Posts Tagged ‘identity’

Phase-Locking

Posted: August 16, 2014 in Poetry
Tags: , ,

It sometimes seems
that nothing good
comes this way
then rips seam
& lead to
something else
an avalanche occurs
carrying everything
in its wake
if you can/t find
your way clear
a path if
people don/t see you
cause a scene
if they can/t hear
keep shouting
they can/t feel you
unless they cry
when you touch
cut them deep
make ’em bleed
the truth hurts
who do we think
we are to make
up for who
we are not
meanwhile
we will stay
in the moment
until we have to
rise to the
occasion
if you know me
please push me
we/ll both be
the better from it

 

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SUBoxONE

Posted: December 19, 2013 in Poetry
Tags: , , , ,

Smile
pretend
someway it
mends itself
heaven sends
until then

smile
pretend
frayed nerve ends
signals bend
along with time
we stupid spend

smile
pretend
& just praise
your lord for
an unopened tin
of suboxone.

Hard honesty
amid lies
some have trouble
even when
they try to say
everything
is alright

here tonight
stretching skin
to snap out
of disguise
do not think
some will like
what we find.

The-Phoenix-Rise-mythology-30557182-800-618

I have scathed the esoteric and the mainstream.
Studied the great literary efforts.
Worked tirelessly to build a lexicon worthy of a true pedant.
I abandon it all.
–for  I was only regurgitating a preordained formula —
telling another story;
instead of my way.

It became a question of:
Who am I trying to impress with this poetic foray? Who is the target audience? Is it the academics? Other writers? Publishers?

Why do we concern ourselves with impressing people who aren/t even a part of our individual realities?

We let the glamor of a commercial reality contaminate our definition of success.

What about the people out there grinding it out on a daily basis, who we are intimately involved with?

Parents who hardly have the energy to play with their children when they get home from work; yet, somehow find the time to trudge through my writing, some craziness that I deemed crazy enough to warrant their undivided attention in a very crazy world.

What a big head us writers have, as if the world should just go on pause to take in what we have to say.

Who the hell am I anyway?
–exactly what this poetry thing is trying to work out.

The end result is for anyone who took part in this crazy life; either, directly or indirectly.
Those who have lived it, will know it when they see it.
We smell our own kind down here.
Just follow the stench of burning flesh.

My entire body of work is dedicated to the beaten and broken.
All the single mothers who/ve been beat on and called stupid all their lives; who live for the hope that one day, life will work out better for their child, than it had for them.
The guy that is working for nine dollars an hour at a job he used to make twelve dollars an hour at.
The millions of people whose lives are obliterated for crimes, that were not even crimes ten years ago, for the sake of sustaining and cultivating a flourishing industry of privatized prisons.
And of course the addicts, the great tricksters, who have been convoluted from their true destiny by a commercial directive that is preening our youth for dependency.
All the people who have faced the cold reality of this corporate world long ago.
People who cashed in their dreams, to give someone else the life they had wanted.

My words are for all of them, as much as they are for my sake, and my soul.

There will always be the future to sell out in.
But right now, let us un-riddle the enigmas of this pain together, shall we?

Why am I even alive?
Why did someone else die, doing a fraction of what I did?
For that I am sorry.
My number should have been up a long time ago, and I plan to make the most of the resurrection bestowed upon me.

It is a peculiar make-up of personalities that I attribute my survival to.
The combination of the right people around at the right time.
Sometimes, the right people aren/t always the positive people.

We are refined and tried by fire.
The fire ends up defining us.
Let your blaze burn you true.

The Art of Being Nobody

Posted: December 2, 2012 in Poetry
Tags: , ,

Don’t accept it is what it is

Or you will never change what it is

If we’d do what it is we want

We would make these guys stop touching kids

The world will make you feel crazy

Like you’re the only one seeing this

There’s a homeless man down the street

He got no insurance; he’s real sick

Everyday I just walk on by

Might as well give him a hard-swift kick

It is only getting colder

Even though the ice is getting thin

Living a life not worth living

A heart atrophy is setting in

Feeding on fear; hoping for change

The whole mentality needs to flip

& everyday I get older

Anticipate this apocalypse

Not being something I’m not

I will be what I am

If that is not what you had

Intended me to be

Go take it up with your own

Fail-safe identity

Sitting up high; looking down

Who are they to judge me?

Because I’m here striving for

A complete honesty

Let us rip the tape from our

Brothers’ & sisters’ mouths

They can all keep on laughing

But the truth will come out

We are just playing our parts

When in ourselves we doubt

You can keep riding this bus

But it wont change its route

I am not a part of this world

I never was

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