kid

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Back to back the night replays, 

Sitting here with a bottle called decay

 

And we’ve got the depression scented incense 

Sitting in a circle, wondering why it makes no kind of sense

Why I'm dwindling to live or live and suffer on the fence

 

I got fed up and left the room 

Went outside, tried to escape all that gloom

But what I found next was even worse, just rumors of doom

 

I visited this house I called home, but I’m not on the lease,

It all sounds so familiar, got the corpse of me laying there on center of the floor while you feast 

Got it displayed over there like an art piece 

Act like it was the true me, as if I was already deceased

 

But I’m still here, on the same broken couch, still sitting here 

You ignore me, go on, take another beer

Am I invisible? Do I not exist to you!?

Every part of me, debatable, divisible, that’s what you called only true.

I just want to find a breakthrough

And just like you, it never mattered, no matter what I do.

Just like you, 

 

It feels like an eternity since I left, I never cared to say goodbye 

All these broken objects still here, and I never understood why

But as I grew up, I know now, I know, it’s how you expressed to cry
The broken objects are a physical mental wall you built to hide
Broken and unwanted, justlike you,now I know, throwing it out was hard to decide

          

But you didn’t wanna outright say

You felt your own blood was a source of your betray

Leave the family, it’s better, leave them astray

Let her stay there, let her lay 

With all her demons she keeps at bay

 

I know now, your mind

Deteriorated

Dementia kissed you on the cheek and made us her kind

And like you I met her too, I became contaminated 

We are only moved by the broken blinds

Forever Unanimated 

 

You worship this building and every hole in the wall

Hide insecurity, and all that was spoken, ignore another call.

Put duct tape over the mess, and defend it all 

I wanted to ask, when did you begin this journey just to fall? 

 

 

I should leave before the sickness drives me mad

And just like you I close the door 

Until next time, dad

I close the door, and leave the past on the broken, dirty floor.

But unlike you, I must defeat what you couldn’t

The thing like me that you always avoid, the tainted inner core

 

 

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Poem about Matthew Benson

A white kid, that's what he is.

Plays baseball, also a math wiz.

Polytechnic University is his dream school.

Because his dad went there and he wants to be cool.

 

Hair as brown as poop.

Skin as soft as rocks.

Personality as rich as plain soup.

He also handles stocks.

 

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On Faithfulness

Folder: 
Simple Thoughts

"Don't get so frustrated, 

it's only a book, 

or a few words

that you threw,

 

hoping they might stick.

Sound familiar?

Surreal,

especially if you've stuck with it.

 

Life can be funny like that,

in fact, it is,

that the same things

seem to alwaus happen

 

to people who may wish

it wasn't the case;

assuming it's negative.

Once you give it a second

 

to process,

it's wild to think

the same exact advice

you give

 

is the opposite

of how you live

your own life.

Some advice...

 

Twice now I've had to step in.

To stop the golden desires

of sundrops on skin,

forbidden,

 

when there has already been seeds sown,

a tree has been growing,

and now there's doubt,

the axe lays on its side

 

nearby. Nearly every time,

it can hurt to cry,

but not if infidelity

is the reason why. At least,

 

let's hope 

that's not the case.

I'd hate to see the fallout,

it'd be all over the place."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just some thoughts on my ever-increasing number of friends who have yet to reach relationship goals... 

Three Capricorns

Folder: 
Visions Dreams
user img


THREE CAPRICORNS


In a dream he said to me
"I brought you a kidney cap"
or was it "I brought you
a kid kneecap"
or was it yet another:
"I brought you a kid knee cap".
The first: the cap on the kidneys:
or adrenaline from the adrenals.
The second might be
a baby goat with his kneecap
The third might be
kid: baby goat.. species ruled by capricorn
knee: tha part of the body ruled by capricorn
which learns with the knee to kneel to
God
cap: abbreviation for capricorn
3 capricorns

*

 

-saiom shriver-

*
Footnote:
(the goat is symbolic and not
animal slavery)

 

http://www.oholynightchristmas.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/3-wise-men-blue.jpg

 


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A Breeze of Memory

A graveyard of dead trees

Fallen leaves of vast red and orange seas

Squirrels scurry before winter strikes

As children play while others pass on bikes

 

harmony of the trees an the wind come together and sing

As a bird chirps then stops to clean it's wing

Children shrieking and screaming as they play

Angry armies of cars roar past, then fly away

 

Memories start of when I was a kid

Only broken away by time an what it did

Sitting still only in question

Of who I am and to what is my impression

 

I laughed . . . I played here

I was happy unknown of fear

But then reality again breaks memory's connection

Only to be lost again, still unknown of my reflection

 
Like
 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

annnd, here you have yet another class assignment that I did way back.

 

Endangered Species

I traveled miles out of town to see your face today,

Drove past the city limits through the desert far away,

Surrounded by barbed wire and a K-9 crew or two,

I wondered would I meet Mr. Houdini here?…or you?

You stood behind a piece of glass that stifled every word,

It didn’t matter though, the plea for help could still be heard.

The room was filled with people shouting loudly through the glass,

I even heard a woman tell her friend to "Kiss my a-s!".

Two hours passed too quickly and it hurt to say goodbye,

And as I left I winked as if to say, "See, I won’t cry".

I’ll stand beside you always with each letter that I write,

I know we’ll figure out how we’ll get through each lonely night.

The part that really gets me is the way we build in space,

But where are all the brains to help reform our HUMAN RACE?

We teach the kids by actions we display to shoot and kill,

Then lock them up, ignore them, and complain about the bill.

It’s "rehabilitation" at it’s best here at the zoo,

And a label of psychosis makes a tort hard to pursue.

The workers only give a damn about their lazy hides,

At best they blame the inmate’s past, not really look inside.

"Who cares about some kid who got pissed off and shot the block!!

We’ll just give him some lithium and blame it on hard rock!!

Just watch your back and get the check, that’s all that we can do,

For people locked away in super-max like SMU."

Abuse of all this power will be sure to make life worse,

Unless we conquer fears of ones who feed into this curse.

The men who claim it’s their right to judge that a single life,

Could possibly be worth no more than all this time in strife,

They need to learn a lesson ‘bout how wrong a "right" can be

When men abuse their right to power close their eyes, refuse to see.

I’ll see you here again and pray each night and every day,

Don’t worry ‘bout my love ‘cause it won’t ever go away,

But if by chance we drift apart I’ll hold this memory dear,

It’s taught me that with lack of love all humans know….

…….is fear.

Copyright © 2002 Liz Peterson-Braveheart

Author's Notes/Comments: 

About having a loved one in a super max prison.

Plain Jane

Don't judge the package,
I'm a troubled kid.
Yes, I'm white and I'm rich,
But life's still a bitch.
I've got a pretty face
But I'm no ace,
Although I look it through cyberspace.
I've got brains,
But they don't help much if you're not sane.
It's hard to explain the inhumane domaine that is my brain;
I constantly sound like I'm on cocaine.
I'm so insane,
That it makes you refrain
From running your fingers though my maine.
Baby, I'm anything but plain.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is actually part of a rap I wrote for a friend awhile back haha

RAPE.

 

RAPE. 

   Third attempt to write about it

And all I ever get too is the unzip part!

Trap of the honey sucker,

His bed made of semen petals!

 

I don’t look or care for excuses,

Yes I was young, so what !

Should I have known better?

When his fingers stroked my skin?

And his words twisted it my mind?

 

Hidden face of innocence can be so ugly!

I almost forget him, forgive? Who…

Before he did the deed it left on me!

one has to be violated it, my best tattoo.

 

It seems like the wind was slapping my ass,

When his fifthly hands caressed it my hair.

His sickly voice trying to hypnotised my drunken soul,

And felt my clothles being removed away!

 

What was the big deal? those crimes happen every days,

I was seventeen, I was no kid,

Oh sure, It took long before I took the knive

And kill my ego used and abused!

 

Paris, city of the lovers,

Not so sure by the hot poker,

I scream enough for him to give me back my serenity,

By then it was too late!

 

The man, used a soap to seat on his new trophy,

And if I felt hate, my manhood was hard,

And let him steals my innocence,

Today, I feel nothing, no an inches of hate!

 

They say rape is a taboo subject,

I say, taboo is the silence that followed it!

I have no more time for secrets,

We all, know secret kills!

 

It could have been someone else,

Today, I barely remember his face,

More the details of his room,

The pimp of the voice whispering me,

 

How beautiful, I was,

The lies and the burning soap,

Burning my inside while he took his pleasure,

And felt to sleep like a child.

 

As I was told youth is wasted on the youngsters!

Woke up naked my mind still fills with blurry flashbacks,

Of what he had done to me,

looking at him sleeping peacefully.

 

The kid turned to a man,

And shook him, realising his clothes had vanished!

He could barely spoke and order me to go back to bed,

The front door was locked or was it my sanity?

 

I was a naked trap animal,

There was only one last exit,

I open the window,

And stood on the balcony.

 

I scream for my life,

He watched me like some frantic creature,

But he knew the look in my eyes,

Was ready to do the jump!

 

He crawled of the bed of his sin,

And took a key of his pocket,

Through my attire at me

And I run half naked in the streets of romantic Paris.

 

There is neither moral or regrets,

I find my way to the train station,

And once more time as I had did thousand of time the night before,

I check my pocket, where I had not find any money or my return ticket.

 

As my hand plunge one more time in my jacket pocket,

I felt something I had look all night,

My hands retrieved the train ticket,

Was I a joke of the devil?

 

And all I could sense was the remains,

The burning sensation inside me,

Soap are made to wash hands,

Train ticket to leave, Strangers to avoid

As meaningless to day the word rape has become.

 

Sweet seventy, face of an angel

Easy prey, half sober,

Wondering the streets of Paris,

Funny, I still always check my pockets to these days!

 

 

                    COPYRIGHT@H.NAUDET.2010.

Author's Notes/Comments: 
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