I hold my mothers hand innocently afloat,
Her gentle whispers flooding my brain.
An entity of feelings within a peaceful boat,
An abridged story held by life’s chain.
Mother teachings beckon at my ear
Blooming flower won’t always reach a smile.
But why won’t my crayon change how they appear,
Don’t grey skies become blue after a while.
Never will there be a profound meaning,
Yet it’s in the words we write,
Defining us as human beings.
If ever in some parallel universe,
Where words were never spoken.
I could still portray life’s narrative,
Using only my emotions.
Existential Page Howl
I am Theseus and also Magellan and I am Charles Darwin and I am Marco Polo
I am an adventurer claiming new discoveries discoveries of gold and land and words and thoughts and hopes and dreams
Virgil leads me for a while I am watched by people older and wiser and greater and not even greater for they themselves are greatness personified they are
people better than me at the only things I’m good at and towering Dostoevsky smiles down but his enormity makes him intimidating so I keep walking
Past Ginsberg and Kerouac using words I don’t understand but on my walk I find new things more people and and their art and their words and my words and more words words words
And Joyce tells me that Gods make their own importance but I’m not a hero let alone a God so who makes mine?
My life (as a reference to others) sits opposite me
The mirror is my worst enemy. “But why?”
People say. They don’t see what I see.
Why does that skin stick out? Why does my hair look like that?
Why why why.
So many questions.
So I do the one thing I wish I could: I take control.
I tell myself to pretend. Pretend I’m fine. Pretend I don’t cut each night. Pretend I’m happy.
“I’m only being dramatic” I say.
And plaster on a smile.
The mirror is my worst enemy.
Always feeling like you’re falling,
Though your feet are firmly planted,
A hurricane of thoughts rushing through your mind,
When a sound sleep was all you wanted,
Second guessing and always worried,
Tears streaming down your face,
Hoping for the day you get better,
And find your happy place.
I grew up in a house with a angry man
Everywhere i go there is an angry man
A man who projects his pain onto others
to make himself feel better
A man who makes everyone fear him
so he’ll feel powerful
I am afraid of being like the angry man i always see
I hope my children never have to experience
the angry side of me.
To only judge or objectify
I wish they could see what we see, even magnify
Women have to live in complete fear
While men wouldn’t shed a tear
Its sick the way men treat us
Like we are some item
They would sit there and constantly lie
While we would sit there and cry
Being a Woman
The first thought is always this: another angry woman. We have heard it all.
That’s is what is seen: Women hate men.
What about what women are taught?
“Don’t wear that dress. You’re asking for it.”
“Boys will be boys. Be glad someone likes you.”
Don’t walk alone at night. Don’t be too friendly, but don’t be a bitch. Show some skin. Cover up.
You’re too uptight. Wow, what a tramp.
So tell me, what is a woman?
Is it what is seen, or is it what’s deeper?
“A woman isn’t written is braille: you don’t need to touch her to understand her.”
Pull up to training i
t’s starts bloody raining
Ye man won’t stop yapping
he’s looking for a slapping
Bucko dropped the ball again,
gox is a stinky number 10
Cob keeps standing on my toes,
flesky slaps rob across the nose.
On the beer
“Don’t have the fear, come out”
But every night takes its toll
The wallet gets emptied
Woke up in the morning thundering head
But remembering back it’s all worth it
Every drop drank, every memory made
On the beer
To be Kind
I try to be kind without being weak
I try to be tough but they laugh when I speak
I choose to stay silent and let the world carry to evolve while I text my friend to make sure I get home without being cat called.
I’m boring when I say no.
I should “smile more” and not be such a bore
When I do what they say I’m now rumoured as a whore.
I cant win in this world of fear instead the world evolves as my eye evolves another tear.
I come from a home
That sometimes feel like a dome
Which is call a phone
When I’m alone
Which feels like a hell hole
I want to fold this game called life
but there are things like family t
hat make me happier
you need some ally in your life.
What does it mean to ‘fit in?
What does it mean to ‘fit in’?
To walk into a room and not feel judgemental eyes or silent whispers?
To not feel like you’re a burden to the people around you by simply being in their presence?
To not see looks exchanged as you approach people?
Or to not feel their silence as they wait for you to leave?
Countless people live their lives never feeling like they fit in.
Never feeling like they belong.
Growing up to believe that THEY are the issue, without the ability to realise that they just haven’t found the right people yet.
Some people are lucky enough to never experience that feeling, but they will never appreciate that privellege for they are unaware any other experience exists.
Maybe that is what it means to fit in.
Or maybe, the meaning of fitting in, is realising that just because some people are too privelleged to realise your struggle, doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.
Home is where the heart is. That’s the saying.
My heart is at home, and always will be.
When I’m at home, I’m whole. I’m also broken.
Home is the place I want to be the most, also the place I want to leave.
My parents dry my tears, they also can cause them.
Sometimes I want to hit them, then I want a hug.
My father lifts me up when I’m feeling down.
He also tears me down.
Home is where the heart is.
Home is my escape, but also my prison.
So tell me, where do I belong?
Home is where the heart is…
In the islands where the wind blows,
Gusts race along the twisty Road.
Down near the village the people thrive
full of happiness and with pride.
n the islands where the lost are found,
people find peace and lose their frown,
the stone walls and the grass green..
what a beautiful place to always be.
Going to the shop
to get ice cream
Watching the Sunday game supporting our favourite team
Gaga and I planted flowers
I could listen to his stories for hours.
As we both grew old he would ask me about boys instead of the newest toys.
We would go to the farm to count the cattle and trying to get biscuits from nanny was always a battle.
I love my gaga with all my heart,
and I’m not ready for us to part.
To Wear the Green
From the age of four
When I seen that game
All I wanted
Was for us to score
Since that day
All my dreams
Were to play
in the Green.
When you love music it’s hard to express,
and sometimes you feel it’s better to say less,
Whether it’s singing or playing that’s what I love
and I encourage everyone to do all of the above,
I had this morning was silky and smooth,
the moment i stopped
I knew it was long due.
I flushed, walked down the stairs,
the bed was soggy and stewed.
To my horror,
to my complete surprise
I hadn’t left my bed
I think I might lie down and cry.
I’m sitting in the classroom
Supposed to write something down,
I hate writing poems,
’cause i feel like im making myself a clown,
my creativity has its ends,
what leads me to write a poem
about my lack of creativity.
I love it the cold glass in my hand on a Sunday evening
On the high stool at the end of the bar
When I’m there I never think about leaving
But when it’s time the key goes in and I start the car
On my way home I hit a child I hit a ditch
I was driving my 05 ford
The child’s mother looking for my details
The silly bitch
When I crashed the tree went through me like a sword