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samasati  Nov 2012
I believe
samasati Nov 2012
I believe in smiling at strangers. I believe in saying hello. I believe in shyness. I believe in fear of rejection. I believe in the need of affection. I believe in the need of reminders. I believe in candles, especially those that smell of vanilla or christmas. I believe in wearing small crystals around my neck. I believe in energetic vibrations. I believe in colours - I think each person has their own colour. I believe every feeling is valid. I believe in chapstick and I believe in mascara that doesn’t clump. I believe in nail polish - every colour of nail polish. I believe that the only reason we lie is because we fear something. I believe in poetry. I believe in bluntness. I believe in the intention behind words, but I don’t necessarily believe in words. I believe in travel. I believe in travelling solo. In fact, I believe in travelling so much that it is pretty much all I want to do. I believe in music. Boy, do I believe in music. I believe any kind of musical composition can change a person. I believe music can cure depression. I also believe music can feed depression. I believe a melody can say more than lyrics and I believe that lyrics can be what someone couldn’t put together themselves to explain exactly how they are feeling. I believe anyone can create a song, even though they believe they cannot. I believe a single note can sound like the most beautiful sound in the world. I believe if someone records a song when they’re in an ugly mood, the ugliness emits to its listeners and can drain them. I believe in art. Of course I do. I believe in acrylic paint. I believe in oil paint and watercolours, but not as much as I believe in acrylic. I believe in fingerprinting. I even believe in painting with your toes. And I believe in dancing; even if it looks weird. I believe in flailing your arms even, as long as it feels good and right. I believe in dancing ‘til you sweat, though I don’t like that icky feeling too much. I believe that a babe can be a very ugly person and a physically unattractive person can be a very beautiful person. I believe that people who smile are beautiful. I believe that people who frown are beautiful too, just in a different way. I believe that there are sincere smiles and there are manipulative smiles. I believe that some people just know how to use their eyes well. I believe in eye contact. I believe in engaging. I believe in listening and dropping everything else that is going on in your mind just to listen to what a person is trying to share with you. I believe in sharing - sharing cookies and sharing love. I believe in the frosty cold. I believe that it doesn’t have to feel as cold as it really is. I believe that people complain a lot. I believe that people often have too much pride to be happy. I believe that we should embrace our discomforts and shames, that we should welcome them wholeheartedly so that we can be happy. I believe in honesty. I believe in empathy. I believe in tea. I believe in jelly donuts but only on certain occasions. I believe in quirky bow ties. I believe in knit toques and mittens and scarves. I believe in dresses. I believe in flirting. I believe in coffee in the morning. I believe in big comfy beds. I believe in walking around your empty house in your underwear or birthday suit, singing loudly. I believe in singing in the shower. I believe in singing on the street. I believe in stage fright. I believe in meditation, though I don’t really strictly set times to do it anymore. I believe mundane activities can be done in a meditative state of mind. I believe in clarity. I believe in not judging people because everyone is human. I believe every human has something very interesting about them. I believe in boring people too. I believe in christmas music - not the radio kind, the choral kind. I believe in cheap sweet wine. I believe in Billy Joel and I believe in The Beatles. I believe in Regina and Sufjan too. I believe that the ukulele is a very overrated instrument. I believe in having healthy hair. I believe in moisturizer. I believe in getting to pick a coloured toothbrush at the dentist. I believe in thick wool socks. I believe in baggy sweaters. I believe in yoga gear but I do not believe in sweatpants. I believe that yoga is one of the healthiest things for a person - ever. I believe in buying a friend drinks or dinner once in awhile. I believe in collecting shoes and scarves and rings. I believe in chords but I don’t really believe in jeans. I believe in hot chocolate with whip cream but not with marshmallows. I believe in dorky Christmas sweaters. I believe in baking cookies instead of cake. I believe in eating disorders - I do not support them, but I do believe they are much more severe and various than most people think and I believe there should be better/proper help for those who suffer instead of the usual cruel inpatient/outpatient care. I believe in trichotillomania and I believe in dermatillomania and the severity and impact it can have on its sufferers. I believe in gardens. I believe in every single flower. I believe that everyone is always doing their best. I believe that most people love to struggle. I believe in hope. I believe in having faith in yourself. I believe in iPod playlists. I believe in gym memberships in the winter, not the summer unless it’s to swim. I believe in matching underwear every day. I believe in Value Village. I believe in singing in bus shelters when you’re waiting for the bus. I believe in dressing up according to holidays. I believe in Grey’s Anatomy and I believe in Community. I believe in skirts and dresses that twirl like the ‘ol days. I believe in longboards more than skateboards. I believe in plaid like most young people do. I believe in bows in my hair, but not as much as I used to. I believe in foot massages and hand massages. I believe in reflexology and reiki and essential oils and chakras and crystals and holistic nutrition. I believe in anxiety; even crippling anxiety. I believe in awkward romances. I do not believe in flip flops. I do not believe in Beatles covers unless they are really insanely good; then my mind is blown. I believe in having long enough nails to scratch someone’s back appropriately. I also believe in biting nails. I do not believe in telephone calls unless I am extremely comfortable with the person. I believe in blogs. I believe in journals. I believe in naming special inanimate objects like journals, instruments, technology and furniture. I believe in the idea of cats more than I believe in cats. I believe in sharpies or thin pointed permanent markers. I believe in temporary tattoos. I believe in streaming movies online. I believe in royal gala apples. I believe in avocados. I believe in rice cakes. I believe in popcorn. I believe in airports but I hate the LA airport. I believe in openly talking about *** but I don’t believe in making it seem shameful and gross. I believe there should be no shame regarding sexuality. I believe in reading some great books more than once. I believe in laying on the couch under cozy blankets, watching a great suspenseful tv show or movie. I only believe in having a couple bites of cheesecake. I don’t really believe in lulu lemon. I don’t believe many people can pull off the colour yellow. I believe in buttons over zippers even though zippers are easier, they just look kind of dumb and cheap. I believe in the sun and the moon equally. I believe in closets over dressers. I believe in staring out the window for a good hour or so.
Toxic yeti  Mar 2019
The chakras.
Toxic yeti Mar 2019
As we wake up
I loving kiss your chakras
I kiss you on the crown
To your root chakra
I tease and pleasure you. You then do the exact same
Stopping at my mouth
Then continue with
The chakras
And kiss my womanhood
My root chakra.
I feel an intense pleasure
I live to feel.
Dondaycee Oct 2018
I’m a new kid,
I have a new name.
A new game?
I’m; here…
Undisputed,
I can’t reMember My Old name-
-I’m… Here…

Why do adults live with separation?
I mean; people don’t communicate,
“Consuming assumptions so you can hate”,
But know it is only the variables that are even exchangeable when reaching solutions in mind,
Peep thee illusions of time,
If we live in the moments, it’s fine-
Until we come across a choice and we’re absent from our voice,
It’s the voices we’re fed that sides;
Uhh DECIIDE!,
(“be humble”)
There’s THREE TIMES,
(“sit down”)
Now breathe…
The dreams I’m having, reiterated “I” in past;
But yet, I’m here,
Right now, my last thought is the last, last,
Cause says be; clear,
On my intentions,
I want love and affection,
That’s why I put myself sec (secondary) and,
Call me Reese Bobby;
In a world of duality,
“If you ain’t first-”
-You’re definitely not second,

What is transgression?
-If we were made to be,
Why does the resurrection of thy self only exist in make belief?
How can I indulge and embrace realities that weren’t made for me?
Especially when I was giving my own, it seems foolish to trade my ability to see,

I experienced her;
It’s a blessing, how she’d hold me tight,
I experienced him,
I never questioned who he was, inside,
I never fight… unless it’s by side,
It is beside, I fought with them; I speak of internal conflict,
Control accomplished,
The ego beyond it; we realize it’s the experience that takes us to a place in time, I speak of a space in a line that curves on a geometric plane that consists of circles intertwined that is often perceived as the fabrics of the universe but to save us the stretch of time, we see that it is the experience that defines life,
So who am I?
That question’s redundant,
It is all that resides in me;
I.e. abundance,
It is because of everyone in my reality, that I was able to see the cohesion, and it is because of that reason that I experience oneness,
I’m simply done with,
Using other people’s beliefs to constitute how I interact,
Because their realities are incompatible with what I essentially, intend to attract,
Certain interactions can remain abstract,
I can no longer take opinions on thoughts, if I’m the only one experiencing thoughts;
Your imagination shouldn’t be programed to be comprehensive with the past- extract,
There’s no math in that,
You’re just rearranging the variables, there’s no flow towards the conclusion;
Perspectives placed in fact,
And although this realization can be an impact,
We’d only turn our focus into a debate on what you did lack rather than embracing the thoughts that occurred that would only exploit one thing,
The solutions to the equations that you did have,
As the creators of our realities,
If it is problematic, the writer of the problem encodes an Easter egg that exploits how it is; it was you who did it,
How can we enjoy new thoughts, if they are the old thoughts?
We revisit.
It’s impossible to allude in digits if it is one we elicit…

People love my personality; they obviously love themselves,
Seeing myself in them is why I became an advocate for the conscious body of thought...and it’s health,
I.e. I express our extrinsic abundance of wealth;
I’ll reiterate; I.a. free man,
That’s: free thought, free love, free plan,
I’ll obliterate the mean-in; AI by using IA,
U-no reverse cards was the cause of humans comprehending backwards my friend,
We live backwards because we look back first,
So I’m confused on the AI fuss,
If an Artificial Intelligence is constructed based off our current level of intelligence, and is only responsive to our negligence because of the installment of IA (information architecture), then there’s no possible way for this room to have an elephant being that an AI is just an extension of us,

Who do you love?
-Is it enough?
-curious in, experiencing experiences other than lust…

I’m hearing some things,
“Who do I touch?”
Rhetorical questions; my love is a gift which seeded from trust,
I’m not one of them, I’m one of us,
One of a kind yet mind; innumerous,

I was born and knew nothing,
Only sure of my existence,
I experienced life and only found myself,
Time is only distorted when mind is missing,
Be mindful of your thoughts, it is the structure of your personality,
We just went through seven chakras expressing rationality;
I think we all can agree that T-B.O.P’s in another dimension,
And all she wants is for us to merge into our bodies potential extension...
PHI
softcomponent May 2014
Betwixt of any sense beyond experiment, I sat on the bed between shifts and out-whipped the bag of Concerta given to me by Matt, o'timey hard-worker-soft-souled Matt, who felt, perhaps, that I had a legitimate reason to explore this legal avenue of pharmaceutical mind-manipulation for reasons he would rather fathom in retrospect. I popped a single pill, and voilà, the legal-cocainnabinoid began to flow between my red and white blood-cells playing cops and robbers.

It is when I feel nostalgic that I feel the need to write. I remembered, at work, with all those strange everyone-elses faces gliding past (and myself annoyed at the general lack of positive reception "Hello there!" "h .. i ." is one sour-looking businessmans sultry whispered reply.. once, a woman told me 'look, I know that you are told to say hello at the door to everyone who enters, but I don't like it. I just want to shop in peace, and no, I don't need any help' and without case to what my managers could say, I somewhat-hissed-back, "if you don't want to be greeted, then perhaps you shouldn't walk into big private corporate establishments to find the books you're looking for," and she shrugged and muttered some ****-talk under her breath and glided upstairs to find a copy of Ayn Rand's Fountainhead or Machiavelli's The Prince to validate her bitter attitude, I bet, the sour witch), my time spent living in that backwater Esso suburb of Port Coquitlam back in 2011 when Occupy Wall Street was still a hungry potential, not yet bogged down in procrastinates over herbal teas and talk of chakras and enlightenment and how the typical Wall Street businessman probably never had a real ****** and hence had never truly satisfied the energies now burnt-to-crisps inside his Root Chakra or whathaveyou, where I believed I would find a better, more interesting world further from the musty-smallness of forest-drenched rain-drenched Powell River, only to discover I may be right outside my front door, but that's EXACTLY where I was, no further than right outside my front door.. I mean, for Goddaskes, I was born in Vancouver, this isn't a culturally-shocking move to New Delhi or Kathmandu--- and so on and so forth is how I once berated myself thru constant cycling thoughts of no-escape, I, a little walking hell of devils-advice and panic disorder-- the Great Big Port City of George Vancouver only succeeding in further overwhelming my already delicate attempt at false optimism thru self-voided Buddhist smalltalk as I travelled from bookstore to bookstore reading Alan Watts in shady attempts to save-myself but only digging my walking grave even deeper into the soil of feared-insanity.

Port Coquitlam itself was a small-town wearing a business suit and holding hands with an angry father forcing him to college for computer networking as it's the most economically viable market at hand.. at first, I did not see this. I saw my idolized imaginings of Vancouver (never Port Coquitlam), the shining water-reflected skyline of my past and present legacies, where my father once snorted ******* with a bohemian group of someones, and my mother tried LSD just to prove to her friends how bad it was (and lo and behold, what a terrible time she had!), all this Otherness, Strangeness, yet still Connected-- an Otherness with which I was taken, left to whisper into empty Campbell's cans so-as to speak with the city from a distance, two children growing older together 'til my inevitable return and our agreement to share costs on rent.

I returned, as planned. I returned, and found that old-best-friend hating the Homeless and loving the Rich-- spending time with the Peppy Plutocracy whilst enslaving the Middle Classes (first Letter Capitals to Assist YOU in Grasping my Anger with All Five Thumbs) and the horrors I saw in my already delicate state, all the starving addictives slouching-inching down the sides of ***** old walls, the only thing missing a smear of blood to follow their corpseish collapse, all just footnotes to history, footnotes to wealth and progress-reality, all footnotes with no shoes O my God O my Goodness and O Canada, Our Home and Native Land!

It hurt like it did, but I felt powerless and gaited. Felt like it were just as well me (*** it just as well is), I, in Vancouver.. *Great Big Port City of George Vancouver
.. saw the end-stretching-cold-legs of Nietzsche's Dead God.. those in cutthroat-black-suits armed with calculators and wives could afford private jets and yearly trips 'round our globular strangeness whilst others had to beg and berate and debate and break-down to get a crummy old bagel and a past-due mostly-empty jug of old milk and perhaps a 'side of fries with that order.'

What crushed me so much about this playing a Witness to God's Death (or, not so much a 'witness' as a relative asked to the morgue to identify the body) was my intuitive grasp that this is the poverty of the First World.. this is not as bad as it gets and on a scale of 1 to 10 this would only be a 3.. all the poor and displaced of Eastern Europe.. Moldovan families indifferent to the whims and what's taken.. someone called me a Socialist and said I would later grow out of it as 'reality' angled its rearing-ugly head to chop me smithereens like it did so mercilessly to the Poor and Irrelevant.. I looked at them and still look at people like them and think 'that is evil unsure of itself.. that is evil unaware... that is evil and evil is  evil to watch..' the Evil Act being the use of Money to purchase the world, demanding us all to pay royalties (mass royalties) for the privilege of life so afforded by them.. (the Sons and Daughters of God first stabbing their father then stabbing themselves then locking away and ignoring their young brother with cerebral palsy '*** he could never be armed with a calculator, nor wife)..

I learned, thru practice, to cope with these evils as laws-for-now. Coping did not mean tolerance, nor did coping mean agreement.. I had charged at life expecting hugs and bottles.. what I got was hugs and bottles.. all while I watched over the shoulder of whoever embraced me and saw young-others doing the same, where are the hugs and bottles..? they sank into the nether as the crowd ebbed past, ignoring the cries of pleading love, pleading love over time so traumatised as to distort this love (so inherent and implied in the Heart) into confusion, confusion into loss, and loss into hatred.. as the crowd ebbed past, the crowd ebbed past..

After 3 and a half months, I moved back home to Powell River.. the soggy ol' calm of what I already knew.. the warm arms of the rest, the warm arms of water-reflected sunsets.. and I got my hugs and bottles.

but was this really a happy ending?
Trā  Mar 2015
Mental Foreplay
Trā Mar 2015
embedded in the most tenebrous corner of my mind,
harlequin memories of serendipity,
dripping like bittersweet wine,
tantalize me,
begriming what was once an unsoiled canvas.

engulfed in my despondency,
I repose homely
until my mind's taste-buds
savor the saccharine flavors
of its own derisive thoughts.

aroused to say the least,
my mind's libido is now being satisfied.
I lie here,
welcoming all that my thoughts and epiphanies have to offer.
I am unable to disclose what's bestowed to me
but that's irrelevant.

My mind is here...
and open
and anticipating
the pleasing rush
of these thoughts that venture through my head.

The pleasure is overwhelming,
forcing my chakras open
as my ajna awakens from its long slumber.

I crave this foreplay
and I plead with the universe
to make it never-ending
but it seems my cries fall upon deaf ears
and I'm left open-minded
and unfinished.
If you don't understand, you can ask me.
Wen Ao Long Nov 2014
Hello snorer, I hope you didn't sleep any poorer
when I stayed up all night typing this not-poem
I meant you no harm, but I had to stay up
Because I couldn't make music out of your obnoxiously loud cacophony of windpipe crap, er "music".  Time to not-pretend to absolutely hate your snoring under the guise of being perfectly okay with it for the sake of setting the tone a bit nicer to all who must hear it, so they can BEAR to, for otherwise it would be absurd.  Not as absurd as anyone hating to have aural drills applied to all their chakras all night, but still absurd enough to get a chuckle out of me (I hope it didn't wake your fine specimen here). It was never my intent, though it was always my ethical concern (if only everyone could be as reciprocal as you and I).   Oh, my not-pretend hatred is very thinly veiled.  I wasn't totally defeated by your snore-sound armies so that I couldn't type words, but I may have lost some of my desired effect due to the sometimes wincing distraction they caused to my piece of mind at this or that time when I needed it the most (even though I was awake, which is no crime if snoring at night and keeping me that way isn't).

Well, I did ask you if you'd mind if I typed,
I did tell you that you could tell me if its quiet purr of clicks would bother your precious sleep
But I never felt a need to be concerned, because whenever I
was typing, I heard you snore, and whenever I was in the heights of
some new discovery or epiphany, your sharp sudden thunderstroke of near death
corrugated metal vibrating in the torrent of some sudden gale force gust of wind.

These were signs to me of your restful sleep.  So I simply didn't worry about your sleep.  I was certain that my electronic beeps were every now and then music to your ears, just as they were to mine.  This is because in the midst of these I heard you snore, and when you snored, I took you to be asleep.

Ah but then again, then again, these are fanciful constructions which simply say that what is wonderful for me should be just fine and dandy with you, at a bare minimum, and on those grounds of very unsymmetrical attitude about right and wrong I would have to begin my music tirade of words as well.  But I don't view justice and propriety along such selfish lines as these.

What I see is that duplicity is your thesis.  I have anecdotal accounts which are marvelous to behold first hand, but the details of the absurdities cannot be done justice in the language of men, for the intensity of such insanity can only be borne lightly by the frailest frayed ends of my sanity for having lived through your acoustically maddening inanity.

You didn't ever admit to me that my noises were not music to YOUR ears.  Indeed  you claimed never to be bothered by them because you never voiced up against them.  I suppose you might as well voice up against them in the street as well if it turns out not all of you snorers-go-a-viking types like to hear my mouse clicking away like a tapping noises on a metal plate in your skull.  Sorry if it is another non-snorer-who-must-stay-up-late-and-so-be-occupied person whose nocturnal joys were misinterpreted as direct assaults on the dignity, spirit, or just basic mental viability of your wounded snoremonster troop of anti-late-stayer-uppers, because in fact, we used to be sleep-at-night-entities like you, but that was before you showed up, thoracic marching band in tow.  Marching bands are musical also, to some people.  And for some all hours of the night are perfect for a marching band.  Who am I to tell them otherwise.  

Well let me know the next time a marching band is given special permit to come through your neighborhood at night, and I'll be glad to point out to you the first Snorer'sville, because only they should be expected, in all justice to live with the macroscopic manifestation of their personal narcissistic paradises.

Let you all go to your own place and form your own nation, and see if you can consistently demand everyone else find music in your ****** and accursed racket!  But until then I expect some of you will have to take the damage returned by the growing number of people who are very much tired of living under the horrors of your infliction upon us, your demonic and evil tyranny of mind-crushing hate that is your ****** noise.  We will do yoga and breathe, and stretch, and some light calesthenics to relax and seek some focus and composure, whenever our spirits require, and this will be unchallenged by you so long as you are asleep, and it will be unchallenged by you so long as you are awake too.  For in the latter case you are already awake (and so still are we, usually) while in the former case it is far quieter than your snoring, both in its valleys and peaks.  And moreover it has not kept you up, but in fact I have noted that you wake yourself up with your own music when it reaches a certain crescendo.  

Unless you want to say that those crescendos are some sort of involuntary complaint about MY crescendos of spirit, when I start typing about 20% faster than normal, with perfect focus and accuracy while reaching an aesthetic pleasure approaching ****** as I realize that it is almost unerringly in the midst of such an experience that I hear your crescendo resound. And since it was no more intended to be a distraction for me, then surely my music must have also gone undetected by your ears, as well as your spirit. Or is it fairer to say it was the very cause of your crescendo, or at least its inspiration?

Therefore I needn't worry that it is I that is keeping you up, even if for only brief stints at a time, especially by comparison to my all-night vigils.  Not so, but it is you who are so enraptured by my occasional laughs or giggles as I edify my weary, sleep-deprived mind on some bit of morale boosting entertainment.  With headphones on of course.  It's also courteously plugged into the computer to prevent my favorite bit of Judas Priest from hurting your ear drums, or else overstimulating your music appreciation centers, which are verily attached to your ear-drums by a nerve bundle (and what nerve you all have there).  This means I've spared you too much distraction from any already-abundant music of the spheres effect you may be savoring which might have emanated from my bumbling around in the dark (to keep the lights out of course, after all people are sleeping).

Yes but that is a minority of you perhaps, who would lie about that and in fact who ought to say that our nocturnal emissions are not what you'd call restfully mind-relaxing crickets in the dead of night with an occasional hoot in the distance...  But they are a minority, the rest of you are so definitely in good faith.

But then why do I always run into those of your tribe who have strange and unethical habits, such as destroying others' lives by ruining their one perhaps most preciously personal and inalienable need second only to air and water, and that is sleep.  It is, in terms of acute necessity, in many ways more needed than food, though in the long term food catches up.  But food catches up only because not eating food is a  lot like not getting sleep, but just a lot more intense on the body when it drops to some critical point because we know from experience it is on raw nerves that we can go for a while in search of food, but if the food can't be found (perhaps because of our lack of sleep ruining our cognition in some way), then we will not eat, nor sleep, because we'll be dead.  

But either way, we'll be dead, for lack of sleep kills, both directly and indirectly, if suffered over a short time and/or in a diluted form over a long time.  That would be poetically commensurate to the sadistic similitude of the types of snoring sounds with the types of ways to die from being deprived of sleep according to two modes (acute and chronic), over many keys of incident, accident, lost opportunity and ill-stared fate, all of which can be mapped in some way back to that auditory persecution of our very souls of which your kind are in some swelling numbers quite proud.  Just think of all the car accidents, work accidents, altercations, fits of rage, inability to concentrate well or sometimes at all, and other life-damaging conditions of the mind, and also of the body, which accrue from lack of proper and healthy sleep at night!

Good thing for most of you though, right?  Because surely our music is also sweet, and I really hope I've inspired many to face this need for equality, and be on their guard against any unjust whining or groaning from those who seem in point of fact to value their sleep just a good deal more than they value anyone else's.  Not only because they really really love to get those zzz's but because they think that in the natural order of things, before people suddenly went mad and evil, people went to bed and slept well even partly BECAUSE of this brachio-esophageal orchestral lullaby.

But we'll be on our guard against those complaints, because we know you have plotted to take to the streets against us to defend your noisiness-all-night-every-night rights.  So we'll be on guard to defend ours, TO THE LAST FIBER OF OUR BEING.

Because you insufferable ******* are cruel, and cruelty no one should abide.  No one in my world, in my society of people, will be allowed to inflict cruelty on another person, nor be callously prejudicial in their own favor when injuries do occur because of their actions merely on the grounds that the damage it causes coincides with the fulfillment of a need on their own part, even while that fulfillment is of a need which is obstructed from satisfaction in the other part, and by THAT VERY SAME REASON, so that your sleep depends on keeping others awake.  UNLESS you can somehow con or coerce them into developing some form of Stockholm Syndrome and confuse the torment you inflict upon them with a sign of your love and wonderfulness to be around.

Yes, I know you hear me typing now, through your well-behaved proxy.  I feel it. If not he per se, then in a parallel universe not too far off, there's a version of him who does.  Perhaps not the one I know now, on day one of having moved into this room, but perhaps one represented in this universe by someone who has found himself in some sort of circumstances found later on during his stay, this mixed with the fact that familiarity breeds contempt... He'll start making some righteous demands of some kind, and I might not be in a such a good mood about that due to lack of proper sleep, and this will coincide with said contumacy against my own rights (such as to breathe, type, surf the net, or do other nocturnal things other than snoring which might keep others up).

As to that last point in parentheses, snoring is an activity which you perform in conjunction with your getting sleep, and it therefore means not well for your notion of fairness to say things as they are, and simply say the truth, which is that your getting sleep deprives others of theirs, but it can be logically deduced.

It can also be logically deduced that the don't give flying **** if you don't like the fact that we don't like your ear-**** night after night, which is a good name as any, but should perhaps at times be amended to body-demolishing soul-****** of a mortally sinful nature, and with an ethical incongruity to good character of a person to maintain it, all the more to sings its praises to us and call it "good poetry".
My tirade is intended to be expressive of a sincerely felt Truth, manifested in this which is only one of many forms, where things are never neutral, but divided neatly and perfectly into either Good or evil, so that no thought, word, or deed can be trivialized as mundane, neither in its innate import nor in its exported impact for others.  This is of the essence of ethics and has many metaphysical groundings which can be rationally demonstrated, but only to rational people.
Thia Jones May 2015
I want perfection
I want that moment where our eyes meet
and neither of us can break the gaze
where our souls open to one another
like buds thirsting for the rain
where I see eternity, endless infinity
expand and share their secrets
from within you and know in that instant
that you see the same in me
I want that perfection of recognition

I want perfection
I want a shared empathy
an effortless telepathic connection
to feel that golden thread that links
all my chakras with all yours
I want to wake thinking of you
to drift into sleep doing the same
to know this is true for you too
and to meet even in our dreams
I want that perfection of synchronicity

I want perfection
I want to explore your body
to marvel at its complete perfection
even though you believe it imperfect
I want you to marvel too
at the perfection you see in this body
although I know it to be far short
I want to be consumed in mutual lust
to burn with your tastes sounds and smells
subsuming our senses into one another
I want that perfection of sensation

I want perfection
I want to run and work and sweat with you
to experience the joys of music, of performance
to travel with you to places of wonder
to inspire your creativity
to be inspired by you in every way
to reach new heights as yet undreamed
to remain forever grateful
for the gifts of your love
I want that perfection of complementarity

Cynthia Pauline Jones 4th May 2015
I have still to meet this person. There was someone who ticked some of the boxes and who for a time it seemed might complete the set, yet drew back. So I continue to search.
J Super Star  Feb 2013
Swag Hag
J Super Star Feb 2013
My throat’s all scratched from this screaming I’ve done
My diaphragm is all rubbery from these animal calls
But I carry on until you answer my distresses

O Captain, o Captain! Take me away from these generic hoes
I’m too swag for this ghetto
These ******* be hatin’ but you were always mine for the takin’

So take me now—like I did you…
Please. We’re friends. We’ve partied together and cried together.
I even bought you taco bell.

Take me away on your disco stick because
This club can’t handle me and my electric *** pants

What good is your love when just our chakras touch…
I need your grasp, I need your smell…and your ****, dramatic stare

Captain, my Captain, you may not be fly like Kanye
And I may not be glam like Beyoncé,
But this club can’t handle us right now
lol, don't take this seriously, i'm not a poet...yet
Seema Nov 2017
The sky split open
I'm ****** in a whirlpool
My body light as a feather
I am used as a tool
In another world or dimension
I not know the place
But it's too familiar
And I recognize that evil face
A demon of this world
A satanic being with filthy evil powers
Sapping my energy, draining
And this forces me to be awake for hours
Lying on my bed, praying hard
To prevail, evil forces from destroying my spirituality
Alas, I get pinned down most days
Like that of a nasty shaman practising ***** sexuality
Hitting on my chakras, stealing my energry
For somehow, I feel this person is attached to me
Please believe me, I am not insane
I feel his presence around me
And then I am left dealing with my pain
I am a spiritual person and used to feel my positive auras
Now that I am draining from my so called sickness
And feel my energy used by another for astral travel
A thief, in shadows, I can't even sketch coz of weakness
I wish to get well, I wish to live fully again
But seems, all my tries are going in vain
Hell, seems to be cracked open to let its beings out
To crawl and survive on the energies of high spirituals
Sometimes I wake up sweating with a shout
May be that's the time, this person performs the rituals
From another place unknown to me
Stealing from my meditation vault, my energies
And I am too blinded to believe and see
Coz I feel I'm in mercurial abyss, with some alienetic synergies...
Kim Johanna Baker, this poems is dedicated to you my dear poetess friend. May you get well soon :)
Julia  Jan 2018
Strong
Julia Jan 2018
His strong arms
hold me close and tight
keeping me warm.

His strong arms
are raised up to fight
those wishing harm.

His strong arms
lift me high like I'm
a jar full of air.

His tender fingers
twist the tendrils in
my naked hair.

His face, his feet, his chest, his gut inside it
are Chakras he never hided
when we both decided

...to show each other
let go of our pasts
to grow in each other.

We each have the strengths the other lacks,
but how can we make space living on each other's backs?

His strong arms
tend me like
a living room.

His strong arm
sows seeds in
my bleeding womb.

His arms stronger than any enemy's of mine
cannot fight what they cannot find.

Demons he cannot see he cannot face,
so they will take me away from him without a trace.
Shoutout to my demon demolishing hunk of a future husband
Matter is a conduit for Consciousness;
Your Body is a Prism for your Self.
Chakras are sub-prisms
each tuned to a specific vibration
a specific state of being
a specific aspect
of your specific being
Ket Tehuti  May 2015
Knowledge
Ket Tehuti May 2015
Your Endocrine System plays
a major role in this day and time because these
Glands are your Energy transformers knows as the
“Seats of Light” also known to our Ancient African
Egyptian Ancestors as “Arushaat” and well known
today as Chakras. These Glands or Chakras known as
“Energy Seats” or “Wheels of Life”, is one of the
major ways this “BLACK LIGHT ENERGY” enters your
Body and then transduces this Light frequency and
vibration throughout your Whole Body System.

— The End —