I’d rather die young
than slip through your fingers
I hold on and break
two worries away
Mountains call me too quickly
and send me away
your fingers wrap tightly
ready- hold on and break
I could be your lightning
not ready for stormy
one by one I take
these worries away
Be my music blasting
I’ll try to be yours
I used to think wonderful
was all we are
But I can’t hold the lightning
without soaking my shoes
so baby talk to me
the end’s the best part
I’d rather die young
than slip through your fingers
I hold on and break
two worries away
Mountains call me too quickly
and send me away
your fingers wrap tightly
ready- hold on and break
I am trying to tell you what I feel
but the thread of my thoughts
is being pushed through the eye of a needle
and some of the strands don’t fit through the hole.
I am trying to tell you what I feel
but some things get lost in translation
from my brain to the page.
I am trying to tell you what I feel
by only saying things that sound beautiful
but sometimes the truth is ugly.
I am trying not to hurt you
but I know what I am capable of
and I have seen how easily people break.
I am trying not to fuck this up
but I know how quickly tides can change
and I know how simple it would be to shatter you.
I could so easily break your heart
I've got it in the palm of my hand
and all it would take is one squeeze.
But I'll treat it like an egg
and do everything in my power to protect it
because that's the heart that loves me
I am trying to love you
but the only way I know how to love
will break you beyond repair.
Taken for granted by most,is the gift of fluent speech.
For some the next word can seem just out of reach.
A mild stutterer can sometimes speak a sentence with no pause.
For the heavily inflicted at times saying one word is a loss cause.
Fear of judgement,can mean in public,some dont speak.
Understanding,patience is what most sufferers seek.
Someone struggling with their words is not a figure of fun.
If only they could wake up one morning with the stutter gone.
With speech therapy,the lucky can make the problem cease
But from their verbal prison,many never find sweet release.
With time and practice most can make the problem less.
Learning to live with the stutter,often is for the best.
I am a shadow, long gone
I am forgotten, disappointments spawn
I am the weeping, in nights silent hour
From society, who savors the sour
I am the dark, stuck within my fears
I am denied, to them and all who hears
I was a dreamer, now hiding within my sleep
From the all of the promises that I can not keep
I am a shadow, long gone
I loved, and I loved you well.
Even after you challenge me hell
I remember, she parted us, you and I
She kissed your cracks, promising you lies
She left you broken, by the dead
But me, I wanted you by my side, to cherish instead
Once I was privileged
I had enough to get by
More than enough to get high
I was raised and taught to always try
Then things changed
All of a sudden, I was broke
I felt different from other folk
But to the rest, I was just a joke
But then I found love
I was never alone
Always had my girl on the phone
She was closer to me than a clone
Then things changed
Suddenly I became jaded
Requited love became belated
What I once adored, I soon hated
But then I found friends
I had the most tight-knit crew
The family you choose, that much is true
They kept me blushing when I felt blue
Then things changed
Friends became failed relationships
Our bonds cracked like frostbitten lips
Our foundations shakier than belly-dancer hips
But then I found myself
For once in my life I felt alright
No drama to deal with, no battles to fight
I smiled in the mirror to my delight
Then things changed
I got so angry, I was always pissed
My mirror became bad luck after it met my fist
So I dug a reflective shard inches into my wrist
I speak my mind.
Don't like it?
Too bad.
I bear you my soul.
Don't like it?
Too bad.
I believe that all beings and
life forms are all the same,
and different,
at the same time,
and that we are slowly losing
our connection to this concept
as a species, and it is destroying us.
Don't like it?
Too bad.
I believe there is a sanctity
that lies within each individual,
every animal,
every life form.
Don't like it?
Too bad.
Don't like my
style of self-expression?
My authenticity?
My 'attitude'?
My disgust with closed-minded people?
My honesty?
My truth?
It's just plain too bad.
I love yours, and I hope
one day we can meet halfway.
4:20 PM 6/28/2013
©
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2zIW8qDPhos
.........
Having it all means being satisfied with what I have. It means being happy with the gifts God gives me on a day to day basis, which I usually am not. Why? Because I am on Supplemental Security Income, which is the lowest level of disability one can receive in America. Therefore I barely have enough to get by. Since my wife is also on SSI we get the married rate, which is just over $1,000.00 per month. That may sound like a lot of money but it actually puts us somewhere like 60% below the federal poverty level!
This is why I have trying so hard to launch my new magazine Mid-Ohio Valley Poetry Magazine. The only real skill I have is that of writing. I think editing this magazine and publishing it may be my ticket off of the government disability nipple. The problem is that I'm not getting subscribers. The magazine is well worth it. It will be between 7-10 pages long, stapled along the sides, with various genres of poetry in each issue. It will also have a dynamite Christian column by our permanent Christian columnist Kathy Nemec. The first issue will be printed in June. Subscriptions are $15.00 for postal delivery to the USA only. $10.00 for the e-zine. The June issue will feature haikus, short stories, and some free style poetry also.
I want to get off of SSI so badly and the magazine is my only shot. Buy subscriptions and advertise for me. That will allow me to truly have it all. You see I used to lie to myself and tell myself that I was okay on disability. Then my family started doing without things. I didn't notice for a long time because I was strung out on medications and alcohol. Now I'm sober and I see them doing without food. I see clothes piling up because I don't have $1.00 to buy laundry soap. I won't allow that. I need income. I can't drive to a regular job due to epilepsy. So my magazine idea has to fly. You guys are my family. I wanted to pitch you first. You can subscribe through my website www.marvinspoetrypage.com.
Lost and confused, yet daring and bold,
Silly and innocent at 14 years old,
Devoid of a mother, dreaming of a lover,
With closed mind and open heart, not a clue of where to start,
Aimless, wandering towards an abyss,
Missed four months of menses, from a prison-bound kiss.
Paralyzed, fearsome of taking account,
The cost I would pay, was a lifetime amount,
Destined, without a goodbye from a soul,
The rug pulled out from under, lost...no control,
A baby is born to a child alone,
In a frightening place, a cold hospital zone,
No one is present to hold her cold hands,
Sneers and contempt, nurses scoff and demand.
Life is preserved, but a spark inside dies,
Questions unanswered, at best she's told lies,
Darkness ensues and becomes her befriended,
Adoption is evident, this journey is ended,
But then it's unfinished, more searching to do,
A marriage, a carriage, some wine, a corkscrew,
A nose of cocaine and a fist full of weed,
To fill up and cover the pain...with godspeed
Years of self loss and a belly of rum,
It's been 10 years gone by, my Lord...this is not fun.
Cleaning it up feels as good as can be,
At 35 years old...wondering where the hell's me?
When you're sure what is missing can never be found,
Never think that your past won't come sneaking around.
So the child now 20, finally we greeted,
Surreal as it was, neither one of us were cheated,
Babies are born in the world to be free,
They belong to no one...not you, not me,
I will never forget you, nor how we did feel,
You said you felt 'whole', I say, 'finally real'.
Scattered and fragile, like menageries of glass,
Treasure life's memories, however deep the crevasse,
We can all become vicitms of loss in this world,
How we choose to accept it, savored, or hurled,
Weaves the fiber of all future bloodlines to come,
You can let go the line, or bridge the chasm.
People will be who they are, leave them be,
Some only awaken when it's too late to see,
Love is intriguing, some think it's a fad,
Some want just good things, they deny the bad,
I never regretted a moment of mine,
Good, bad, indifferent, it's been sweet and sublime,
Grateful for everythng, how could I miss?
My dark side was what guided me into my bliss.
Copyright 2013 ©
Born into a life of poverty hardship and squalor
where hunger bites and disease is rife
in the dirty cobbled crowded streets
where it's a daily battle
to stay to stay alive
and find a morsel of food
to survive.
Uneducated illiterate
caught in the poverty trap
drinking polluted water
from the same cholera riddled tap.
An impoverished woman
sells her body for a bottle of gin
and a lodging for the night
a pickpocket and mucher
ever watchful wait for a victims
pocket to alight.
Children run through the narrow streets
dressed in rags no shoes on their dirty feet
the putrid smell from the gutter
and the thick smoke
from the choking bellowing chimneys
make it hard to breath
rats as big as cats
scurry and spread disease.
Dilapidated buildings covered in black soot
horse manure and raw sewage under foot.
Beggars flea infested with large mournful eyes
reach out pleadingly to the passing gentry
to fill their bowls with plenty.
A peeler posts a notice
of a forth coming hanging
at the local Gaol on a rusty nail
for the few who can read.
A desperate mother
with hungry children
steals a loaf of bread from a market stall
a yell goes out 'thief'!
and she is soon captured in the sprawl.
The judge sentences her to 10 years penal servitude
far away over the sea to Botany bay
but she dies upon the ship of fever
upon the way.
Her children are sent to the hellish workhouse
for the poor not to see their Mother no more.
A nightmare of a life of poverty crime and squalor.
Peter Dome. copyright.2012.