"willed" poems
They rest all over
whilst I was rooted to the ground,
the water acting like superglue
as my limbs stretched out.
Towards the clumps of land
rods of steal and wood weaved,
to connect and *****
that which we call humanity.
But there were abuse on the rods
formed by hands who'd calloused hearts,
poison coursing through their veins,
but not a single thought was given
for they were innocent in their brain.
Said limbs and rods spiraled out,
as nothing was left to chance,
intertwining everyone's destiny
in majestic flare and grace, grand
like a ballerina's dance.
But the poison was too corrosive,
the termites were too much,
as everything eroded, imploded,
crumbled and buried under
mounds of earth.
But today is different,
a new beginning, a new life.
As if the gods have willed
something better to arrive.
Indeed they came: Ports
forged from purity anew,
where fresh legs are delivered
and old legs whisked away.
For no matter how dark it
was, is, will be,
even during the night,
there always is and will be
a pip of light.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 7:46 AM UTC
Be kind to yourself,
as you are with others
You have these
grand expectations
of yourself
and at times,
those around you
It's good to have goals
and a hunger for
betterment,
but you must also be
vigilant
to keep them realistic
Because, while you are indeed
fierce & strong-willed,
you are also soft
& at times
fragile
You are human.
But that doesn't mean
you are without
superpowers
Your sensitivity is your greatest gift,
but without care,
can also be your greatest
downfall
You must learn to master your craft.
This means to be
patient with yourself
as you would with others,
to show compassion
as you would with others,
to show love,
grace,
& humility,
to yourself
This in practice,
is to truly understand,
& epitomise,
that self-care
is not
selfish
That it is okay to say no,
or to ask for help,
or to be truly
vulnerable
To acknowledge
that fear is
the root cause
of bitterness
& resentment
To embrace the lows,
for making the highs even
sweeter
To let the good wash
over you
the same as
the bad,
& embrace the micro changes,
as the meta
stays the same
To believe you are worthy,
of a great love,
the same as you believe
another's
worthy of
yours
To embody the idiom
that one can
only
truly love another,
after
they learn to love
themself,
& thus allowing
the hard-earned
victory
of grounded, stable
communion
To know the difference between
support
& advice,
love
& lust,
friendships
& partnerships
To have
faith
that you will find your way,
because you will;
because you live your life
with generosity
& authenticity
This is my vision for you,
that you will
make this your reality.
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 2:18 PM UTC
The sewer stink of street trash
marries the scent of desire
veiled in crimson shadows
reflected on the damp pavement
Thoughts silenced by the gasp
of nylons being shredded by possibility
Teeth grip then slip
on the sweat of a humid night
Fireball burns sweet
as night lands on the flesh in city soot
a grit that makes every movement
a sanguinary promise
forged on the edge of pain
Owned. Taken. Willed.
Filled with primal intoxication
that turns warm city nights
into shameless memories
wrapped in the stink of street trash
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 4:28 AM UTC
The bright blue bottle hit me like a hint of death
on the breath of Spring.
I imagined it being tossed out a truck window
by underage teens fancying themselves clever
and mature and immortal
as if the earth had willed upon them
that her stolen treasure, Aluminum,
be returned or she’d cause their truck keys
disappear for all eternity.
I picked up the blue bottle
tried to feel resurrection
in a recycling sort of way
felt instead only the hollow emptiness
of mindless eternal reincarnation.
Winter had been long this year and lately
I fantasized resurrection more than usual
at a field where I stopped to listen to meadowlark and field sparrow calling for mates or alerting everyone to the sin of the blue bottle.
Several deer grazed the unseen first greens of Spring near skunk cabbage and coltsfoot.
At a small stream, I cupped my hand into the icy fast water and raised it to my lips, then splashed my face, then splashed some more, more,
then knelt, both knees at the streambed and submersed my face and head,
in self-inflicted baptism
for my own blue bottle sins,
opened my eyes, exhaled all my blue bubbles, for the longest of repentant moments,
pulled out of the water
gasping the holy Spring air
for dear life
and thereafter walked each step
in the garden of resurrection.
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 9:25 PM UTC
this door exists,
stately and staunchly it stands,
disheartening and terrifying it remains.
the door is unlocked, yet cannot be opened,
for in it, a path in time...
one decision that can affect everything
[such as my choice to wear the necklace you adore,
which lead to you noticing me for the very first time,
or my idea to play you the song that you fell in love with,
which i can no longer listen to]
...for in this door, one path
is intimidatingly located.
every bone in my body,
every last muscle, tendon, ligament
each artery, each vein, each capillary
every single nerve,
even each microscopic cell,
implores me not to open this tempting door...
[it is almost as if my hand refuses to grasp the handle,
to unleash the unknown upon me,
the colossal chain of events that would ensue]
the immensity of the unfamiliar,
the unexplored,
tends to perturb me.
change is unnerving
and is almost as chilling
as an abandoned graveyard at midnight.
but i bring my mind back to the door,
yes! this preposterous door that i have contrived for myself.
why is the **** so easily turned?
why does it not put up somewhat of a fight,
at least jolt me suddenly,
as to frighten my curious heart?
it is a constant battle between my body
my mind
and my heart
as to which doors to open
and which ones to leave ever so steadfastly closed.
but never once has there been such a struggle
for them to reach an understanding.
somehow my heart,
[even though a fraction of me,
a fist, dripping in blood]
is prevailing for the moment.
my heart reaches for the handle,
attempts to unclose the door...
yet, with the best of its ability,
withstanding my strong-willed
and obstinate heart,
my powerful body and commanding mind
overcome this hostile takeover,
and the door remains shut.
it is my body,
my skillful mouth,
my soft, rose lips,
my elegant tongue,
and my vocal chords...
all of these pieces must
contrive the words,
conceive the change,
which will unveil the path that will forever alter us...
slowly, opening the door.
being as in love with you as i am,
i will not let you slip away from my arms right now.
but when we are not together
[*i wish you’d have been there,
i needed you there*]
i stare at this humbling door.
if i wait too long, i’ll forever lose you;
for it is you who will make this choice for me,
opening your own door, fearless and dauntless.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 2:40 AM UTC
465
I heard a Fly buzz—when I died—
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air—
Between the Heaves of Storm—
The Eyes around—had wrung them dry—
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset—when the King
Be witnessed—in the Room—
I willed my Keepsakes—Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable—and then it was
There interposed a Fly—
With Blue—uncertain stumbling Buzz—
Between the light—and me—
And then the Windows failed—and then
I could not see to see—
12.1k
Light train chugging, working to outrun
Over exerting, pulling along your freight
Sand is running out under the diminishing sun
Fastidiously you tug on your enormous weight
Segmented equal in seven hulking proportions
Weaving between sleeping rocky giants
Assertion in your drive gifted from the high heavens
Borne of light your cargo load of tenants
Silver blurred rays glinting back as reply
As you power your way through
Defying seconds, before the last rays should die
Against odds, delivering what is due
Questing to alleviate my inflicted darkness
Spear of brilliance slicing through my mind
Illuminating the farthest and tiniest of crevices
Nook and crannies that willed me blind
Careful manoeuvring to keep your balance
Through scenic views fraught with treachery
Furiously working to keep your cadence
Hopeful of unloading the load you carry
What lies dormant in that cargo of yours?
What sleeps easy within those boxcars?
What stokes the fire to diligently run your course?
What promises you bear, travelling near and far?
Bales of hope and crates of strength
Supplies of kindness and self-worth
Reside within your immense length
Intact and lay quiet within your formidable girth
Reliant on the light that fuels and feeds
Your axles seem tireless guiding forth those wheels
Thundering over land with the power of a thousand steeds
Armed to your teeth with alloys and steels
Expelling grit and dirt as you pummelled across
Grey-white fumes, shoot up to the sky
Flag flogged by wind, billow and toss
Blaring your whistle as you race on by
Propelling forward, horizon up ahead
There it is...in all its tenebrous glory
Darkened locomotive seething mad with dread
Brace for the clash and the loads the two carry
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:03 AM UTC
Babylon has fallen! Aye; but Babylon endures
Wherever human wisdom shines or human folly lures;
Where lovers lingering walk beside, and happy children play,
Is Babylon! Babylon! for ever and for aye.
The plan is rudely fashioned, the dream is unfulfilled,
Yet all is in the archetype if but a builder willed;
And Babylon is calling us, the microcosm of men,
To range her walls in harmony and lift her spires again;
The sternest walls, the proudest spires, that ever sun shone on,
Halting a space his burning race to gaze on Babylon.
Babylon has fallen! Aye; but Babylon shall stand:
The mantle of her majesty is over sea and land.
Hers is the name of challenge flung, a watchword in the fight
To grapple grim eternities and gain the old delight;
And in the word the dream is hid, and in the dream the deed,
And in the deed the mastery for those who dare to lead.
Surely her day shall come again, surely her breed be born
To urge the hope of humankind and scale the peaks of morn --
To fight as they who fought till death their ****** field upon,
And kept the gate against the Fate frowning on Babylon.
11k
her rigorous objections
are herded slowly down the sheep trail
by studious pencil thin men with stylish mustache's
who have deep pocket pickers for friends
they gather round the weak willed and the willing alike
looking for cheap thrills and spare change
everybody needs a new road
when the old one seems to never end
but she with eyes cast down
mumbles her unappeased desires
as she shuffles a little closer to the truth as she sees it
she has it all written out in secret languages
she has books filled with life's coded thoughts as she see's them
barn burners and dare devils grace the cover of her latest creation
self titled to her own romantic name
she is stylized in her own way
so she adores the pencil thin men
with their dashing devil may care good looks
i wrote her a letter yesterday
full of stories from the great highway
full of chipper go getters and the glum go gotten
she is a forever stone on a necklace
she is a moonstone on a bracelet
she is graceful when it counts and
thats more than enough for me
the pencil thin moustache men
come to conquer the all night diners
in the small shoreline towns
but slink away in dawns first light
with stolen smiles and borrowed kisses
that they promise profusely to return tomorrow
but never do
such is the romantic night by her side
such is the wonder-wheel days of our
journey on the great highway
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
I dreamed it, I willed it, that's how it should be
That the law of attraction would bring you to me
But now that you're here I've got to confess
I'm not sure I'm up for this kind of success.
You're the only law I'm willing to follow
Everything to this moment suddenly rings hollow
The voice of your soul commands me to move
With reckless abandon I'm ready to prove
I feel the need to break all the rules
What I'm learning from you isn't taught in school
One smile from you and I color outside of the lines,
Forget about bedtime and drink too much wine
Your laugh drives me to run all the red lights
Skip barefoot in snow and stay up all night
Kiss you in public, confess most of my sins
To hell with sportsmanship... I'm out to win
The reason you've come is the law of attraction
And there's nothing that brings me more satisfaction
That I'd feel this way for you is so unexpected
I understand now how my soul was neglected
Your interest draws out in me every cliché
You started this game... are you ready to play?
Ignoring all the signs that it can't be done
Rules are made to be broken; that's half the fun
Your hand in mine gives me all that I need
To take more chances...risk making a scene
Your eyes convey more than your lips can say
Reflecting the promise of more on the way
Supernatural forces are infinitely stronger
And I could not have waited a moment longer
We were meant to create this breathless reaction
The only rule I need is your law of attraction.
Aug 17, 2010
Aug 17, 2010 at 5:40 PM UTC
From the French of François Villon
Tell me now in what hidden way is
Lady Flora the lovely Roman?
Where’s Hipparchia, and where is Thais,
Neither of them the fairer woman?
Where is Echo, beheld of no man,
Only heard on river and mere—
She whose beauty was more than human?—
But where are the snows of yester-year?
Where’s Heloise, the learned nun,
For whose sake Abeillard, I ween,
Lost manhood and put priesthood on?
(From Love he won such dule and teen!)
And where, I pray you, is the Queen
Who willed that Buridan should steer
Sewed in a sack’s mouth down the Seine?—
But where are the snows of yester-year?
White Queen Blanche, like a queen of lilies,
With a voice like any mermaiden—
Bertha Broadfoot, Beatrice, Alice,
And Ermengarde the lady of Maine—
And that good Joan whom Englishmen
At Rouen doomed and burned her there—
Mother of God, where are they then?—
But where are the snows of yester-year?
Nay, never ask this week, fair lord,
Where they are gone, nor yet this year,
Except with this for an overword—
But where are the snows of yester-year?
9.1k
Don't let their condecending, backstabbing, whispers
blow out your candle- lit heart.
For in the darkness even the strong willed,
will fall to their knees to **** on the worlds ****
So when life happens and you're just a good person thrown in the crossfire of a war you didn't want.
Are you going to swallow and make peace
or
are you going to spit and fight back?
Money rules the world. I rule my mind.
We're all diamonds just some of us are in the rough. Wrong place at the wrong time.
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 2:49 AM UTC
She’s born a girl
But knows not what fear is
She wonders in her sleep
‘How great would it be
If I was born a boy
When in need of strength
The hidden is stronger
When in need of support
The trust comes forward
Just why was I not born a boy’
But she does not complain
Only dreams in her sleep,
She live the life of liberty
Just like those creatures,
Soaring through the skies
She loves the world,
She trusts herself,
She believes in power,
Within herself
She’s a Strong Willed Girl.
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 4:30 AM UTC
Please, do not touch me.
I am fire, and darling I burn.
Do not stand too close or you will be consumed by my flames.
Because I have grown tired of being restricted to just this pit of self-doubt.
I am tired of failing at being adequate in a mold that I was never designed to fit in.
I have let my self-worth be defined by those whose only aim is to put me out.
My flame has been kept for years locked inside of myself
Losing the oxygen it takes to keep it growing
Fighting, surviving, growing dimmer so that I would not shine.
Because the brighter the glow, the more attention it attracts.
And it is was easier to just be invisible.
But this light of mine has taught me that no matter the circumstance,
It will keep glowing.
For years I told myself that if I could only put the flame out I would be safe;
Never having to worry about what they had to say.
Eventually, fire would become ash, fading into the background.
But I realized that no matter how dim the flame, as long as there is chance for a spark, they won’t be satisfied.
In the heat of the moment I rose up from the ashes.
The pressure finally broke and I let myself become who I had always been too afraid to be.
More brilliant than ever before.
A force to be reckoned with.
I broke through the pit and burned down every insecurity.
Growing only stronger
Forever.
My friends,
Do not let them smolder you.
Every word said out of hate,
Out of envy,
Out of lack of humanity
Do not let it run like ice through your veins.
Consuming the fire within.
And if you believe you are too far gone,
Don’t worry.
Fate has taught me that even ashes can rise up again.
It only takes a spark.
To ignite the flame that has been burning your whole life.
It is there, everyone sees it but you.
If they didn’t why would you be such a target?
Use the words they sling at you and use them as kindling,
Relighting the fire inside of you.
Because you are capable of being brilliant.
As passionate, strong, and self-willed as a forest fire.
Escape the pit.
Let your light shine like the sun.
And burn like nothing will ever put you out.
Because unless you let it
Nothing ever will.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
365Nectar #46 The High Priestess of Soul
Fri. November 8, 2013 10:38 P.M.
Deep in the distance
dancing upon the horizon
a deeply distinctive voice
defies definition
bending genres to her will
clearly breaking boundaries
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
Little Girl Blue
lettin' it all out
with a wild as the wind
Sinner man
just tryin' to feel good
absolutely refusing to be misunderstood
a strong-willed priestess turns tempermental tunes
into blazing beautiful harmony
putting a revolutionary spell on you
belting emotional songs of freedom and spirit
Peace of Heart
Nectar of Truth
just in time
to do what you do...
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues.
Born to a preacher handyman
and housemaid minister
a gospel pop fusion diva
emerges from the Glory of Love
a strange volatile fruit
blossoms into young, gifted, and Black
spitting storms of spiritually smoldering Black Gold
from a silky soul
that scorches the earth
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
Masterfully mesmerizing
Black rock
Blood
and Candlesmoke
a fiery flow of
tangy, tantalizing and titillating
under a fog of duality
genius bears two heads
vibrant and intricate
a saucy songstress swings with passion and honesty
an empowered diva
breaks down and let's it all out
just energetic expressive jazz
injected with well composed folklore
live at Ronnie Scotts
an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
From Newport to Baltimore
an exiled priestess feeds forbidden fruit
and hypnotizes the masses
with tantalizing love me or leave me alone torch songs
a powerful
Four Women
high on Lilac Wine
blush from Broadway Blues Ballads
in Baltimore
See-line woman
goes to hell
to save Little Liza Jane
and shelters in Barbados
Cotton-eyed Joe feeds
Brown Baby controversy
behind Blue Prelude
Did it move you?
Yeah...
Hell yeah.. it moved me too!
Mr. Bojangles wave bye bye to a Blackbird
in chilly winds that don't blow
while willows weep something seemingly
symbolic of soothing
to an African mailman in Central Park
and an exiled priestess wails louder than ever
silky, soulful, and spicy Pastel Blues
The High Priestess of Soul
caged but still singing
shivering sensations
from stubborn sweetness
under sweet strings
that sharply spill and scatter strength
to the sorrowful
that daily dine and devour
silky, soulful, and spicy
Pastel Blues.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC
My Estranged Dear
Why couldn't we piecemeal the past
The pieces that crashed
Over dinner and a cup of joe
Over the branches that glow
Why did the leaves fall from their limbs
Before the Autumn hymns
Before their time
Our days lost in chime
Why do two hearts sever alone
Confetti tomorrows falling to stone
Why my estranged dear do you dread
A benevolence served over broken bread
A posse of good nature willed
In fall of olive branches milled
To my estranged dears
Collectively over the years
I sat in front of the mirror
Farther away than nearer
Pondering the same sad old song
Of where golden went wrong
Was it being on the ruler of the river
With no catches to deliver
Being next to our campfire
Small flames freezing your heart's desire
Was the heat of the night
Dancing in plight
Were the words I spoke
Just a convoy of smoke
Was it sleeping in the restless tent
Your pent up passion spent
On black bears in others, you see
And not in me
To my estranged dears
My eyes were blind to your fears
I admit with regret
And knowingly I know my debt
Yet I can only wander on the past
In hopes that an ember is cast
A ruler I was not
Though vetted by such for naught
Logan Robertson
8/11/2018
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 7:02 PM UTC
Pale-skinned girl from Indiana,
with freckles,
yes, freckles, on your cheek,
this is who I am. This is my story.
It is only coincidence that I sing it
to you,
but sing, nonetheless, I do. One morning
amidst the restlessness of my top-bunk sheets
I heard a whispering and thought it might be God it was
me. My unconsciousness begging me
for nourishment, silently loudly attacking
my awareness with questions: it asked why
I neglect it. Pale-skinned girl from Indiana,
with freckles,
yes, freckles, on your cheek,
is this, too, why your body vibrates
when your thoughts are feelings? Because you too
have recognized feeling as thought? That that
faculty of wonder you hush about as if a
***** secret of forgotten childhood memory
is something that is as real as
the metaphysical pores of a skin you cannot touch,
but know is not some foreign, distant, effacing
thing, but is thick, is thick, thick as words
creaking like old wood in a library filled
with students who read so much ******** to get into
college but never venture forth for such skin
in the skin of those unconscious voices in the
shelves? Selves: we call them books but they breathe.
The ideas wriggle in your veins like
a worm. They block your blood yet move
your soul. The stillness of your speechlessness
is some movement in itself. So I suspect of you,
pale-skinned girl from Indiana,
with freckles,
yes, freckles, on your cheek.
So I suspect of myself.
I do not understand how else I could have been born
without eyes which we call eyes. I cannot see
why else.
I cannot.
You cannot.
There is light over there in that darkness.
A glimpse of it- a sliver of silver
has shocked you into your paleness. Into my
blackness. It is the same difference. A different
same.
Line break:
A mirror tells me things with my eyeless eyes.
My brownness ***** me into journeys with
tunnels so deep that we call them pupils.
In the distance that I gaze into I find
myself gazing into a distance I gaze into. Fathom
it. Do not. Will not will it will it will not
willed. Touching it will wilt it without touching:
this is the soul you said does not exist.
It is not there. It is.
In Indiana.
Where's that? asks my blood.
In Indiana.
Over there? my finger points out the window.
No. It is.
It is. Not.
Suddenly I smell something and it is myself.
It is not Indiana or freckles or pale-skin.
I ask you where it is.
Suddenly you smell something and it is yourself.
It is not Gaborone or curly-haired or black.
You ask me where I think it is.
What the **** do we know?
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 9:04 PM UTC
word travels & *** sells
/stomping gravel lest I dwell/
fires burn & hearts ache
/a dream yearned and willed awake/
a ponds ripple & a banshees scream
/it looked simple, reality is obscene/
flesh twists & seasons change
/a list of reasons to rearrange/
flowers wilt & the sun sets
/baby lullabies and cold sweats/
wood knocks & doors close
/deadbolts lock and war grows/
secrets whisper & snow falls
/dark drifters and phone calls/
chapters start & stories end
/laughter, death and grow again/
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 3:12 AM UTC
An outcast ve become
For loving you this much
An outcast I've become
Amidst my friends now foe
An outcast I've become
With mockery eye that feeds on me
And criticizing fingers
That poke my face
An outcast I've become
For loving you that much
Though,I mind not to be an outcast
Amidst friends who gaze at me
With side eye
Their stares could lift me over the bridge of doom
If I'd been light weighted in heart for you
Or the strength your love gives me
Had not been willed from within
Maybe,just maybe
The hole they had dug
Would swallow me deep
As I surrender to their claims
Cos an outcast
I will be
As long as we remain bond
An outcast is Me
For loving you much more...
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
How it felt about when she smiled
Her roses were red wine
Teeth were an iceberg in a cold sea
I didn't know she knew me more than by name
I walked head up to her in a confident laze
She always willed to lay a hand in a steamy time
Whenever she called me by my pet name
I would light up a grin
How I couldn't help her spell
How much I belied of having a way out
The more she drew close, the more I sank in
How she made seduction a white collar trade
The lavish eyes, the lazy talk, the pure feminine mien
She pat on my shoulder and turned to catch a glance
Asked what made her hands a soft pleasure
Whispered that she was schooled in pottery and making dough
I couldn't stop but ask about the flawless curves
She pushed out her lips and said I used to spin a ring at nine
I asked her out for a movie
She said tragedies make her cry
One day I went to look down through my office windowpane
My sight met hers taking down a secret gang
With a fierce nine millimeter gun
I was left speechless in awe
We needed to rethink our revolution
On her mission in Damascus a plane crashed
I still cried a pail.
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 1:56 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, blood is shameless;]
impurity on the ***** red
I pure I shed
hunger I fed
so loose so tight on the lead
so irritating she bled
revolting when it messes with the head
doors closed sounds spread
again unlike the befores I said
polluted on garments I five the two
onto the further of the farthest of lives
I paint I skin
I smudge the thin in the thrill
till it comes to a ****
and a breathe is willed
for nails to blood
and fingers to clot
guilty shame not guilty shameless pleasures on the lots
I care I not
--------ravenfeels
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 5:00 PM UTC
Ripples running away from me
disturbing the cool water around.
My splash is heard by the trees and the birds
But by none who can offer help.
At first I panic, thrash madly,
as a thrush flutters on the breeze.
More waves are caused by the actions
But still I flap and scream.
Not a soul can hear me;
the woods are a wilderness, deserted.
Everything hidden by the low dense cloud,
It stops my sight short and muffles my voice.
So I wait drifting with the current
no longer reaching for a hold,
Confident I’ll be found and saved
Dried out and sent home happy.
The minutes soon become hours though
and still there is no help.
I give up counting depressing time.
I don’t want to know how long.
My skin starts to wrinkle with wetness
like a dried fruit in a plastic bag;
My nails soften in the water
But still trap **** and other life.
My faith in human nature
starts to fade and recede.
I try calling out once more
A strange fear forcing the action
I now grab, frantic, at anything in reach
Losing what little strength's left
And the weight of the water in my clothes
And body is dragging me down.
Finally I realise what’s happening to me
is I am sinking, drowning - and fast.
I am dying and there is nothing
I can do myself to stop it.
Inevitable, unpreventable death that I
now accept as being my destiny,
I close my eyes and try to help
By thinking heavy thoughts.
Running over in my head all the reasons
why it may be better this way -
As death is certain this is academic
But strangely seems to help.
If one can find the good in Death
it’s not so unattractive.
I no longer worry, I am resigned
It is my choice to die.
So I just lie back and wait for
embrace even my forthcoming Death
And then I hear a sound prayed for weeks ago
But dreaded and hated as I am now
Footsteps coming towards me that I try to ignore
(and ignore their voices too)
And a hand reaches for me, grasps mine
They think I should be happy to be saved
But they cannot see I don’t want to be saved
from the Death I was so close to and wanted.
I welcomed it, I willed it, to
Come and release me from the pain
Now I am safe I must endure once more
the suffering, and accept Death again.
So here I am alive and well
Trapped in the prison of life.
Aug 24, 2011
Aug 24, 2011 at 6:31 AM UTC
You came, you saw, you conquered.
Ripped my flesh off to reveal my internals.
Walked out wordless;
left me to wonder...
What just happened?
Your memory is a stale reminder of how I will never find another
just quite you.
We were two halves of a broken heart,
but our torn and serrated edges willed us not to connect.
When you left, it
was tough.
Is tough.
Dec 5, 2011
Dec 5, 2011 at 11:38 AM UTC
"Boy toy
or girl
toy! Don't
make me tell
you again, Pedro!"
I have committed a felony
within the land of the Golden Arches.
I have gone through
another patient's order
and forgotten which gender
to assign to the child
standing right next to them,
as if in need of another
fresh new coat in
traditional roleplay,
as if these little ones
were the cattle of tradition.
How foolish of me to assume
that the tiny calf in pigtails
would enjoy the strong-willed,
goal-setting, leadership-evoking
action figure instead of the sanitized,
goal-admonishing, vapidity-provoking
fashion doll.
I wouldn't want to lose
another valuable customer.
Jul 1, 2010
Jul 1, 2010 at 9:43 PM UTC