To the InferiorTo the inferior,I know how you feel. The thought of being "less." The notion that you have little to gain. The idea that you don't quite meet the world's standards. It's like you're stuck. Forever dreaming for something better. Forever wishing upon a star. At night, you sit up and wonder when the pieces of your puzzle-like life will fall into place. But isn't that just so cliche? All we do is wait...then wait some more. Yet, we're not far from the mountaintop. Someday, it will be our turn. Someday, we will see our long-awaited desires floating before our eyes, like satellites. And those who've never left cloud nine will finally understand. It just takes a bit of time, and a smidge of faith. Though it's easy to become vulnerable. Remember, even the "lowest of the low" have found their way. Some have even taken on the role as king or queen. And just know, that I am for you. Totally and completely for you. You never have to question your significance again.Sincerely,Everlasting Hope
Obsolete BeachThe lighthouse is catching fire tonight;the infrastructure is caving in.For several bottles of keroseneremain exposed, unattended.And the matches, ten years old,rub against the cardboard lid.Sorcery, or so it seems,taking course of foul revenge.Then fear falls fast on tired hearts;the angels have refused their part.So goes our love, our brick-built home,our oil, and our lamp.Still, we once felt angst before,the monsters piling on the shore.We'll reconstruct our secret placein the ocean's crib.
Tribute to the KingI had once dreamed of being queen. But not the one you might expect. Not the one to turn her back, so ignorant to flee. For you have seen their solemn eyes - the hunger beckoning demise. Still, you raise the cathedral spires, callous to their pleas. Then death takes hold of sweltering skin; guilt takes form of russet hands. Your ego, status as a man, is but an ancient thing. And purple banners start to fall, for the king who thought he had it all. Erect the tables for the feast! We're not disheartened - not in the least.Not in the very least.
Natural RestorationCucumbers like iceconcealing somber eyes.Pigment of chlorophyll -fluorescent green, divine.Capturing the light,conquering the night.Act of photosynthesis,soothing, sublime.
Spatial SerenityBathing in streams of coconut milk,I embrace my inner sense of youth -how calm, how mellow-minded,distinct of the Earth's mantle.A moment spent upon the moon.
Bobby PinConsider a bobby pin.How easy one could snap.Yet it tussles with gravity -leaves an atmospheric gap'tween your hair and your faceand your dimples like stars.I would be a bobby pin,just to unveil who you are.
MarigoldsYou call yourself a man,yet shamelessly crushmy pile of marigoldsbeneath your feet -your old rubber solesgrinding the petalslike mortar and pestle.Those apricot leaves.But you never knew lovein the form of a flower;how vibrant, how gallantlike the sun it could be.And you never knew thatthe true secret to manhoodis boldness with a touchof sensitivity.
PrisonerI hold the gauze against my lips,embrace the snow white fibers of its being -embrace the cotton candy-like tressesready to catch each speck of bloodthat will fall from my stitched mouth.Tonight, I'll break my vow of silence -my long-contained ghostly manner,no matter how much my mouth bleeds.For words weren't meant to be confinedbehind slithers of rusted wire;phrases weren't meant to run drybehind tired, parched tongues.Tonight, the clock will cease to tick,the rosebuds - cease to bloom.And my voice - cease to be mutedbehind the once ivory bandage.
Regarding BrowniesThere's a differencebetween gooey and chewy.
Coffee Shop MemoirsPhilosophers thinkWe may dream our reality.With earphones attached liked IVsI dream my own melodic universe.Until someone laughs behind meAnd strikes up conversation with a friend.And in that moment they become my anchorAre they spinning through my dreamOr am I spinning through theirs?Sometimes life fits in a coffee cup,Sometimes inspiration pours out slowly like a packet of honey,And sometimes it all mixes togetherLike liquid incandescence that I drink right after brewing.When no one speaks to me for hoursI begin to wonderIs everyone dreaming a reality that includesThe whole café but me?The street outside the windowWith passing strangers, dogs and carsIs a whole new Milky WayWaiting to be discovered.But I am no space explorerAliens are beyond my reach.Whispers of the people aroundReach my ears distinctlyLike waves lapping on the shore.Words on paper go no wayTowards proving that I was ever hereMy identity is slowly condensedNot into the people who kno
pyromania.I tasted your lips sideways,and they were lit likecoals.but in reality,your breath simply hovered above the bowl,and you smiled at meas you lost control.
DownfallAnd in this dark harvest of seasonMy life has completely lost reason,For which or against to decide.All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tideIn sadness and in kindnessIn light and in darkness.In a boat made of hopeI shall sail to tomorrow,In a winding hurricaneMade of treachery and sorrow.There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...Piercing, slashing though my head.Starting somewhere in heaven,Ending somewhere in hell.Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.Are the armies within.In my head they are all thrashing.On the heaven's and hell's whim.To be light or to be darkness.A perpetual array.It's not merely my choice,But the choice of the way.It's an option of the voice,It's a thin line of gray.Is it a choice forced by fate,Is it a pre-set time and date?Or a choice to which I myself sway?But here's our story anyway
."Nothing that I do will matter.As all things will merely shatter!"All my hopes thus darkness scatter,As it shoves me a decree.As it si
tutorialtake an evening -reclassify emotions as chemical compounds.remove one atom,see what changes.take your field notes, transcribe themback to front.add line breaks.be scientific. be too scientific.replace the word 'entropy'with the word 'god'.be so full of want that you can feel itscraping its numb jaws against your insides.write about flowers instead.make your first line provocative.follow it, let it unfurl -ctrl a.del.inauthentic, try again.ctrl z.who the fuckwants authenticity?read, find inspiration.find new ways to plagiarize old ideas.stop reading.hash and rehash,slash and burn.look at the mess you've made.add punctuationas decoration.spend an hour flicking back and forth -capitalization.uncapitalization.write about family. if it hurts too little,write about flowers instead.use a word bank.cuss,kiss,switch,hit,shock,shatter,fade.write in the dark.write from within your own skull.write drunk.write your litanies.write your lines.write your
Who are you?"Who are you?" said the Caterpillar."Who are you?"But how could she answer?The identity of a person is not soeasily known, and one has to think very hard before one can say with certainty.She could be a beautiful winged horse whose fleshglows with the golden, incandescent dust of fairies, hermane a sugary concoction of pinks and blues with streaks ofblack and green whilst her tail is a brazen red that would shock the senses ofeven the wildest of flames.Or perhaps she could be a jellyfish that carves paths throughthe darkest and lightest of waters, the bell shape of her bodyas large as her blue skirts and her trailing tentacles aspretty and glittering and perhaps even brighter than the heavenly stars that hang from thesilver strings attached tothe sturdy yet gentle fingers of the puppet master.Or even, perhaps, she could be a pixie, with flutteringdragonfly wings that beat faster tha
z.perhaps i was born to be a bird for you,grey wings sprouting from distended shoulder bones;the inside of your eyes are darker than midnight,your hands having bled blue until you could see right through them,glasslike, they shimmer around my face& it doesn't matter that they're cold,broken,abused.the mountain ridges that you've carved for yourself are not something to shy away from,not something to be ashamed of;lie still as i run my hands like hikers across your mistakes,your fears,your old certainties,lie still as i discover how it is that you came to be here now,so quiet & unsure,so caught within the old sheet of your past,lie still as i discover every fuck up you've ever made,every moment of control that slipped out of reach,every extra drop of sanity that escaped from your pores.i have always shivered my way into tomorrow,too busy searching for something i couldn't find to warm my own bones,too busy to realize that i was dying of a chill i couldn't cont
Writer's Block Is...When a writer is feeling blocked.Yeah, that's all I got. :/Hence the term, "writer's block."