The Silent Torture

I can understand the rage or disillusionment-
I can understand frustration-
I've felt a lot of emotions before
and my goal towards myself and everyone's elation.

Often I find myself in wars I can't fathom-
often I'm flying blind-
with the best of intentions I try to heal the broken
and with a discussion, of any intensity, unwind.

I can take you screaming:
your looks of death and violence,
I'd rather you say nasty things and be done-
One thing I can't take is your silence
as I stand alone with a partner on the run.

Working Pains

Work a day: it's a year in service
routine gives way to lost time.
I focus on repetitive activity
And at the end of the day, a week's gone by.

Servicing the wealthy who take for granted that they're served
make a mess and no one notices in the herd
but when your gone, the burdens fall on we
who know your faces and yes!
We know our places
but our lives success is not assured.

I make this offering and leave it up to your discretion-
This is why, for some of us, Liberty means oppression.

Drive

Depression only lasts so long
in this song of undoing.
But once you've overcome the grief-
with or without support-
When you've grown past the greatness of sad
there's always that comfort and instinctual mad.

You grow with a rage that can bring down redwoods
your fire can melt diamonds-
In these moments, you must forget all distractions
and live in the soul's violence.

Anything that satiates: pot, videogames and liquor-
Toss them in the trash and let progress move quicker
as you hyper focus your rage into success.

This is your fire
your heart
your vengeance
and nothing less.

I Get The Blues

Hello old friend!
I thought I'd not see you again.
I found life, I found love
and a reason to live.

You were gone and yet
now you rear your ugly head-
it's you I dread
the doldrums.

My averageness surprises me
I'm special to no one
live in mediocrity.
I'm worth a lot more dead than alive-

I never wanted this
but I'm part of the hive.
Each day isn't living
it's trying to stay alive.

First Date

Bent on believing in bountiful lies
synthesizing cerebral impulses at the trough of spurious enjoyment-
There was me as I feigned importance
and awaited an animal of audacious ambiguity.

She looked alright in photographs
but they did her no justice at all.
The liquor was the least of my inebriated incompetence
when I immediately became incapacitated in her visage.

The facial features were mathematically congruent
as if she had been cut from clouds by Michelangelo.
Her eyes were inescapable and her look was electricity to the spine.

The night became a blur from there
The way I can't remember amazing dreams
but I did something right that night
because here she is right next to me.

Poetry is...

A firecracker in the heart
that connects the brain to make it start
vomiting up soul that's hot or cold
but can't be controlled anymore.

It's each follicle of hair tingling on the back of your neck-
Trying to speak a feeling
in written form.

Any emotion

Every emotion
Living on a page
for you to read.

Misfit

 It's like an ocean of acid
a goblet of poison given with gusto.
Walking the edge of the knife
as it cuts your feet.

This waking nightmare
of being the circle in squares
and finding a dodecahedron
that matches so well
but is still rough around the edges.

I can accept the differences
but it's getting kind of crowded;
Like the the black man in the Klansman's bar.
I know who I am
but I'm not welcome anywhere.

What I wouldn't give
Where I wouldn't go (if I could)
What period in history that I might have been lost to today.
How I wouldn't change myself for the greater good
while still keeping who I can't help but be....
Who I wouldn't be
To be accepted.