The little girl never looked into the mirror.
'They call me names,' she thought,
'and there must be a reason.'
She guessed she was ugly, hideous to see,
why else would they turn their eyes away?
So she didn't bother to see her reflection
and avoided all mirrors for years.

The little girl was afraid of the scale.
'They call me names,' she thought,
'and there must be a reason.'
She realized she must be too fat,
why else would they all ignore her?
So the scales suffered the same fate
as the mirrors throughout the years.

The little girl didn't care for friends.
No one stood by her for very long,
there was no reason to miss them.
She thought she wasn't nice enough,
otherwise they'd surely stay with her.
So a high and a strong wall was built
to protect her feelings during each year.

After years and years the older girl found some courage
to look into one of those dreadful mirrors
and her reflection gave her a nasty shock.
As for all these years she hadn't cared for herself
and her unkempt outer self hid all her inner beauty.
'I truly am an ugly person,' was all she could think,
and she decided she would stop caring.

The little girl grew up hating herself
and no one ever noticed her turmoil.
She stopped caring about how she looked
and just showered and dressed every day
as if she wasn't any special at all.
But her inner beauty struck all around
and everyone wondered why she was so modest.

To **** myself or not **** myself, that is the question
I face an existential crisis every day
I want to hurt myself
I want to bleed, to wound myself physically because I can't deal with my mental
The questions and thoughts that plague me every day
I wish I could expunge these idiot things that run through my head
The stupid ******* people that cause me grief every day
Those people are the people I live with
The people I love
The people I work with
Every mother ******* person
I wish I could live isolated
But not alone
Live in my own colony of people that understand me as well as I understand myself
I wish I could operate normally
Not over correct for every ******* small iota of every tiny moment in the ******* day
Why do I have to do everything to such an extent?
Why can't I just be happy?
Why can't I just sleep a peaceful slumber instead of tossing and turning for hours before?
I hate myself
But do I really hate myself?
Or the circumstances that I face?
This life I live is not the life I want
I want freedom
The ocean
The sand to catch these unshed tears
The cold to hit my face
And something warm to embrace
I want ***,
But do I want it for the carnal pleasure or for the way it makes me forget for a time these turmoiled emotions I deal with every instant of every ******* ******* day?
I want a partner
But I can't trust

I'm so alone
I'm so alone
I'm so alone

******* I'm alone
How do I fix this?
How do I fix me?
I'm so alone.

No one will ever know the inner core of me.
Someone save me
I wish I were dead.
Someone **** me
I wish I knew real life.

Human essence is the dirt of the earth.
We destroy,
We do not conquer.
We forget,
We all still suffer.

******* us all to the figment of our imagination that is hell.
Every ******* one of us deserves it.

Burn us in a firey pit and then crush our bones to make the cement that holds us all unwillingly together.

******* **** me so I don't have to **** myself.

Nothing makes this feeling go away. No one satiates this gnawing numbness I feel.
I am a black hole that devours every good emotion
Nothing to replace it inside this empty space within me

**** me
**** me
**** me

i so wish these poems weren't such afterthoughts,
words either labored, squeezed off a pained heart,
or a strong gush of stupid happy emotion as in farts?
neither pretty codified sonnets with essence in parts,
nor crisp, concise haiku's focused like targeted darts,
not the sophistried zen, oft hacked philosophic verses,
and the petty patterned words unmovingly affecting,
i despair for us to read a poem from brains turmoiled,
confused,unwritten words,unexpressed feelings,in divine madness!!
dance the unknown poem if a poem, to music uncomposed if music,
why cant we live them **** poems! so we dont have to **** write them!!


-every fellow being is a poem unwritten I feel, lets live them? Can we?-

Its strange how sound exists,
How silence fits around
The noise that may be far
Or may be near,
Yet always in the gaps
Within the noise
There is the sound
Of nothingness

I am noise and action
An assault upon the senses
Of everone it seems
In earshot or worse yet
Within the range
Of touch or eyes meet,
Close enough to sense
My inner turmoiled demons

Well soon enough,
Albeit not soon enough
For some,
My noise will diminish
My actions still,
And where I once crashed
About there will be purely
Blessed quiet.

Enjoy!

The rigging is
set, Captain.
Brown rope, aye,
secured tightly - aye,
can be adjusted.
Here, I'll stand on this
chair and see how
it's looking - aye,
Captain, it's proper
tight now, it will
function just
well enough, sir.
Oh, Captain, the sea;
I can see the
stormy waves,
black and
turmoiled. Aye,
Captain, all rigging
set. All hands on
deck, yessir.
We can't very well set
sail with a chair on the
deck, Captain.
Permission to kick
it away?

It's crazy but her smile is the shine I crave
when the mellow orb of dawn hits the sky
her voice the melody I wish was weaved in her chorus
am no gambler yet if she were a risky bet I swear my luck I'd try
since she's a solace that can't be found even in the Pacific waters.
I long for her like a despondent refugee aches for home
her absence is hell, heaven is her presence, she's my calm and storm
the white canvas upon which I want to paint my love
and redefine the plot of my life story, she could be my wife
the missing piece to the puzzle of my 'turmoiled' heart
and definitely an incision deeper than my first cut.
she's the star I look for when the night swallows the sun
when it gets cold the only flames I want to burn
as nothing compares to the warmth she radiates
I treasure her like a baby loves its mother,
I fear losing her like a little child afraid of the dark
she's faith that gets me through, the reason I survive
for in a world flooded with melancholy she's my Ark
I was dead to the world, she came and made me feel alive
she pulled me out of deep doldrums, from a despair so grave...
she must be the one, my infinite sleepover
a purpose for the rest of my life, maybe I was born to love her.

Thoughts flow like a crow flies;
mind in flight; grasping at
life's insights, fumbling across
the sky; climbing out of urban
blights, embracing self, fore,
sanity is at stake.

Reaching for sanctity in His
light; patience a virtue giving
hope to mind's turmoiled
inner persecutions, seeking
redirection for self's own sake.

As the crow flies, His wisdom,
mind and soul willingly embrace.

My love is my salvation, I shall not want.
She maketh me to lie down in sweet seclusion
she bathes my head with cool water
restoring my broken mind:
She layeth her hands upon me, taking from me my pain my ache
and thou I reside within the darkness of my troubled thoughts
I will fear not the dark for she is with me.
Her eyes and her smile they comfort me
Through her words am I cleansed of my daemons
she anoints my brow with kisses as my eyes runneth over.
Surely I am blessed to have such a friend as she in this my turmoiled life
and I shall stand before my Lord and attest our friendship forever.

it's really not worth the circus of a woman,
to agitate all those acrobats into saltos...
i felt it was worth shaving my beard
today,
wanting to scratch my face,
somehow,
turn my cheeks into
sandpaper...
   but you know
what scared me?
not that i immediately reacted
to my immortal
by evanescence with tears -
but listening to the song -
it helped to agitate the "placebo"
post-script reaction...
i just call it a delayed response
since the tarantula bite was too strong;
and that i never did have a
feminist girlfriend...
no, i just walked past a house,
down the street i most dreaded,
i once passed the house
with someone in a car
and the person beside me said:
clearly abandoned...
**** me, i'm turning into
a tim burton caricature...
  and yes, the house looks scary,
its overgrown in shrubs...
but i'm crying! i'm crying...
i walked past the same house today
having fasted the entire day,
and ending the day by eating
a hoisin duck wrap having
the testament: you could feed
me that crap all year round,
and i'd still tell you that i ate
something different each day...
that haunted house though?
   that overgrown, depilated ironically
overgrown...
     i suddenly felt a fear i've
never felt before,
   i felt it once passing the house,
but not to the point in tears,
i can only respect the lingering adam
"lost" in the garden...
       there was actually
a light burning inside this house tonight...
this house of biblical service...
**** fearing the devil!
your comical phobia
are the same goats, bulls i'd slaughter...
do you know fear?!
  do you know fear?!
  ever walk past a supposedly abandoned
house?
having that eerie feeling of
someone watching you one day,
being assured by the facade of
abandonment,
   to later find a light shining inside
the same house?
   i ******* to horror movies...
this **** is just tear jerking,
      i'm stressing diapers...
     people worry about c.c.t.v.,
i'm worried that i suddenly decided to walk
past this house,
   spectating a light in its deathly
harrowing of absence of all else present:
namely the son shadow
           being present inside...
****** please, give me any horror movie
and i'll triple the hard-on with orff's
o fortuna to boot...
   there is nothing scarier than seeing
a house that is all too clearly abandoned,
shrouded in weeds and the doubling
effect of a graveyard...
to, some day,
      during the night,
passing the same house,
      seeing a light on in the house...
******, give me a ghost, a poltergeist,
a hell-bent goat...
          what i just witnessed is far from
comic, and its also transcendental horror...
at least looking at a grave you can
find solace in the notion of the person
dead...
        when i twice, thrice, four times dead
thought this house was abandoned,
you really don't need to see a ghost
to stare into the heart of fear,
just a house you supposedly thought you
"knew" was abandoned,
no ghost..
      this grave of a house,
          with a light shining inside of it;
and this, coming from a man,
is not so much a fear,
   these are not exactly tears of fear -
rather, tears of lament...
   the most hidden of man's fears:
namely - sadness,
   and only melancholy can be the greatest
of man's fears...
         that great prematurity of death,
within the living.
         it really doesn't take a ghost,
but a "supposedly" abandoned house,
who you pass, from day to day,
to suddenly appear alive,
   with a lightbulb appearing from its
gravestone lingering windows,
  like almost a name, to conjure
memory, of that celebratory candle resting
on the gladden heart of turmoiled fate
bound to a hadean hush,
          celebratory for all saints,
       sinners, heretics and fiends alike;
you really can't even begin to conjure my
state of horror...
   conjured, like a poison dart,
  with me numbed,
walking further on,
as if nothing had actually happened...
people don't actually realise how much
horror works in the dimension of music
and delay...
    the music is obvious,
the delay effect of horror is, much, much
more subtle...
  that's called horror: "subtitled"...
          music is obvious in the genre's demand...
but the realisation of the true horror
is in the delay effect...
  the "post-traumatism" effectuality -
given that being post-traumatic is not
that you've seen something horrible,
but that you've seen something horrible
you never imagined you could have done...
   hence the the delay conceptualisation
of horror being inact...
            p.t.s.d. is the delay conceptualisation
of horror...
  and much of the horror genre is
about music, as it is about delaying the initial
burden of apathy, or rather shock mixed
with a libido overload...
  horror is nonetheless: music and delay...
   the delay becomes what it already was -
        a caseload of dreams;
music wise? just a bad taste in pop subsequently.

I crave what I see in my mind

The future I have constructed

I see a messy bed and the rising sun
Bare legs peeking out from wrinkled sheets

Our love written in every crease
Evidence is ever present

I see hands sliding

Fingers tracing

Mouths speaking with no words

But still

The message is received

I see open windows letting in the breeze

Sparkling lights in the distance

The moon yearning to feel our love
Perched above

I see my breath

The cold night air engulfing me 

Though never reaching my heart 

I’m warmed indefinitely by the love at my side

I see my hand on a soft chest
Discovering, for the first time, acceptance and

Freedom 

The only things I’ve ever wanted

I see the world in a new way

Each night is a new city

But happiness never sleeps

Life never rests it’s weary head

Neither do we

I see summer

Flowers sway with our whispers

Sunlight sings it’s song on your shoulders

I kiss and reminisce…

I see turmoiled oceans

As we drive down winding pathways

Atop cliffs 

High as kites

I see convertibles and buses

Afghans and kaftans

Guitars and bonfires and sand covered bodies

Psalms of palms that sway in the west coast wind

I see beads in my hair

Fringe on my sweaters

Rings on my fingers

Jewels on my brow

I see you in our makeshift home 

Sitting cross legged in briefs

Your back to me; face to the ocean

Painted gold by the suns halcyon kiss

I see undying allegiance

To freedom in its freest form

No red white and blue

But the sun, me and you

I see clearly in this still silence

No fear here, only peace

And I have you by my side 

To keep me safe from solace

Deep inside
   where nothing's fine
      I've lost my mind
   to the poet inside

Mind awash
   with turmoiled thoughts
      I close my eyes
   and begin the slide

Words ripple
   awakening forgotten feelings
      I breathe in poetry
   and finally turn the tide

Pharmacare insurance breakers,
Batteries to light incensed toiletries,
Smell the man next to thou,
That's thine night scented laboratory!

Light flickers to non electrical chords,
Shufflers to peddlers,
The hoarders and robbers art felonious skirds!!!

Long/night lonesomeness for thy journeys a shallow hell!
Two unknowns to a cell,
How compassionate thou are not!!!

Steal what thou has,
Forget what thou has got....
Turmoiled,
Soiled crook!!!!!

Study the firm release junk.

Tired eyed pest,
You seek the streets,
You concludeth the best!!!!

For little is better, yet is better than big in thus shoe in?
No win on win to matcheth catchy amend!!!

Scared yet?

Holiday hussies,
Mix matched fussy!!!
You complain for now....

Thou art broken and poor, hath thy infallibility lost to thine loser next to your own score?

Pathetic patriot who stands next to a country who steals your time,
They trade it,
They display it,
On shores of emegri kind.
What a mongrel of mankind!!!!!

If the universe were shaped like your heart it would be a turmoiled earth

Champagne oceans pumping streams into place

A theater for the universe's dark center

Viewed as the actor on the screen,

So alone is this figure,

the sun says to him: “hello, how do you do?”

The skies they all murmur “rain will come soon from my blue womb”

The ground screams ****** where ye walk

The universe screams at life

The night, dark, filled with silence
Dreamy eyes fixated to the stars
Does it not lead to the doors of heaven?
Stillness soothing turmoiled hearts

Has gloom diminished the love?
Churning to uncover the illusions
As if upon multitude of lights, colors
Making lovers loom away from ideals
Sound of crickets whining away
As agitated due to careless evocation
Raindrops fall in mourning
Sorrying the ground in wetness

Anxiety as time passes by, hearing
Melodious splashing of the rain
Gentle caressing of the blowing wind
The evocative hearts arouse in numbers

Beautiful flaura danced shimmy
Waving gently as if to invite
Leave your grief for love
Sing a song of longliness

For tomorrow will be bright
Happiness you will see
For your smile brings me life

Our lives are as the raindrop to the river —
We falter, and we tumble; We are lost
And in the tumult cling to one another —

Enslaved by riverbanks, the river roiling
Is rain-lashed in a torrent — We are tossed
And buffeted amidst the turmoiled boiling —

Atop the foaming surface, battles rage
As brother battles brother for the sun —
Relenting, flowing, falling to a cage

In murky depths, with blissful recollection
Of cloudless skies afore the rivers run,
We cling to hope to someday rejoin Heaven.

silently turmoiled
hiding behind tears
of hidden fears
coaxed to reside in the depths of my soul

communication thwarted
misunderstanding magnified

The Promise.

The hours pass us by like seconds,
Sifting through our fingertips like grains of sand.
Stretched out over the sullen blades,
Beneath a blazing silver moon.

A gnarled old willow stretches out,
Ready to ******.
But the cold of the night will never reach you,
Wrapped inside a blanket of words and promises.

Ghosts of the weeks past fade amongst the stars,
Burning bright on their final eve,
But a haunting thought teases our mind
From over turmoiled seas foreign soils beckon.

Across the poppy fields the duty-call summons,
The unforgiving imperative rings true
And tears me from your clutches,
****** into the war of a loveless country.

The months crawl on, blurred with loneliness,
I see you waiting at the station for my return,
Instead a grey envelope replaces me,
Abandoning you, alone in the crowd.

And now, shivering on those sullen blades,
You lie there, waiting to join me,
As from afar I watch over you,
Above the waning crescent moon.

Its 2.22am
these multiple numbers
keep making themselves
apparent
pushing into my sight lines
sleep has slipped the knot
my head a turmoiled eddy
thoughts and worries
swirling in the dark waters
of my sleepless mind
feeding the toss and turn
illuminating
the empty side of the bed
the ache inside grows deeper
with the fast advancing dawn
I want to beat back the clock
turn the tock to ticking
slide backwards into midnight
like grains of sloe ice
pushing the hands of time
uphill
moving against gravity
moving toward you
your empty side of my bed
yawns an armless embrace
cold and hollow
I want to bend space
in on itself
turn this cold chasm
into a vacuum
of charged particles of light
pulling against time
pulling toward you
my heart beats in it's cage
like a hummingbird in flight
beating only for you
this  broken dinted night
sleep slipped again at 2.22.

© J.C. 28/12/2019 @ 2.22am

I hear your cries in the howling wind,
Where the turmoiled burst free from the scalding wings.

Generations on generations,
Pain passed down where legacies need be.

This is the truth of what we’ve shed.

And those of us that deny have clearly lost our humanity.

We feel your anguish, we’ve breathed your agony.

The countless numbers, of broken hearts, estranged promises,
Of shattered dreams that follow pain.

It is difficult to be able to rise up to such a haunting truth.

There is no beauty in pain.
There is no gain in suffering.

The hurt of hollow apologies,
Of hope, of love, of torture, of sadness,
Of hope again, of fleeting joy, of darkness, of grief.

There is no parallel to told in the anguish of injustice.

This cycle of toxicity must end.
And if your pain is not acknowledged,
Let those that refuse to put their knives down be put to shame.

01.10.2021