vulnerableness. What's done, is done. True. Imagine that.
May 7, 2020
May 7, 2020 at 11:40 AM UTC
I'm just a little introverted,
Which is not to say perverted,
But I'm really quite concerted,
To retain my energy
Now I know you're extroverted,
And it’s clear that you've asserted,
That you wish I'd be converted,
But that isn't good for me
Our natural state is just inverted,
To great throngs I'm quite averted,
And I'd rather be diverted,
To a quiet place you see?
So please don’t think I've subverted,
If you think I'll be inserted,
Into crowds, you're controverted,
Now please kindly leave me be!
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 3:55 PM UTC