Thursday, October 20, 2016

A Tribute to the Abused

Tonight I cried for the past
My scars were reopened
The pain seized me fast

Though no blood ever escaped
from my wide open wounds
I felt my body drenched in stain
And my soul darkened too

The pain I had thought
I left all behind
Was raping my heart once
Again in the night

I fought so very hard
To push It away
To move on to greener fields
And embrace the light of day

Though I felt safe in the arms
of the rays of the sun
The familiarity of the dark
kept Beckoning me come.

And this is the part
that I hate most of all
That I craved to be back
in that awful black hole

Though it forcefully invaded
The depths of my heart,  
Tore open my safety
And broke me apart.

Though it robbed me of my Innocence
And left me naked on the floor.
I'll never understand why
I keep coming back for more.

For some stupid reason
That only God knows why
I keep opening these scars
To inevitably cry.

I hunger and thirst
To feel worthless as I did
To be perfectly damaged
Used merchandise; no good.

And so tonight
I let the past shadows consume me
Their dark arms
I let them enclose me.

And though at first I felt relief
To finally let go
The agony quickly captured me
With endless tears that did follow

Tonight, my dear friends,
In short I lost a battle.
I guess I had been
Just a little too fragile

My fight was all over
I couldn't hold on
And to my dismay

The darkness had won.


What does it mean to have faith?

Is it just a word we use on Sunday when the preacher sets us aside?
Is it just an act for people around us so no one is exposed to our true feelings?
Or is it something more?
Can a person believe in something, feel something, hope for something that isn't there?
When faced by the jaws of reason can you block out the dark and see a light that doesn't exist?
Or does it?
Faith is such a wishy washy word.
Or at least the thing we have faith in is always unsure.
So why is it so desirable to have faith when statistics almost entirely prove you wrong?
It seems that human nature grasps the rope of uncertainty in hopes that the pain and horror of life is not all.
It seems that human nature craves a deeper meaning, a higher being, a celestial state to strive for and to strive to be.
Is it better to hold to to that invisible rope that leads to an unknown world beyond who we are?
Or is it better to face and accept the numbers and the science presented on earth?
Is it better to succom to the popular opinion or hope for a better solution?
Do people ever really have faith or is there always a certain nagging in the back of the mind reminding them that the odds are not in their favor?


Where are the answers?


My Butt is Freezing Cold

The sun is bright

the sky is blue

the pond is wet

and my butt is cold.

Yeah, maybe the ducks are cool

but all I hear is squaking

slashing up a silent morning.

Yeah the leaves are fun

and crunchable

but all I see are dead tree's.

Mornings are not meant for pretty poems.

They're meant for sleep.

I waited an hour with a freezing butt

all for a bright glare in my face

and still a freezing butt.

Maybe I'm just not feeling it today.

Or maybe I just suck at writing.

Either way

a pretty poem

is not what you'll find on this blog today.

All you get is some pessimistic words

on what should have been beautiful

and a few complaints on how my butt is freezing cold.

What is Love?

I fell hard last night.
I fell into a mind and body paralysis. 

Heart racing.

Skin tingling.





All because of a kiss.

Was that love?

I felt jealousy once.

Blood boiling.

Mind racing.

Door slamming.

Tear inevitability.


Sharp pain.



Was that love?

I've experienced fear.

Fear of losing.

Fear of leaving.

Fear of staying.

Fear of hurting.

Fear of being alone.

Fear of choosing wrong.

Fear of feeling.

Fear of loving.

Was that love?

I've felt joy.



Judgment free.






Is that love?

 I've spent time with excitement.


Childish games.

Energy rushes.





Wild dreams.


In the moment moments.
Is that love?

Are my feelings only child's play? Are they note worthy, or should I disregard them? 

They're strong.

They're real.

But are they LOVE?

If not then...

What is love?

Being Human is Having Writers Block

Being human is having writers block.
When you want to write, your brain doesn't.
All those beautiful quotes you once read,
All those times something meaningful occurred in your life,
All the love, hate, pain, joy and every intensive feeling you've ever felt
Suddenly is locked away in a safe, fifty floors down from the creative team of your mind.
All processing units have shut down, the lights are out,

no one knows where the key is to this safe,

and all the while the boss is yelling at each employee

trying to find out which idiot

decided to lock up the only memories and beautiful inspirations

that make up what this body lives and works for.

Trying with every ounce of effort to scrounge up any words worth repeating,

any thought or picture with at least a fraction of sentiment.

Papers are flying,

all the neuro cell employee's are bouncing off of each other in a panicked frenzy,

hoping that the big boss doesn't decide they're worthless;

never to give them a job again.

The brain is a mess, and you feel it.

It hurts.

All because whatever you are trying to say is on FREAKING LOCK DOWN.
Being human is having writers block.


Well don't ask me. I'm having writers block.