Mother, you were only meant to love me.
Brother, you were never meant to be above me.
Father, sir you shall never punish me--
And, dear God, where am I now in time?
October 15, 2008
Learning Independence
My heart, in pain. The sadness of total blame
fought forward again. The madness of comal shame
wrought toward my gains. The badness of lonely games,
fought sorrow in my veins. The lad's internal fame
sought only no chains, and someday in an empitomal exchange,
that corner refrains: to this I pray.
fought forward again. The madness of comal shame
wrought toward my gains. The badness of lonely games,
fought sorrow in my veins. The lad's internal fame
sought only no chains, and someday in an empitomal exchange,
that corner refrains: to this I pray.
September 6, 2008
Heartbeats & Patterns
Memories upon memories inscribed within the face of the soul; what is life but a series of beautiful heartbearts and patterns?
Someday You Will Regret Your Ignorance: Alone you will be
You say it's hard, but you do not work for it. You say it's hard, and never commend me. Still, you say it's hard, and all you do is think about yourselves. I'm different and you've ostracized me for it; at least I'm a million times more creative than you'll ever be, if you'd only give me a chance you could celebrate it too. If you are reading this, and you feel it's directed at you, then it is. So fuck off
August 13, 2008
Safe In His World
When he feels safe in his world,
he knows he can do anything.
And he'll paint himself a picture
To complete the way he is feeling inside.
When he feels safe in his world,
he can do anything!
He can have sex with himself
And all he feels is something great.
Ah, when he feels safe in his world,
he looks in the mirror and feels only joy.
And others see only that joy
And all he feels is some comfort inside.
Mmmm, boy, when he feels safe in his world.
he knows he can do anything.
And he'll paint himself a picture
To complete the way he is feeling inside.
When he feels safe in his world,
he can do anything!
He can have sex with himself
And all he feels is something great.
Ah, when he feels safe in his world,
he looks in the mirror and feels only joy.
And others see only that joy
And all he feels is some comfort inside.
Mmmm, boy, when he feels safe in his world.
August 9, 2008
Beloved Dance
I listened to music today; I felt it like it
was meant to be felt. Instead of just
listening, I touched it and danced from
my soul.
August 2, 2008
La da da, You & Me
Hold me, I've been so tired. I am young, and wise, and creative: hold me.
The sky is here for me, for you.
Dance with me, I've been so dead. I am strong, and beautiful, and free: dance with me.
The ground is there for me, for you.
Love me, I've been hurting. I am lovable, and joyful, and committed: love me.
The heart is ajar and me, for you.
The sky is here for me, for you.
Dance with me, I've been so dead. I am strong, and beautiful, and free: dance with me.
The ground is there for me, for you.
Love me, I've been hurting. I am lovable, and joyful, and committed: love me.
The heart is ajar and me, for you.
July 1, 2008
Remember The Boy
Hold me,
console me,
from things that you told me,
and free now me from
the sadness I hold.
Believe me,
reprieve me,
these stings that you leave me,
and free now me of
this lonesome I hold.
console me,
from things that you told me,
and free now me from
the sadness I hold.
Believe me,
reprieve me,
these stings that you leave me,
and free now me of
this lonesome I hold.
June 5, 2008
Angel Over Me
I lay, existing, and pray for angel to come over me. Cold, bold, and hopeful, I put out for sleep once again. And today, may the innocence I dream be mine. The fear, the cower in my heart replaced with the love I once knew.
I pray for an angel to come over me. Dear god, I dream of dreams to come true, that the world be something I bear. To know you, and feel you, for the sad differences erasing that which is me remind me quickly what it's worth. So much resistance and confusion: Reality, remove this storm above me, so lost and catching whatever is still within me. I dream of stillness and realize, as if there could be another time.
To hold me, to heal me, to let me in your house. The painful thoughts that stab my beauty at every moment destroy me no more. To shield me, to wield me, when I feel useless. I need something to hold me still. Like an artist painting, I am shaking, please hold my hand still.
I pray for an angel to come over me. Dear god, I dream of dreams to come true, that the world be something I bear. To know you, and feel you, for the sad differences erasing that which is me remind me quickly what it's worth. So much resistance and confusion: Reality, remove this storm above me, so lost and catching whatever is still within me. I dream of stillness and realize, as if there could be another time.
To hold me, to heal me, to let me in your house. The painful thoughts that stab my beauty at every moment destroy me no more. To shield me, to wield me, when I feel useless. I need something to hold me still. Like an artist painting, I am shaking, please hold my hand still.
May 26, 2008
Please, Innocence
Where is the innocence I once knew. Oh, sweet innocence, that I simply once knew:
Today, come back to me.
Sweet innocence, so beloved and dear, that does shine like floating seeds:
Crackle and spiral,
and fall down into I, for
my heart which doth yearn for
you yet again.
Today, come back to me.
Sweet innocence, so beloved and dear, that does shine like floating seeds:
Crackle and spiral,
and fall down into I, for
my heart which doth yearn for
you yet again.
May 21, 2008
Living Reflection
I'm sorry that the world's the way it is.I'm sorry I'm not perfect.Sometimes I hate people and then they go and do something so great I fall again in love...and,I'm sorry if in the past I've spent too much time entertaining self-destructive thoughts.I've idolized too many people too different from me, that I've forgotten how to smile.And I'm sorry that I hate myself, that I hate the way I look.But I'll wakeup tomorrow and look in the mirror yet again to tell myself, "I love you."
April 30, 2008
you're just disappointment
I'm depressed and few seem to understand, or to care.
They blame me and call me weak, and wrong, but use me as much as they dare.
In the mind there is no limit to how much one can dare or divorce,
the love inside and beauty all around that makes them alone. Of course,
you think you can find someone better. You defend all your fear,
the sad silence you strangle others with and pretend is god's premiere.
But I know that god is not villain, no ignorant fuck just looking to fuck.
Ready to run, to lie, to betray, to behead and still suck.
I hate you because you're a god damn waste of my time.
You sought me out and now I have only a sad forgotten memory, I desperately try to dislodge from my mind.
A sad poem, a sad song, the things you hold dearest inside,
What a waste of life you have no inspiration or love, just excuses and pride.
Fuck all of you--fuck all angels, fuck all spirits, fuck all you call sanity.
You have only rules and suggestions, cages, and disappointments, I'm a victim to all your fucking senseless vanity.
They blame me and call me weak, and wrong, but use me as much as they dare.
In the mind there is no limit to how much one can dare or divorce,
the love inside and beauty all around that makes them alone. Of course,
you think you can find someone better. You defend all your fear,
the sad silence you strangle others with and pretend is god's premiere.
But I know that god is not villain, no ignorant fuck just looking to fuck.
Ready to run, to lie, to betray, to behead and still suck.
I hate you because you're a god damn waste of my time.
You sought me out and now I have only a sad forgotten memory, I desperately try to dislodge from my mind.
A sad poem, a sad song, the things you hold dearest inside,
What a waste of life you have no inspiration or love, just excuses and pride.
Fuck all of you--fuck all angels, fuck all spirits, fuck all you call sanity.
You have only rules and suggestions, cages, and disappointments, I'm a victim to all your fucking senseless vanity.
April 19, 2008
Blessed Are Dynamic
I've figured you out, a heart of thieves.
Indiscriminate and wild, one who never believes.
Life is fun, life is a joke.
You take all you can and blame transgressions in times I know you've not spoke.
Quiet, and hateful, you feel your silence conceals,
something so dark and so shameful that you will not reveal.
Sadly, it's true, and everyone knows.
They see and they feel, all your sadness, your woes.
Inside, you have died; and for that I'll forgive.
But for refusing to change, I feel you no longer should live.
Indiscriminate and wild, one who never believes.
Life is fun, life is a joke.
You take all you can and blame transgressions in times I know you've not spoke.
Quiet, and hateful, you feel your silence conceals,
something so dark and so shameful that you will not reveal.
Sadly, it's true, and everyone knows.
They see and they feel, all your sadness, your woes.
Inside, you have died; and for that I'll forgive.
But for refusing to change, I feel you no longer should live.
February 27, 2008
Discompassion
He's feeble at heart you say and then slice me. He's starving, and I will not feed him. Let him be the one to take himself home.
January 17, 2008
Remembering Self
I have a feeling that everything in my life is completely shadowed by an inpenetrable state of being long before I was born. Like when you wakeup and remember your dreams, or when you wakeup and remember yesterday: from a pure state of total purpose and intention my life has come to be--and evermore to be.
This idea that I have lost memory of who I am, of lives before, of my "time" outside life, is itself the memory. The acknowledgement that perhaps there are memories is itself the memory. The acknowledgement that I exist right now at all is the presence of a memory of something, whatever it was (probably nothing, but still the state of everything), ever present in all that is me--in all that is existence.
In the presence of sadness, of joy, of whatever, so there lingers the presence of presence itself: the memory of memory. I remember remembering; somewhere in my being I have set out to live a life, and I am living this life, and still, as present as the day I were born, as the day I were not born, I linger still.
I have a feeling that all of my wondering is the presence of memories of all that I am--curious and growing. I wondered so much, I sought so much spiritual influence, so much psychic awareness and awakening, and among it all was not necessarily what I was looking for, but the acknowledgement that all that I was looking for was real itself, already, deep inside me, linger in all aspects of my life and timeline, even outside it. Somewhere, beyond all time, before I were born, and even now, an indestructible me pushes on. In times of wishing I were dead, I would not let myself die. A purpose: What is a purpose? When we remember that we set out into life with our own purpose, we remember that at the root of all we can possibly fathom is a choice to exist in any state of peace and possibility, in a life where we lay.
It is now that I realize that I have never forgotten anything before my life: I've only thought of different things. Instead, all the moments I've noticed total bliss and appreciation, harmony, and perfection, it is there in all this desire and craving for more (whom some can reduce to a single word called "love" which I prefer to elaborate on with terms of anything gracious/desirable) that the memory of who I am has shown itself. In all the times I've wondered, it is there that the memory itself has refreshed itself. It is never that we were separate from the memory of pure bliss, but only that we had thought there was something more we needed to expand upon the horizon. It is when we notice fully that the joyself itself is the true memory of all that we've ever been that I believe one can say that they are truly on their way to remembering their self in an exceptional place of clarity.
This idea that I have lost memory of who I am, of lives before, of my "time" outside life, is itself the memory. The acknowledgement that perhaps there are memories is itself the memory. The acknowledgement that I exist right now at all is the presence of a memory of something, whatever it was (probably nothing, but still the state of everything), ever present in all that is me--in all that is existence.
In the presence of sadness, of joy, of whatever, so there lingers the presence of presence itself: the memory of memory. I remember remembering; somewhere in my being I have set out to live a life, and I am living this life, and still, as present as the day I were born, as the day I were not born, I linger still.
I have a feeling that all of my wondering is the presence of memories of all that I am--curious and growing. I wondered so much, I sought so much spiritual influence, so much psychic awareness and awakening, and among it all was not necessarily what I was looking for, but the acknowledgement that all that I was looking for was real itself, already, deep inside me, linger in all aspects of my life and timeline, even outside it. Somewhere, beyond all time, before I were born, and even now, an indestructible me pushes on. In times of wishing I were dead, I would not let myself die. A purpose: What is a purpose? When we remember that we set out into life with our own purpose, we remember that at the root of all we can possibly fathom is a choice to exist in any state of peace and possibility, in a life where we lay.
It is now that I realize that I have never forgotten anything before my life: I've only thought of different things. Instead, all the moments I've noticed total bliss and appreciation, harmony, and perfection, it is there in all this desire and craving for more (whom some can reduce to a single word called "love" which I prefer to elaborate on with terms of anything gracious/desirable) that the memory of who I am has shown itself. In all the times I've wondered, it is there that the memory itself has refreshed itself. It is never that we were separate from the memory of pure bliss, but only that we had thought there was something more we needed to expand upon the horizon. It is when we notice fully that the joyself itself is the true memory of all that we've ever been that I believe one can say that they are truly on their way to remembering their self in an exceptional place of clarity.
I wish to hold you...
I want to hold you and make all of your pain melt away. To hold your paws tight in my hands, and kiss you. And make you feel at peace. I want to know you so much more.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)