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Life In Motion - A Short Dialogue“Hey…what’s up?”
“Hey. Umm..it’s nice to see you again. And.. I’m sure you know already.
Yet, I’ve stepped out again, beating around the bush,
casting a fishing line into sea where fishes don’t exist.
You know how desperately I want to change right?”
“Yeah. You’ve got so much ahead of you.”
“Really… yeah. Really? How much assurance would it take to believe that?
When I know part of the equation, other than belief, is hardwork.
All the turmoil and striving, moving, necessary to keep living and to survive this battle called life..
And.. I don’t want to strive this way, anyway.”
“I know what you mean.
It’s how people give the choices and actions they’ve made all the credit, right?
Indeed, what would one be without action? Without the pressing on, the moving forward?”
“Without all that…one would be nothing..
He would have looked back and be filled wit
AfraidLying in my bed
With my aching head
Thinking thoughts of you
How we turned from red to blue
Weren't we the same?
Weren't we both in pain?
What are the lies you've lead.
That keeps you from this path ahead?
Shake off, take away the fear
Let the tears run down, my dear
Let go of pretend, I'm near
Always know that I am here.
When I Am IgnoredI'm never the stranger in Your eyes
Never the ignored, never the forgotten
I'm never the lost and unknown in Your eyes.
Never the hopeless, never the resented.
Though I am ignored when I would say 'Hello'
Or I seek for attention yet no one would know
I'm never the disregarded.
You hold on, and never let go.
Though as I walk in the busy old streets
Flash a nice smile to the person next to my seat,
Though what I had wanted, could not be in meet,
It's okay, I guess, on solid ground is my feet.
MisanthropyGo on, farewell, just keep pushing me away.
Have I lead you into the night, instead of into the day?
I know, I'm never perfect, I'm full of faults here and there.
But is it wise to bring me down for not being completely fair?
Why the cynicism? Why all the distrust?
Why invest so much contempt, for me to bite the dust?
Isn't all you've known and learned enough?
Why bring all things from smooth to rough?
Misanthropy has never helped, so I ask, put down the gloves of hate.
Revenge and bitter feelings of disdain, will never compensate.
Let love rush in your soul, despite of how we've broken down.
The way we've failed what you've expected,
and how you've lost your faith in humans now.
I'llYou sit in the aisle
Waiting for a while
For something worthwhile
Remain in beguile
Seeing you and your angelic smile
Me, in my low profile
My thoughts I refile
I feel a bit senile
Am I to remain immobile?
Approaching you is perhaps juvenile
It feels like you're away a mile
When our distance is but a single tile
You're waiting for a while
For something worthwhile
I'm still here in my one man isle.
Is It Okay To Be Okay?Is it okay to be okay
To stay right here with you?
Cling to what my heart holds dear
Instead of climbing out with you?
I'm not too sure, I like it here
Is it okay to follow me?
'Coz sometimes "you" is too unclear
Discomfort ain't an easy thing
Is it okay to be okay
To stay here, curled up in a ball?
Where you keep me safe and secure
Despite whatever comes.
How do you live, how do you breathe?
Is there even a right way?
Or might we embrace diversity,
Instead of following the same road..
'Coz in the end you're always there
For me, you're always gonna be
Going Back Alone (Voltando Sozinho)Get up, they say, move onward
You know you can walk on your own
Yet the road is unsafe and I can barely see
The perilous way back home
You're here, you're an arm I could cling to
Who'll walk with me back and I know
I'll be safe for you lead me and guide my way
Through this perilous way back home
But when it's all a dream, and it's back to
When I am alone again once more
Will I have the courage to move past through
This perilous way back home?
Oh, independent, fragile me, yearning
An arm to cling tight to when all
Is fearful and I'm shaking, to walk back through
This perilous way back home.
Hack YouHack You
Hacking right into your mind
Is what I wanna do
So much mystery inside
I want to get into
I guess it's just impossible
For me to just know you
The way we know each other now
Impossible, it's true.
I want to hack right to your heart,
So you could open up
So I could know, somehow, some way
What you could need,
What you cry out.
Though right now, it's a simple code,
I just wanted to say.
You're awesome in your own way.
You make me smile.
That's all...I can say.
eight ways you've made me small1. I wish
this was for you.
2. my journal pages - the
brown one with all our monologues -
were jarred with hollow vows of
last poems of
letting you slip into a coma
of bad memories, watching you
fall to your death off
a cascading cliff of disease
and dis ease.
it was never
easy for me
3. there's a reason I ask
whether you're grey
(dark white, elusively black, in between)
or blue (behind the clouds, under wave-foam,
whateverthefuck runs through the back of my
palms); I'd rather have
than the arms
that once held you half-
heartedly. you had always been
my harmony and I
would have killed
to have been yours.
4. it could never have been just me, the way
it could never have been just
5. disasters are not beautiful,
but how is it that you
managed to make my inner linings
converge into bows
and explode into wings the very
night you decided to rebuild your walls
to a lower height?
6. I wish
Change this lifeHiding in the shadows
Resisting in secrecy
Trying to find a way
To change this life of misery
The future is unknown
The past is to forget
The present is dull and boring
Is this what life has to offer?
I want to change
And I keep trying
Only to fail miserabily
Every single time
diaryi thinned recall,
strangled memory until she screamed black
or blue, strung her source of voice along
the willowed incline of vein to wrist and down
let the curl thirstily imply
just how cut it is to pain in numbers:
one scar for extravagant wine dates, three
for the number of times we fucked crying,
eight for forgotten promises of ever after
i heard a sordid song in your tallied matchstick
bones, victorian in beauty & proper repression
of the bloody details like a bruise we push beneath
our hollow skin with dirty fingernails
see, the past is not a headless infant with knives for
playful fingers, though it is not to say
that cribs or birdcages hold anything more than
what we leave them to engulf
i swallowed you whole, ocean— basked by the enchantments
of soft-spoken life, bathed by neurotic erosion.
they taught me that the cleansing of your body now
fades the transient you of yesteryear, speak in familiar tongue:
bathroom stall mirages of rounds, clocks, convey
Whenever I hurt myselfI have a feeling
Someone is watching
So I look around
But there's no one to be found
ExpirationWith you I always feel like I’m
to break in the wrong size of shoes.
Sometimes I sit and stew
over how you’re seventeen and
you think I’m a princess
the trapped-in-a-tower kind
and how you wear suits and talk about politics
and think you know the world.
My throat interrupts with an affronted gurgling sound
sometimes when I think about you,
you deal out advice where it just isn’t called for
you quote science-fiction to justify war
and you’re seventeen years old and you think I’m a princess
and you just have no blooming idea.
Darling, one of these days I will tell you my mind
But until then we’ll never fit
I’m afraid –
that even after that day
you’ll still be trimmed hedges and
Makers Of The Cage. Holders Of The Key.Our eyes are the closest thing we have to freedom.
We see endless blue sky, and the stars beyond.
We see the beauty of the world.
We see our reflection in the mirror;
the reality, and the fantasy.
Our eyes see far and great.
But the rest of us cannot follow.
Our hands probe the steel bars around us.
Fumbling in the dark.
Cut by the sharp edges.
The bleeding never stops.
Our feet shuffle around.
Trying to go places.
But we walk in circles.
Our emotions go from red to blue;
orange to green;
yellow to purple,
mixing in a haze.
Our mind goes to dark places,
and only wanders deeper.
Oblivious to the place right next door.
It knows the freedom,
it knows the pit.
There are endless paths to take.
There's a cage we need to break.
There is a key ourselves create.
In our hands, it's never too late.
a cherry pit dog heart.she holds a cherry pit dog heart in her hand, arrhythmic
beats like children playing pots and pans in kitchens
mother builds from scratch, black bean soup prepared
for dinner by a creased artist; wisps of white
upon a grandfather's head remind his daughter's child
of winter as he talks of horses in cuba who scratch
their backs on wooden posts; the first time she eats
ox tail is at an uncle's funeral, sitting in the basement,
surrounded by her surname, wondering why everyone
seems so happy; her grandmother keeps having
that dream where she's cooking and pours hot oil
on the animal in the kitchen, singeing his skin—
she cries out at midnight, sobbing for her daughter;
black eyes watch as her child keeps growing,
inspecting her process for future improvements,
while she takes pride in getting her sleeve caught
on twigs as she runs through the forest; motherhood
enters her every so often, at times uninvited, but
never for her prince in white, the bundle curled up
on her bed, floating
on bradbury and table dancingYou are not a wordsmith
whatever you might like to think. ('Smith'
indicates precision and coldness and fire:
words are softer than that unless you mold them strong.)
It's a difficult road to follow, and not many
make it past the fork. Choose a path,
Janus says, whirligig keys spinning on his shoulders:
I am a wordworker, with my tools too crude, forming
rough-edged carvings painted with pretty imagery.
Notebooks scattered across the landscape
of a child's room, to be stumbled across,
read, red-penned, in the thick and choking breath of night.
When the bough breaks
a hanged man laughs. He carries typewriters
in his pockets, and cigarettes in the soles of his shoes.
I will never be a word mistress,
whoring myself to the speech of people I do not know and will never know me.
The oven is set to Fahrenheit 452, but the words were already aflame
before they ever took shape under your tongue.
You love everything they've ever written, and carry
unabashed loathing for every syllabl
Leaving Southampton She was in the kitchen when he stumbled in noisily, tripping as he went past the shelves and catching the edge of the table to keep himself from falling.
Pretending not to hear the stream of curses that followed, she kept her eyes fixed on the dishes, letting her hand trail in the soapy water. There was a loud scraping of wood against grimy concrete as he drew a chair and collapsed into it. At this she looked up, and after a moment's hesitation, she said, unnecessarily, "You've been drinking."
He clutched his head and said nothing. He hadn't shaved in weeks and stank of sweat and alcohol; he looked much older than his eighteen years.
They sat in silence for a while. Then he announced, loudly, "Fuck."
She didn't bother to tell him off. She just waited. And jumped when he suddenly brought his fist down, hard, onto the table.
"Our lives here are s
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