There’s a frustration that comes
with being an emotional writer.
A narcissistic obsession
with being a socialist fighter.
A pessimistic explorer
of reclusive desires.
A self-destructive aggression,
as the world travels by us.
The frustration it hurts,
as I’m hunched over my keyboard,
trying to recall feeling something:
An emotional springboard.
But all I have are those thoughts,
I’ve written again and again.
Is this life for me now?
A cycle…with no end?
It’s like I’ve lost all my edge,
and all the challenge is gone.
I know my brain so well now.
Perhaps my therapy’s done.
But yet I feel no relief.
it feels too early to stop.
I’ve written down all my problems,
but now the question’s “now what?”
Poetry makes this life,
appear to make sense;
With its rhyme, its rhythm,
and subtle eloquence.
It speaks to the soul,
through the hope of a lover,
through rebellious dreams,
through the pain of another.
It tells us we’re the same.
It unleashes our demons.
It’s vague in approach,
and accepts all our reasons;
Some more honest than others,
some just write to impress
some accept poetry,
as their right to regress,
into things best unsaid,
and feelings left ignored.
See sometimes through a poem,
you see glints of one’s core.
I find I write as a man,
but I speak as a boy.
I write about truth,
but my voice is more coy.
I write for the girls,
I’m too scared to approach.
Or the other lost souls,
who just need a life coach.
I write to some men,
who I don’t even know.
My voice stays with me…
who knows where my words go?
I write so you know,
I am more than you see.
You may say how you feel,
but my voice’s not that free.
My words are the truth,
and my voice is the lie.
It seems poems can make sense,
of the most f****d up guys.
Let us ignore the prevalent
and act like they’re not relevant.
Empty the rooms of elephants
and decode their lies of eloquence
Let us protect our votes from sentiments
and refuse their empty settlements.
Make them stare at men in mirrors
rather than drawings of dead presidents.
Let us vote for who we want
Why not try this new experiment?
Let us vote…claim we have rights
and when we vote, let’s see the evidence.
I’m not sure if I’m depressed.
Over thinking’s the first step.
I analysed the thoughts I had.
Ignored a few but most I kept
But mentioning those ignored thoughts,
makes me think they never went.
If I forgot they were still there,
how come they’re still so relevant?
I’m conscious of sub-conscious thoughts.
I guess those thoughts come up a lot.
They are the type you’ll never say,
the type that’ll never get you caught.
They only hurt those with a conscience:
an overactive sense of guilt.
They tend to seep through mental walls,
of empty thoughts…those poorly built.
One’s empty thoughts are obvious,
they are the things your eyes can see.
Like say you see some tasty food,
you might just think you’re quite hungry.
My thoughts will often go beyond that.
Occasionally they’re kinda scary.
Sometimes, I’m lucky and they’re mild
Sometimes I’d rather not be near me.
The scary ones: “Intrusive thoughts”
are often found in OCD-ers.
I used to think I was just weird
so let’s thank God for Wikipedias.
They tend to come when I’m alone;
When everybody’s gone to bed.
They seem to thrive when I am worried,
Oh what cruel voices in my head.
Think of love as just material,
resembling money in the pocket.
A normal man, for the dumbest things,
wouldn’t hesitate to drop it.
It has no obvious value,
but the lucky few that have it, make it.
It can be torn so easily,
yet desperate men still opt to take it.
Greedy ones will try to steal it
and never want to reveal it
But yet by keeping it to themselves
they’ll never really, truly feel it
But like money, love goes around
in what seems like endless cycles.
So I only pray that come pay day
my new investments are more insightful.
It’s okay to live a little
and to love for the sake of love
and it’s okay to just say no
even if the world threatens to judge.
It’s okay if you find you’re gay
and just as okay to be straight
You can refuse to eat the things life serves you
if you have too much on your plate.
It’s okay to question reality
and ask yourself why you exist
and it’s okay to make up your mind
or if questioned, to plead the fifth
It’s okay to not believe me
and assume the world’s bunged full of liars
It’s okay to deny your parents faith
and find your own way without their bias
It’s okay to respect your parents
even if they chose to spare the rod
and it’s okay to follow science
and it’s okay to believe in God
You should know it’s okay to be scared
of what you just can’t understand
and it’s okay to be a boy
until you’re ready to be a man
It’s okay if you disagree with me
and let society control you
and it’s okay to follow the masses
if when you’re lonely they console you
But what I’m trying to say
is it’s okay to simply be yourself
because in the end, when all’s said and done
I will love you if no one else.
I often wrestle with my hands
and have bad thoughts I don’t intend
and I still can’t ride a bike
and left and right just make no sense.
And when my feet can’t touch the ground,
or if the chair can move at all…
…I get this overwhelming fear,
that if I lean back I will fall.
I think religion ruined God
yet to this day I’m a believer.
I like to think His message’s good
and we’re just real f**ked up receivers.
I sucked my thumb till I was 10.
I really hate being upside down.
And I was bullied throughout school
and I became the class room clown.
Faked confidence when I was hated
It seems I’m awkward now I’m loved
and people tell me I was brave
That wasn’t me….I covered up
I often doubt the things I know
as life has taught me not to trust.
Some friends I have weren’t friends before
but they’ve moved on. I know I must.