Life

Dangerous Territory

I’ve been swimming in the deep end lately.

My head is spinning in circles.

My heart had never been so hollow on the inside.

I need to catch my breath before I do anything else stupid.

 

My work of art is an escape from uniformity.

I felt safe with you for the time being.

At the end of the week, you cuddled me

When the sergeant had an off day at work and took it out on me.

 

I let you in like I did when I meet new people.

You were happy for me when I told you I finally found love.

I wanted nothing more than a friend’s reassurance that everything will be okay.

But you in particular were a land mine waiting to explode.

 

It’s dangerous territory where you’re from as a queer.

It’s dangerous territory where I lurk on the web.

It’s dangerous territory to build a world without receiving adequate training.

It’s dangerous territory to make friends with volatile people like you.

 

I can barely read script in Delphi without misinterpreting some if not most of its passages.

My art isn’t like what you’d expect to see in other do-it-yourself or high-profile projects.

The way I write, the way I archive, and the way I distribute information is my strongest suit.

There is no way I can fulfill my goal in life alone without the help of a team that knows its stuff.

 

You didn’t have to sugarcoat your advice to fix my problems

But you didn’t have to pull more than my teeth either.

You spoke to me as if I had to know every damn trick in the book.

You pointed out where I went wrong as if I didn’t already understand it.

 

I would have welcomed your advice if you watched your language.

I would have been more considerate if we joined forces as planned.

But being friendly with you in light of this is just out of question.

You can say that I’m high all you want, but it goes to show that you’re smaller than you think.

 

It’s dangerous territory where you’re from as a queer.

It’s dangerous territory where I lurk on the web.

It’s dangerous territory to build a world without receiving adequate training.

It’s dangerous territory to make friends with volatile people like you.

 

A vagabond told me this morning that I don’t learn much from success

And boy, I sure did learn a lot about your character more than what it takes to be top dog.

I might also let it slip that you exploded in my face because your little rant was all over the place.

In that case, riddle me this, who among the two of us really needs room for improvement?

Before it happens again

 This shit hurts 

I can’t do it again 

On paper you look perfect 

So I thought we could be friends

The kind that never lie 

And reveal our darkest fears 

Who have each other’s back

And wipe away the tears 

The kind that builds and grows 

Until it turns to love 

Then we sit back and know 

It was sent from up above 

But instead I sit and wait 

Because you’ve gone away 

I never know the fate 

Of every passing day 

It drives me fucking crazy 

How am I not on your mind!? 

I think about you daily 

& and not just because you’re fine

It’s because of how you smile

And how Jesus is your world 

It’s Because of how you talk 

about your beautiful little girl 

I know these things take time, 

And id like space to explore 

Whatever’s on your mind 

To understand you more 

I know this is crazy

Because we’ve barely just said hi

But before I fall too deep alone

I’d rather just say goodby 

 

-Zomi July 2019 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Ode to John

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Nothing but a Fable

Happily ever after doesn’t exist.

Not when people like you also exist.

I bought myself a new suit of armor so you don’t drive another knife in my back.

I told the vendor to hold the stallion because human legs were never for aesthetic purposes.

 

I wanted to walk the face of the Earth with you using my own.

We would’ve walked more than a thousand miles together to chase the sun and avoid the night.

And I never needed to worry about my tired legs.

They built up a tolerance from walking in the coastal sand and helping me keep up with dirty dishes.

 

I told you about my demons and how quickly I am to care when I’m shown an act of kindness.

Mother always lectured me that no matter how small they may be, they are never in vain.

But there is such a thing as being too kind. There is such a thing as temptation.

The best of us cave in once, twice, or maybe more than that when we write in our diaries.

 

You were like such a book to me and I trusted you, but never did I expect that you’d defile my soul

By persuading me to partake in activities that I would never in my right mind do.

I should have recalled the fable of a girl who trusted a poltergeist that haunted a similar diary.

Had I not flee the moment I saw your true character, I would have joined her in death.

 

Looking back, I understand that diaries are the keys to starting fires and turning innocents into fugitives.

You can try with all your might to pry my mouth open to get me to spill any more beans

But my lips are staying sealed because I know who you really are and I finally learned my lesson.

You never exposed me. You only leaked a chapter that was part of a book you never read.

 

So why bother showing it to you knowing that my real friends and family will be endangered as well?

I know that a deluded man gambled away so much ammo to the vipers that he became a trainwreck.

I swear on my recurring nightmares that any answers to your questions will be used against me.

Truth and justice is a concept invented by people and after all, people do make mistakes.

 

God bless the right to remain silent.

Because even the condemned understand that its value supersedes a vault of gold

That the draconian blackjack dealers steal from the poor that desire to play with them.

Where was Robin Hood when I needed him most?

 

Flash forward to a single year and I’m now twenty-five with an art degree in hand.

I’ve spent all that time studying my ass off and avoiding the vipers that plague my past.

I was with my true friends who never give a shit about your deceit when I realized I never needed you.

Preparing for financial exams under the tutelage of a bright mathematician was like you never existed.

 

So the next time you see me, I won’t grovel on the pavement begging you to take me back.

Instead, I’ll look the other way and French kiss my new admirer in front of you.

Just to let you know that I changed for the better and you missed out on the life we could’ve had.

I am fortunate to understand that your absence last summer turned out to be a blessing in disguise.

 

I dare you to call me an idiot again!

I dare you to call me a chicken!

I dare you to say that I’m going down

While you hide behind the blackjack dealers that love you for show!

 

There’s always someone out there willing to give you a taste of your own medicine anyway.

How did it feel when even Discordia didn’t want anything to do with you?

Was it salty and sour like your attitude and your deceit?

Cavities caused by the consumption of these candies are a pain for dentists to fill.

 

And just like that, you disappeared from the face of the Earth again. Hopefully, for good this time.

You can erase your identity from the world, but you cannot erase the marks your venom left behind.

You may still be on my mind from time to time, but I don’t see you in a virtuous light anymore.

You are nothing but a fable.

D'en haut

Un petit garçon regarde la Terre

De son nuage paisible d'argent.

Il aperçoit, tout en bas, la mer

immense et douce comme sa maman

 

Il regarde les arbres, les forêts

Les montagnes ensoleillées, les bergers

les villages, les enfants, les vergers

et voit doucement passer les années

 

Parfois il entend pleurer une fillette

Et tend l'oreille, d'un air alerte

L'enfant n'aime pas entendre la tristesse

 

Il préfère regarder les amoureux sur la plaga, 

observer les poissons sur le rivage

et regarder les petits chats qui naissent

 

Mais il est tard sur le nuage

Alors doucement l'enfant s'en va

Et retourne au pays d'où l'on ne revient pas.

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PTSD

Who hit replay

Shut it off

No not today

Life can be rough

Enough is enough

 

The past is passed

so why must it last

This loop in my head

I constantly dread

 

Who hit replay

Shut it off

No not today

Life can be rough

Enough is enough

 

PTSD is not for me

PTSD must cease to be

Got to get it out of my head

These thoughts that I have come to dread

keep playing over inside my head

 

Who hit replay

Shut it off

No not today

Life can be rough

Enough is enough

Author's Notes/Comments: 

PTSD...we all have it in our own way...we need to stop letting it get the best of us...so much time wasted on things that cannot be changed and need to be forgotten...permanently erased...learn whatever lessons from it and move on and keep living and learning...easier said than done but thoughts to ponder nonetheless...you are not alone. Keep dreaming, keep hoping, keep living life to the fullest...take nothing for granted....be greatful...Focus on the positive.Peace.

Aggressive Warhead

Folder: 
Poetry

I was at home,

relaxed and alone.

I lay sleeping,

the darkness was reaping.

 

Then I heard the sound;

crushed windows all around.

Everything was destroyed,

of glass everything devoid.

 

Then I heard Warhead at my door,

personification of Balthazor.

The glass broke into shivers,

splinters were in my flesh delivered.

 

In spite of my fear,

at Warhead I did appear.

And tried to calm him down,

and he stopped throwing things around.

 

Everything seemed to be well,

Warhead had changes of mood, I can tell.

And Lays-chips was lying there,

I wouldn’t touch it, I declared;

cause it belonged to Warhead.

 

Hours later, Warhead came down;

in his anger still drowned.

He wanted his stuff,

but I knew he would bluff.

Always talking about guns,

but the true deed he shuns.

Though I was confused,

his stuff was unused.

Is what Ramses did tell,

and so ended this hell...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

An event in my life.

Abandoned Child

Folder: 
Poetry

My brother died,

And in his place;

I was born,

But I was repelled.


My mother threw me from the table,

Abused me, both mind and body.

My father never present,

And if so, he ignored me.


They left each other fast,

'Cause mother was a lesbian.

But my father needed a woman,

For his children and as a housewife.


The second was quite alright,

Even if she made me eat axis.

Only my sister I couldn't see,

That became off limits.


After years they had their divorce,

And then came the third, the most terrible.

My wicked stepmother,

The greatest dictator.


She tried to strangle my brother,

Then father did interfere.

She put me in the sanitarium,

With false motives, my fear.


Firstly in a crisis-centra,

'Cause I ran away from home.

Then in the sanitarium,

Where I for six months did roam.


In the sanitarium,

Provided with medication.

By which I lost my memory,

Crawling in the emptiness of chaos...


Regularly I suffered blackouts,

By which I saw nothing.

Not knowing what I did,

Much like sleep-walking;

And strange vistas occurred.


I wasn't suffering delirium,

Is what the doctors told.

So all this time,

I was in the asylum for no reason.


Then I had to go to boarding-school,

Where I developed something bad: anger.

I wanted to kill another, a female;

And Nyarlathotep, I am sorry;

Maybe I didn't wanted to commit this act,

But I had to from Satan...


What happened was unforeseen,

'Cause my room was now aflame.

The building completely in axis,

The police came to arrest me.


A year and a half in prison,

Locked away in a cell, in Hell.

A year and a half terror,

The bondage of society.


When I got out, there was another project,

Named room-training.

I had to work in a factory,

But that didn't end well...

I started to mutilate myself,

Which I learned in the sanitarium.

They send me to the hospital,

To the psychiatric division.


Then again to the crisis-centra,

Which I didn't liked at all.

As if I had to start over,

I couldn't take it anymore.


Through the open door I escaped,

And from my last money;

I buyed a train-ticket,

Which brought me to Ramses.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The first part of my biography.

An Armchair Theologian

I believe! I Believe! Lord, help my unbelief

I believe, I believe, my constant motif

I believe but don't grow

And my faith doesn't show

Because I can't be bothered to “do”

 

I know faith is given, not earned

Yet here I sit unconcerned 

I'm given to resting 

When I should be testing

To see that my faith is real

 

“You shall know them by their fruits”

But seeds planted on stones don't have roots

My apathy grows

So nobody knows

That I don't follow what I believe

 

The path down below is a slope

So gradual and smooth that you hope

It stays just the same

Like a current so tame

But leads to a waterfall

 

I'm not living, or learning

I'm sitting and burning

Lord I want to live

But not if I give

My time or my life

My comfort for strife

Is there an easier way?

 

You said believe and I shall be clean

Believe, and come home again

But how can I start

If only my heart

Wasn't an armchair theologian

Arete

Hope is a candle in a sea of darkness, eagerly awaiting the sun. 

Trust is a drop of the purest water, in an ocean full of desert sand.

Loyalty is the assurance of your own two feet, that you will stand.

Love is a bubbling geyser; filling, and rushing to overflowing. 

Empathy is a mother's love, from someone that you don't know.

Peace is an ocean of glass-like water, that ripples of war cannot move.

Honesty is a pure wine, with no dregs to ruin the taste.

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