Dirty Strings

The blight in those fearless eyes,

Cutting blooms from plants,

And love from romance.

 

The blight in those fearless eyes,

Giving rot to my precious,

While gripping close to her heart.

 

Dare her to dance on the strings pulled by fingers,

The overbearing over-blaring opera singer-

Of her present,

Decide to build her future for her,

Give no regard to the desires of the subject.

 

She is family,

The closest there is,

The only there is,

But she is not theirs,

And she is not his,

She is herself,

Owned by her actions,

Forgotten by her inactions,

She is precise,

And has been given her rightful opportunity to build her own life,

She’s been guilted twice,

By the edicts of puppet masters making sure she doesn’t still the show; keeping her alike.

 

If she wields her feet to step, they shall,

If she wields her sleep to slept, it shall,

The power of breaking from the shell,

Of her elders’ shadows.

 

Precious Spring bloom,

Not arid, not trite,

Never taken by the blight,

Of their fearless eyes.

 

I promise the pressure will be a prospect of the past,

Just step.

 

Lice

I used to get beaten in my sleep from emotional dreams,

I would jolt up in cold turmoil and try to rock myself back to sleep.

 

I was never afraid to wet the bed with the tears taken from me,

Giving substance to the memories of unsightly abuse,

My eyes had no other use,

But to give life to my imagination of cutting my oppressor into two,

Or three,

I was never ever afraid to wet the bed…with the tears that were taken from me.

 

Years would pass,

I would…I would laugh,

The memories would last,

I could not would not forget,

There was no space for positivity to fit,

Space-less pieces of meat and shit,

Forced into a giant head,

Tiny lice’s proclivities to my bed…

 

 

Once the decade touched,

I wanted to move, but too much,

I wanted to get better,

I wanted to change the proverbial mental weather,

That I’ve keep for years,

That I kept tied intimately with my fears,

I hated their stain,

I could see it every time I experienced pain,

I wanted to kill everything I touched,

I wanted to improve, but not too much,

I couldn’t lose the person I thought I found,

In the mirror of yesterday staying into the presently unsound,

I wanted to win,

So…I did.

 

 

 

Forever

The ties to my devil,
Severed at every level,
I repent for gloating,
I abstain from hoping,
Too hard in triumphant day,
While my demons still remain in way,
Of what is to come,
I am not yet numb,
But healing.

I force my paces unset,
From paths I haven’t walked yet,
But seen with watery eyes,
I have broken the habit of questioning to what I know I’ve been tied,
Not until now have I tried,
To actually look beyond my burning grounds and old skies,
I have slowly halted the perpetual, one word at a time.

Now I stand along the edges of commitment to a better woman,
More complete,
Not tempted to compete –
With outstanding facts contradicting her emotion,
I stand by a more beautiful commotion,
A more final devotion,
To irrefutable evidence of betterment,
…Forever.

What We

Oh whoa we,

We as a whole,

The conviction of interests and closely knit goals,

The reach of something more beyond stained silver and blemished gold.

Oh whoa we,

We as a group,

The affliction of what combined drive could offer to truth,

The essence of time, presence and involvement in youth.

Oh whoa we,

We together,

In harmony, a gift for forever,

To make shortcomings no longer an endeavor.

Oh whoa us,

We, built on trust,

We grabbed winds and tug gusts,

Of passing prosperity,

We knowingly joined the popularity,

To be warned of the dangers of clarity,

In times of other’s clouded judgement,

We became, created, when others could make nothing of it,

We saw a forecast of rainy days and rewrote,

When silence chilled clouded chapped rooms, we spoke,

We made possible of from which those joked,

We removed the generational cloak-

That presented us as a selfish folk that choked,

On the words of our ancestors and old,

We know that success was not a product to be sold,

We lovingly adopted what we were told,

And put it flames,

We know that we are only to blame,

For our inability to change,

The very foundations that left our demons free and untamed,

That we are to blame,

For our chains,

We will, by our eternal domain,

Be glorified,

Oh whoa we.

Your Religion

Composure first then reaction,

Wait…no, reaction first then composure,

Oh how the strong man lacks clemency,

And tears.

 

The sword of your religion to pierce my back,

Restrain the sin inside,

Arrest the rest of good,

Judge what my thoughts tell me.

 

The horror of your righteous words,

The terror to your sainted tongue,

The screams in your eyes,

Tell me I am wrong,

For the quipping mouth and jesting jaws,

Will break at untruths.

 

 

1 Inch

What do we do,
When we no longer wants I and I no longer want you?,
What do we do when evident reality decides to describe you,
As a thorn that was never plucked from variety’s back,
The in group evolves, in fact–
It revolves on a fixed track–
Of fads and getting that next hit of social crack.

If I’m not mistaken, I think I smell flesh,
But our guess is as good my guess,
I sleep when excluded, in my nest,
Of horrid smells and dust mite guests,
I sleep until the night comes to wake,
Me to hate–
My reality.

I have found in years that I am unique,
I do not need company to keep,
I am no thorn, no freak,
My mind goes far and deep,
And no matter how steep–
The devil builds my hills,
I will accept the challenge and embrace the thrill,
One inch at a time 🙂 Continue reading

Chronos

Phrenic agelessness induces a feeling of immortality,
Involving purely with the psychological, we challenge seconds,
Maybe we are paranormal standing outside the realm of certain reality,
Waiting for humanities edicts to be beckoned.

Another thought clashing with fickle fabric of the unsaid,
Avoided by tongues of the undead,
This feeling keeps us with smiles,
And within the antithesis of the mind’s wiles.

We bedew the torrid areas of our surroundings with our beliefs,
That freedom of souls remain within our hands,
And are always prepared to be unleashed,
When tempted by societal constraints, from the “elite” clans,
Such as religion and monetary value,
But baseless are these values.

Immortality is directly handled by time, not by the mortal hands of the doer,
Actions, and impacts to transcend years,
Remaining intact throughout the most cavalier —
Of folk,
Beside the opinion of the ridiculer.

I, we, us, tied to time,
Why we must abide by mind?,
We don’t, break the brain beyond what time cannot tame,
Nor tamper, nor wane, nor damper,
Be opposite of what seconds say,
And separate of what time may–
Not allow, step just outside the box,
And become the paradox,
Both dead and live,
Both fled and nighed.