Monday, August 27, 2012
lots of "E"
expressing emotions telling the audience;
previous times where absolute exhilaration, existed
ever changing feelings,
emplore me
"write, write write"
examining death
desiring life
ending poems, in delight,
negatory,
reading personal poems requires fearlessness
exploring
fear
exploring
fear
fearlessly
However excluding the letter "E"?
exceedingly, challenging
All the previous words all had at least one letter "E".
the next poem has none.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
no "E"
"Look Grandpa you did it" my grandchild said.
and I said "It is you on his back,
you had control,
you and your old stallion did it, I was just standing as a position on a map"
On an animal just short of my six foot-four, my grandchild sits.
An old stallion,
an animal with many hardships during his long survival
with hurtful, barbarians,
also known as humans,
and now in scrub lands
his coat is so scraggly, .hard to touch
his hoof so frail,
Arizona sand, hot and brutal, has not hurt his will to stand up tall and carry a small child.
A kind animal, skillful at instructing a young girl,
how to work with,
how to control,
control an animal so tall and so strong.
his will is calm around a such a small girl
with only spring and fall to go,
this stallions vitality will cusp,
a young girl has his load, his trust, and his pain.
his spirit is high, with a young girl, known as Kay, on his back
his strong back, mood and humanity,..
joins with Kay,
in harmony.
in thought
in spirit
in trust
so stubborn an animal, who gladly, allows, a young girl, on his back
and a young girl who awards him with many hours of joy.
fall is now upon Kay and Stallion,
days short
his back is not so strong now
Parting is to soon.
a look from Stallion to Kay that says
"too much ,.... pain,... now"
Kay starts sobbing.
bound by trust
both downcast
sick with sorrow
both know, but don't say, how this will finish.
Mom calls animal doctor
Stallions own doctor
doctor says,...
doctor says,..
doctor says,... no light,...
his condition is fatal
now only thing to do is lay him down.
sobbing by all
sobbing too much,
sobbing for loss,
sobbing for too long until grandma says,
call to mind,
this past spring and fall,
this past spring and fall
full of joy,
and instructions,
and trust
and most of all
this past spring and fall
so full of humanity
and Kay's first crush?
now and always
Is this old stallion
and I said "It is you on his back,
you had control,
you and your old stallion did it, I was just standing as a position on a map"
On an animal just short of my six foot-four, my grandchild sits.
An old stallion,
an animal with many hardships during his long survival
with hurtful, barbarians,
also known as humans,
and now in scrub lands
his coat is so scraggly, .hard to touch
his hoof so frail,
Arizona sand, hot and brutal, has not hurt his will to stand up tall and carry a small child.
A kind animal, skillful at instructing a young girl,
how to work with,
how to control,
control an animal so tall and so strong.
his will is calm around a such a small girl
with only spring and fall to go,
this stallions vitality will cusp,
a young girl has his load, his trust, and his pain.
his spirit is high, with a young girl, known as Kay, on his back
his strong back, mood and humanity,..
joins with Kay,
in harmony.
in thought
in spirit
in trust
so stubborn an animal, who gladly, allows, a young girl, on his back
and a young girl who awards him with many hours of joy.
fall is now upon Kay and Stallion,
days short
his back is not so strong now
Parting is to soon.
a look from Stallion to Kay that says
"too much ,.... pain,... now"
Kay starts sobbing.
bound by trust
both downcast
sick with sorrow
both know, but don't say, how this will finish.
Mom calls animal doctor
Stallions own doctor
doctor says,...
doctor says,..
doctor says,... no light,...
his condition is fatal
now only thing to do is lay him down.
sobbing by all
sobbing too much,
sobbing for loss,
sobbing for too long until grandma says,
call to mind,
this past spring and fall,
this past spring and fall
full of joy,
and instructions,
and trust
and most of all
this past spring and fall
so full of humanity
and Kay's first crush?
now and always
Is this old stallion
Saturday, August 25, 2012
mantra
Mantra:
hummmm
Be averaeeeeeeeege (average)
don't trust yourseeeeeeeeelf (yourself)
they,.. are out to get youuuuuuuu, (you)
so don't trust themmmmmm (them)
and hate your job.
This is the mantra I grew up with.
I was stuck in a cycle that was generations in the making
Poverty, hardships, abuse and failure that span from the old country to the new
and funneled into me and my childhood.
My sister was hit with it four years before my arrival,
her regret to me is the same regret I have to her,
that we could not have absorbed more of "it" for the other.
My sister was the bastard child that forced my parents to marriage.
and I,
I was the unwanted baby caused by my fathers grunt in when he should have pulled out.
unlike many today, I did have two parents,
but, most of my friends had two parents
dads worked, mom stayed home or worked part time.
it was an acomplishment of the times,... not of my parents.
living as the unwanted son,
famished for affection
I ate with greed every one of my parents regrets,
digesting thier failures as nourishment
and
drinking in their Cynicism as sustenance
and the mantra continues:
hummmm
Be averaeeeeeeeege
don't trust yourseeeeeeeeelf
they,.. are out to get youuuuuuuu,
so don't trust themmmmmm
and hate your job.
A childhood full of the extremes of
total absence-of-acknowledgement and
abuse-of-many-kinds
deeply embed the mantra.
I became the perfect loser,
a shell of a child,
numb,
socially inept,
that kid in school who smelled really, really bad,
hands filthy
clothes mismatched and stained.
I was that kid,... that did nothing when he was spit on.
I was bred to achieve that highest level of mediocrity reserved only for the
mentally ill,... numb from their medications.
My sister internalized the same mantra,
she too, had a stench about her
and she had already proven her failure
failed attempts of suicide,
failed attempts at running away,
failed at school
failed at keeping a job.
and the mantra continues, in us both.
hummmm
Be averaeeeeeeeege
don't trust yourseeeeeeeeelf
they,.. are out to get youuuuuuuu,
so don't trust themmmmmm
and hate your job.
The school nurse, knowing something was horribly wrong in my life,
took me aside, and tried to get me to open up to her,
but mantra line number 3 "they are out to get yoouooooo" protects me
so I say nothing of the truth.
Then an English teacher assigned a daily journal to the class.
we were to write daily events,
thoughts,....
and feelings.
she said we could ask any questions,.. share any issues with complete confidentiality,...
manta line number 4 "dont trust themmmmm" comes to my defense so,.. I wrote fiction.
Fiction of happy family
Fiction of family dinners with laughter in the air and everyone eyeing that last piece of
cake and pitching together to do the dishes,
Instead of the truth of the dishes being pitched in the air with the shattered pieces just
missing our eyes.
I wrote fiction of having friends come over to my house, and doing homework and playing
catch.
Instead of the truth that no one really wanted to be my friend, and those that did try were afraid of what they would catch playing with me at my house.
I wrote fiction that my sister would be out of school for 4 days because she failed to see
a piece of broken glass on the ground that slit her wrist as she tripped over a plastic tub..
Instead of the truth that the failed suicide attempt number 4; was her breaking a hand mirror
and grinding the broken glass into her wrist while she sat in the bathtub.
And of course I wrote fiction of "honor thy parent,"
Even though there was a 3:am every day.
The English teacher never commented on my words,
my hidden feelings,
my disguised torment
my fiction, that protected the truth.
One day she told me she would guarantee me a "C" for the class
If, I.
wrote a poem and submit it to be considered for the yearly school art and poetry
publication.
She said she liked the stories in my journal
and
that poetry can be fiction or truth.
and
that she wanted me,
to write the truth,..
but make it look like fiction.
Write the truth but make it look like fiction,
I thought to myself,... that, sounded like an easy "C".
I said I'd write her a poem!
and so with only the truth, I started
and it was hard,
the words
the fear
the secrets
the feelings
that was the hardest
But one assignment to get me a "C" for the class.
all I had to do is.
hide the truth in a lie
I pushed on until I had one poem.
The poem was called Quazimoto,
the poem started with the line
"Quazimoto you poor lost soul with a grotesque hump on your back"
the poem talked of loneliness
and being an outcast
and not fitting in.
and the poem ended with him having the brazenness, and most of all the gall to live with
his deformity.
The poem was accepted into the publication.
The nurse said "congratulations",
and mantra line number 3 "they are out to get youooooo" lost some of its power
The English teacher gave me the "C", as she said whe would,
and mantra line number 4 " so dont' trust themmmm" released some of its hold.
and in a quite moment, where it was just the english teacher and I,
the english teacher said
that everyone that read the poem was very impressed,
with the flow,
the words,
and most of all the emotion.
a week later in the hallway as I was getting books out of my locker.
A girls two rungs higher on the social ladder said
to one of her friends loud enough for me to hear,
that Quazimoto was in the top three of her favorite poems.
and
Then
slowly
very slowly at first
the mantra,
the foundation of unhappiness and failure
that destroyer of childhoods'
that mantra started to go away
and writing
Writing poetry took its place.
hummmm
Be averaeeeeeeeege (average)
don't trust yourseeeeeeeeelf (yourself)
they,.. are out to get youuuuuuuu, (you)
so don't trust themmmmmm (them)
and hate your job.
This is the mantra I grew up with.
I was stuck in a cycle that was generations in the making
Poverty, hardships, abuse and failure that span from the old country to the new
and funneled into me and my childhood.
My sister was hit with it four years before my arrival,
her regret to me is the same regret I have to her,
that we could not have absorbed more of "it" for the other.
My sister was the bastard child that forced my parents to marriage.
and I,
I was the unwanted baby caused by my fathers grunt in when he should have pulled out.
unlike many today, I did have two parents,
but, most of my friends had two parents
dads worked, mom stayed home or worked part time.
it was an acomplishment of the times,... not of my parents.
living as the unwanted son,
famished for affection
I ate with greed every one of my parents regrets,
digesting thier failures as nourishment
and
drinking in their Cynicism as sustenance
and the mantra continues:
hummmm
Be averaeeeeeeeege
don't trust yourseeeeeeeeelf
they,.. are out to get youuuuuuuu,
so don't trust themmmmmm
and hate your job.
A childhood full of the extremes of
total absence-of-acknowledgement and
abuse-of-many-kinds
deeply embed the mantra.
I became the perfect loser,
a shell of a child,
numb,
socially inept,
that kid in school who smelled really, really bad,
hands filthy
clothes mismatched and stained.
I was that kid,... that did nothing when he was spit on.
I was bred to achieve that highest level of mediocrity reserved only for the
mentally ill,... numb from their medications.
My sister internalized the same mantra,
she too, had a stench about her
and she had already proven her failure
failed attempts of suicide,
failed attempts at running away,
failed at school
failed at keeping a job.
and the mantra continues, in us both.
hummmm
Be averaeeeeeeeege
don't trust yourseeeeeeeeelf
they,.. are out to get youuuuuuuu,
so don't trust themmmmmm
and hate your job.
The school nurse, knowing something was horribly wrong in my life,
took me aside, and tried to get me to open up to her,
but mantra line number 3 "they are out to get yoouooooo" protects me
so I say nothing of the truth.
Then an English teacher assigned a daily journal to the class.
we were to write daily events,
thoughts,....
and feelings.
she said we could ask any questions,.. share any issues with complete confidentiality,...
manta line number 4 "dont trust themmmmm" comes to my defense so,.. I wrote fiction.
Fiction of happy family
Fiction of family dinners with laughter in the air and everyone eyeing that last piece of
cake and pitching together to do the dishes,
Instead of the truth of the dishes being pitched in the air with the shattered pieces just
missing our eyes.
I wrote fiction of having friends come over to my house, and doing homework and playing
catch.
Instead of the truth that no one really wanted to be my friend, and those that did try were afraid of what they would catch playing with me at my house.
I wrote fiction that my sister would be out of school for 4 days because she failed to see
a piece of broken glass on the ground that slit her wrist as she tripped over a plastic tub..
Instead of the truth that the failed suicide attempt number 4; was her breaking a hand mirror
and grinding the broken glass into her wrist while she sat in the bathtub.
And of course I wrote fiction of "honor thy parent,"
Even though there was a 3:am every day.
The English teacher never commented on my words,
my hidden feelings,
my disguised torment
my fiction, that protected the truth.
One day she told me she would guarantee me a "C" for the class
If, I.
wrote a poem and submit it to be considered for the yearly school art and poetry
publication.
She said she liked the stories in my journal
and
that poetry can be fiction or truth.
and
that she wanted me,
to write the truth,..
but make it look like fiction.
Write the truth but make it look like fiction,
I thought to myself,... that, sounded like an easy "C".
I said I'd write her a poem!
and so with only the truth, I started
and it was hard,
the words
the fear
the secrets
the feelings
that was the hardest
But one assignment to get me a "C" for the class.
all I had to do is.
hide the truth in a lie
I pushed on until I had one poem.
The poem was called Quazimoto,
the poem started with the line
"Quazimoto you poor lost soul with a grotesque hump on your back"
the poem talked of loneliness
and being an outcast
and not fitting in.
and the poem ended with him having the brazenness, and most of all the gall to live with
his deformity.
The poem was accepted into the publication.
The nurse said "congratulations",
and mantra line number 3 "they are out to get youooooo" lost some of its power
The English teacher gave me the "C", as she said whe would,
and mantra line number 4 " so dont' trust themmmm" released some of its hold.
and in a quite moment, where it was just the english teacher and I,
the english teacher said
that everyone that read the poem was very impressed,
with the flow,
the words,
and most of all the emotion.
a week later in the hallway as I was getting books out of my locker.
A girls two rungs higher on the social ladder said
to one of her friends loud enough for me to hear,
that Quazimoto was in the top three of her favorite poems.
and
Then
slowly
very slowly at first
the mantra,
the foundation of unhappiness and failure
that destroyer of childhoods'
that mantra started to go away
and writing
Writing poetry took its place.
under the surface
surface stretched tight is strong and must not tear
there is work to do
deals to make
kids to take care of
And pain to push down
three little ones will survive, but will pay,
the cost is pain
the cost is fear
Parents not in love
still teach
teach by example
teach of loneliness
example of emptiness
teach of fear
example of confusion
teach of anger withheld
the foundation split into two,
the only house they have ever known,..
soon to be Gone!!!
but the surface is strong and the pain is momentarily burried
but the tension can be tasted by all,..
tongue curling bitter..
Bitter, like unsweetened bakers chocolate.
The same chocolate that only a few months ago was mixed with love and sugar,... and
became,...
hot brownies
and family movie night
and ice cream.
and giggles
and everyone falling asleep in the family room
That chocolate is now the bitter reminder of how there is,.. no room for family
but that surface stretched so tight,
is tough
marine tough
leather strong
keeps all the emotion in
inside
in tightly
but emotions are like a wild cat in a small cage
clawing and spinning out of control
hitting a surface that does not budge it is
the inside that takes the punishment
Ripping
tearing
mutilating organs
Lungs that used to inhale beauty
Heart that would skip a beat when they touched
Stomach that used to flip flop like it was full of butterflies.
now all are indistinguisable one from the other
shredded beyond recognition like Filet Mignon through a meat grinder.
but the surface is tough
no evidence of the wounds
no evidence of the pain
no evidence of the shredded beef that used to be a heart.
no evidence of the now collapsed lungs that used to exhale confidence.
but like war has its propaganda to demoralize and crimes to humiliate
the enemy is attacking the surface
slowly weakening
slicing,
poking,
a facebook post of,... "them together"
the posting "my soul mate has been found"
a former best friend,... "liking the post"
and then the comments on "how cute they look together"
soon the surface will be shredded too much to hold
hold in the pain
hold in the sorrow
hold in the anger
and hold in the betrayal
And then the-one will curl up like a baby and the tears will flow
like a cold shower that never runs out of water
Tears will come from deep inside trying to fill the void that has been avoided,
for these past many months
and when the tears have momentarily dried up,
the organs can begin to put themselves back together.
the flesh will begin to heal
and then a random scent of chocolate will waft in the air,
and the tears will start again.
to a person named Matt.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Successful Day
and it hurts
deep and hollow while being
overstuffed and cringing in pain from the slightest touch
both full and entirely empty
so much actually all at the same time.
but nothing actually happens
brain cells firing off as ants in crisis after their mound is stepped on
pain so great yet so much to do
so overwhelmed by the enormity I wish I were the Zebra.
The Zerba grounded by five lions, there is nothing left to do but die.
but the Zebra is lucky, death comes quickly
For me I am the cricket missing one back leg, that avoided the cat's play.
Alive, but injured. Not able to live the life of a cricket, no sounds, no mate will want me.
I hobble, a cripple, but unlike the cricket who is missing a leg, no one can see my deformity.
and a moment of relief comes, as two more hours of wasted life, bites the dust.
not closer to beauty
not closer to love
not closer to happy
With the two hours gone, guilt and despair crush me for the next hour, like a Boa contstictor killing its prey slowly squeezing breath out of life.
and then my body says "I'm hungry"
so, the safari to find a clean spoon in the kitchen begins.
Deep in a sink full of cold slime with a thick protective layer of bio-matter lurks the object I need.
Breaking through the protective layer causes the unnatural ecosystem below to erupt with activity and it burps out the stench of rot, so strong neither Fabreeze nor Lysol stand a chance.
Spoon found. I still have my fingers, only lost a few nose hairs,
I leave the unnatural ecosystem alone to repair itself.
and to the bathroom I go to wash the spoon.
Back to the kitchen to check the 'fridge for any nourishment to appease my hungry body.
tortillas without any mold,...
peanut butter,...
and jelly - which at second look is fermented - and thrown into the overflowing trash.
No energy to clean the counter or stove from the layer of bacteria and mold, so I use an 11" piece of wax paper as protective layer, then put a 10" piece on top of that.
Peanut butter spread on an old tortilla - the body is momentarily satisfied.
And I see the meds laid out, neatly, on the only spot on the counter that is not disease infested.
Seven small containers each with a day's worth of medication. Medication both prescribed and from the health food store. So many during the day, each day needs its own container, normal people can buy those week-at-a-time-containers with seven little attached lids, I can't.
The containers tell me, it was not, just, two hours of wasted life that bit the dust. It was 2 days.
Today is Wednesday, the pill-containers show me I did not take my meds today, nor did I take them Monday or Tuesday. I did take them some Thursday-through-Sunday in the past, but right now I don't know how far in the past, so my 2 days of wasted life, may have been two-weeks, and 2 days.
Doesn't really matter, I see the problem now, and will take today's meds.
I just hope that I can remember to take my meds tomorrow, or that a meteor hits me in the head and kills me instantly.
Either way it will be a successful day.
deep and hollow while being
overstuffed and cringing in pain from the slightest touch
both full and entirely empty
so much actually all at the same time.
but nothing actually happens
brain cells firing off as ants in crisis after their mound is stepped on
pain so great yet so much to do
so overwhelmed by the enormity I wish I were the Zebra.
The Zerba grounded by five lions, there is nothing left to do but die.
but the Zebra is lucky, death comes quickly
For me I am the cricket missing one back leg, that avoided the cat's play.
Alive, but injured. Not able to live the life of a cricket, no sounds, no mate will want me.
I hobble, a cripple, but unlike the cricket who is missing a leg, no one can see my deformity.
and a moment of relief comes, as two more hours of wasted life, bites the dust.
not closer to beauty
not closer to love
not closer to happy
With the two hours gone, guilt and despair crush me for the next hour, like a Boa contstictor killing its prey slowly squeezing breath out of life.
and then my body says "I'm hungry"
so, the safari to find a clean spoon in the kitchen begins.
Deep in a sink full of cold slime with a thick protective layer of bio-matter lurks the object I need.
Breaking through the protective layer causes the unnatural ecosystem below to erupt with activity and it burps out the stench of rot, so strong neither Fabreeze nor Lysol stand a chance.
Spoon found. I still have my fingers, only lost a few nose hairs,
I leave the unnatural ecosystem alone to repair itself.
and to the bathroom I go to wash the spoon.
Back to the kitchen to check the 'fridge for any nourishment to appease my hungry body.
tortillas without any mold,...
peanut butter,...
and jelly - which at second look is fermented - and thrown into the overflowing trash.
No energy to clean the counter or stove from the layer of bacteria and mold, so I use an 11" piece of wax paper as protective layer, then put a 10" piece on top of that.
Peanut butter spread on an old tortilla - the body is momentarily satisfied.
And I see the meds laid out, neatly, on the only spot on the counter that is not disease infested.
Seven small containers each with a day's worth of medication. Medication both prescribed and from the health food store. So many during the day, each day needs its own container, normal people can buy those week-at-a-time-containers with seven little attached lids, I can't.
The containers tell me, it was not, just, two hours of wasted life that bit the dust. It was 2 days.
Today is Wednesday, the pill-containers show me I did not take my meds today, nor did I take them Monday or Tuesday. I did take them some Thursday-through-Sunday in the past, but right now I don't know how far in the past, so my 2 days of wasted life, may have been two-weeks, and 2 days.
Doesn't really matter, I see the problem now, and will take today's meds.
I just hope that I can remember to take my meds tomorrow, or that a meteor hits me in the head and kills me instantly.
Either way it will be a successful day.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
dmv
joy is just a test score away,
while Boredom so strong
numbness being the state of being that takes so long
that drags you down
that sucks life out of your soul
while Boredom so strong
numbness being the state of being that takes so long
that drags you down
that sucks life out of your soul
Monday, July 16, 2012
see reason
Like a germanword that looks like they just stuck a bunch of small words together.
And my picture is taken as I stare at the forbidden, most likely it will be on the news in minutes.
"exclusive footage" from the heros cell phone, then the store will release their survelance footage.
The newstations will broadcast non stop my facebook comments.
Hunt down my friends and coworkers and they will all say "I would have never guessed"
And as much as I try to deny or make the masses listen to logic it will be a futile waste.
If I am lucky an attention-whore atty will take pity and fight for my privacy, but that would be a career death sentence, he would never be able to get into politics with a smear like that on his record.
a black-mark where he tried to make people see reason,
"see reason" a crime so vile that generations ago the politicians outlawed such behavior and there have been many punished under the clandestine rules
Kennedy
Bruce lee
Jimmy Hoffa
All silenced because they wanted the masses, the people, those sheep watching the news.
They wanted the people to know the truth.
That news is not neutral they need to answer to the politicians.
And that politicians do what is in their career best interest, not caring about the country or its citizens.
They play with people's emotions and get the masses wanting action, then the politicians can be the hero and save society, knowing full well that the piece of legislation they fight for will have no positive affect on society.
The politician goes from one office to the next, hiding their indiscretions, while creating laws that feel good.
feel good, that is what the people want,
feel good, that is what TV brings to the people,
feel good, is not news - they must sensationalize the horror otherwise the political machine would have nothing to stand on a stump for.
And so like a german-word that looks like they just stuck a bunch of small words together, the society is a mash of long winded politicians with incomplete news and useless laws, with the peoples trying to figure out where one word begins and the other ends.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
pen bleeds
Everything that needs to be be said, has already been said.
and yet I write, ..
well I stare at a blank sheet of paper
and let my mind go
I know it has aready been said.
the pain
the hurt and sometimes joy,
a short story
a tale
a feeling
I know, everything that needs to be be said,... has, already been said.
and then it happens the blank page conspires with my pen
my pen screams for me,
I respond
I respond by
pushing my pen into the paper up to its braking point
it screams back wanting more
blobs of blue blood splatter as it rips the paper and bleeds even more
I wonder how much more it can take.
my newest blue friend,
knows that it must be,
for me,
what I can't be,
for me,
my hand cramping
but my blue friend has so much more life.
my intellect tries to stop the insanity of pain and blue blood, tries to convince me that everything that needs to be said has already been said. intensifies the pain in my hand and says "you should stop", "Why burden yourself so?"
My blue friend bleeds still and wishes to not die yet,
Only in his death can he agree the cramping pain in my hand is real
my hand a slave to the real me,
trying to get the next emotion out
while my intellect uses logic to make me stop
but stopping means reality is crushed, and I can't allow that to happen
not while my blue friend still bleeds for me.
my grip so fused to my friend, he encourages me to write
one more word
one more phrase
We become one,.. and the words begin to flow
my great intellect gives in, and it sees that life is meaningless
meaningless without color,
meaningless without flavor
meaningless without emotion ,
Just because it has all been said before,
does not mean that is the ONLY way to say it,
we are different people at this time than ever before,
and things must be shared;
in today's world
using today's emotions
and most of all using today's words.
Dammit,
"a Punk" is not decayed wood
"a faggot" is not bunch of twigs and
"in a minute" is not 60 seconds,
not now at least, it once was,..
and that's why it matters!
The fear
the pain
the hate
the concern must cry out
cry out with, .. my-words
my words that can make you cry
my words that cry with the tears of others
tears of blue blood
tears of the past
tears of the present
My words that can release the tears locked inside me.
things must be shared;
in today's world
using today's emotions
and most of all using today's words.
Because
Because I can't cry,
unless my pen bleeds!
and yet I write, ..
well I stare at a blank sheet of paper
and let my mind go
I know it has aready been said.
the pain
the hurt and sometimes joy,
a short story
a tale
a feeling
I know, everything that needs to be be said,... has, already been said.
and then it happens the blank page conspires with my pen
my pen screams for me,
I respond
I respond by
pushing my pen into the paper up to its braking point
it screams back wanting more
blobs of blue blood splatter as it rips the paper and bleeds even more
I wonder how much more it can take.
my newest blue friend,
knows that it must be,
for me,
what I can't be,
for me,
my hand cramping
but my blue friend has so much more life.
my intellect tries to stop the insanity of pain and blue blood, tries to convince me that everything that needs to be said has already been said. intensifies the pain in my hand and says "you should stop", "Why burden yourself so?"
My blue friend bleeds still and wishes to not die yet,
Only in his death can he agree the cramping pain in my hand is real
my hand a slave to the real me,
trying to get the next emotion out
while my intellect uses logic to make me stop
but stopping means reality is crushed, and I can't allow that to happen
not while my blue friend still bleeds for me.
my grip so fused to my friend, he encourages me to write
one more word
one more phrase
We become one,.. and the words begin to flow
my great intellect gives in, and it sees that life is meaningless
meaningless without color,
meaningless without flavor
meaningless without emotion ,
Just because it has all been said before,
does not mean that is the ONLY way to say it,
we are different people at this time than ever before,
and things must be shared;
in today's world
using today's emotions
and most of all using today's words.
Dammit,
"a Punk" is not decayed wood
"a faggot" is not bunch of twigs and
"in a minute" is not 60 seconds,
not now at least, it once was,..
and that's why it matters!
The fear
the pain
the hate
the concern must cry out
cry out with, .. my-words
my words that can make you cry
my words that cry with the tears of others
tears of blue blood
tears of the past
tears of the present
My words that can release the tears locked inside me.
things must be shared;
in today's world
using today's emotions
and most of all using today's words.
Because
Because I can't cry,
unless my pen bleeds!
Sunday, April 29, 2012
they owe me $400, will you call them for me?
And sadness comes in waves mixed with fear
Thought is gone, one blurred vision of the past not to long ago.
Blurred but clear, crystal clear and fuzzy at the same time
love not shown
the words said
and the words Not said.
Self-Esteem broken
No actions taken,...
His friends would say he was very well behaved. Yes.
but able to defend, No!
and so now the adult that was the dutiful child is scared
afraid of life, and wont defend himself.
and his family is doomed,
doomed to be less than
less than Mediocre.
But beer and big screen TV, will take them to numb
take them to mindlessness
Drones just existing, full of regret
full of self doubt
scared to do
scared to try
so they follow the TV
follow it blindly
so it can tell them what to do and what to think
they follow it till their feelings are as numb as a coma patient
only they, Are alive
and going to work
and complaining about their self inflicted misfortune
and taking care of their child
and their dog
and the house plants
and they bitch they don't have anything
and now maternity clothes to buy
and laundry to do
and cars to repair
and bills to pay
and worrying how to afford the pregnancy, let alone the second child on its way
lucky for them the TV is now on, and there is this show on that
is funny
and another show on that is scary
and another that mixes drama and emotion and humor
and the shows make them forget
forget the present
forget the past
most of all they can forget their future
Their worries and fears melt
their mind goes numb
the beer cans open
and the drones exist
to scared to be more than below-average,
to scared to make a phone call.
that phone call that will confront a Real person.
Thought is gone, one blurred vision of the past not to long ago.
Blurred but clear, crystal clear and fuzzy at the same time
love not shown
the words said
and the words Not said.
Self-Esteem broken
No actions taken,...
His friends would say he was very well behaved. Yes.
but able to defend, No!
and so now the adult that was the dutiful child is scared
afraid of life, and wont defend himself.
and his family is doomed,
doomed to be less than
less than Mediocre.
But beer and big screen TV, will take them to numb
take them to mindlessness
Drones just existing, full of regret
full of self doubt
scared to do
scared to try
so they follow the TV
follow it blindly
so it can tell them what to do and what to think
they follow it till their feelings are as numb as a coma patient
only they, Are alive
and going to work
and complaining about their self inflicted misfortune
and taking care of their child
and their dog
and the house plants
and they bitch they don't have anything
and now maternity clothes to buy
and laundry to do
and cars to repair
and bills to pay
and worrying how to afford the pregnancy, let alone the second child on its way
lucky for them the TV is now on, and there is this show on that
is funny
and another show on that is scary
and another that mixes drama and emotion and humor
and the shows make them forget
forget the present
forget the past
most of all they can forget their future
Their worries and fears melt
their mind goes numb
the beer cans open
and the drones exist
to scared to be more than below-average,
to scared to make a phone call.
that phone call that will confront a Real person.
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