Meaning - Blog Posts

Paradise/Cityscape

All that is passed,

And all that is due

Wander in fields of flowers,

One big tree in the midst of the pasture

Lowly hanging golden fruits,

Knowledge bestowed with every bitten

Sweet at first bite, bitter as an afterthought,

I pace beneath it's sturdy branches and it's

swaying, shining leaves.

This is what paradise would feel,

But I am not dead.

I am dead to the world, the world was dead to me

This fantasy is speaking to me,

with no sound,

Regardless, I am always astonished,

the pretty view of Paradise.

Alas, Paradise never lasts,

The curtain opens

and I lay under sheets,

Formality reeks in this room, of something man-made and broken and repaired, and put back together again,

and beyond my window

Is turgid, overwhelming, and polluted,

Cityscape.

 “I'm dangerous, I'm warning you But you're not afraid of me And I can't convince you You don't know me...”

There are all kinds of love around, but the lovesick are blind to all but one.

I go to seek a great perhaps.

~ Francois Rabelais

“To be poor but content is actually to be quite rich. But you can have endless riches and still be as poor as anyone if you are always afraid of losing your riches.”

Othello, William Shakespeare

Original quote: "Poor and content is rich, and rich enough, / But riches fineless is as poor as winter / To him that ever fears he shall be poor."

go, and reach for the sky. hold the stars carefully in your grasp. fight for what you believe in. for you are young, and the world belongs to you.

Meaning...

Meaning...

plopped into cool water, my manus flattens against the stone below as a bowl upturns like a dome above.

my marble eyes ring with the warning of moonlight, my skin glistens, slick with sage-

i peer at my greenhouse, pads reaching to press the convex glass, curiosity caressing my face-

but comfort follows me beneath the water, serenity tying me back to stone.

then steam clouds the cage; lids close off sight, then sound- suddenly, silenced, i muster one last croak. poetrycommunity

death by comfort // the boiling frog

Rebel against something today. Not to feel cheesy, but maybe , just maybe , it’ll be the beginning of something you.

And no, this isn’t motivation. This is a battle note.

Man is capable of loving.

The life and the dream in Chicago.

Better leave me undescribed,

stare at me,

and like a flower,

pluck what you want

and leave me to bloom for others.

Isn’t this what the world has become?

Together, I am isolated. Alone, I bloom.

People will never look like flowers.

Death is all I want to test now. I have had a glimpse at everything possible. Death, can you find me please?

After all, writing isn’t the whole damn world. Fuck this writer’s block.

I’ll walk around, watch Béla Tarr or Andrei. I’ll call Joyce she never runs out of words.

Or I’ll sleep it off, because I refuse to let a blank page make me consider the unthinkable.

We live between

bad choices

and worse ones,

and we choose the bad,

hoping that at least

we shall survive.

Mere survival is what

alot of us sometimes

sleeplessly

struggle for.

There’s nothing to be pressured about.

The chance of dying without ever tasting what you crave is real, and alive, breathing down your neck.

And no amount of pressure will ever change that.

The whole world isn’t mine, true, but my world, my world is mine.

But it’s been hard to let them know that all I need now is not Lethargy, or Trazodone, or Sertraline.

I need a heart that can beat when mine is trembling, a face that can smile when mine is sad-locked, and a person who can accept that I am in a dangerous mood.

The Woman You Wanted Me to Be.

When I think back now,

I see how you abused me,

without pulling my hair,

without slamming my head against walls,

without forcing yourself on me.

But you broke me all the same.

You compared me to other women,

made me wear your favorite color

red when I hated it most

and

ordered me to paint my lips

for every walk i had

beside you.

Now that I remember,

I never lived freely with you.

It was exhausting,

it was toxic Fred.

We shall overcome, the brutality of life

I waited for a "go, do it," but all that came was "boy, don't do it."

I waited for a "yeah, that's my boy," but all I heard was "shit, what you're doing is shit."

I kept waiting for their acceptance, until hope faded like the day into the darkness of the night.

And so, I accepted myself, invited myself, and cheered myself.

To say it right, the cake was baked by me, and eaten by me. Full stop.

I have to realize that

anything I do now

amounts to something greater-

a good sleep,

an understanding that I am human

after all,

a walk through quiet forests.

All these things

are of great help to me,

even when they earn me none

of the dimes

that are often needed

to pull myself out of this abyss.

Love and sadness, Hope and breakage, God and endurance, Politics and suffering. Science and destruction, Education and slavery, Race and division, Life— life, and life.

There are no miracles

without

the sadness of life.

For in sorrow, turmoil, and hopelessness,

God reveals Himself

most to those who trust in Him. Be strong in God.

They wanted me to become a man who fights for his respect. But I became a man who respects himself. And that’s how I became awkward— and I loved

that

kind of awkwardness.

3:19 AM What’s around me is sleep. What’s within me are thoughts dancing on songs I hate to hear.

3:20 AM now And I’m done with this prose— or to put it right, I’m done with this observation.

I am this. Now, you should know that I won't push you to a wall I haven't pushed myself to first.

I'd rather get there first, then wait, if you’ve got the guts to join me there.

I am this, understand— I don’t desire to be loved unconditionally unless I first love without conditions.

This is love, baby, and all it means is for us to be a little bit more fair to each other.