Slam poetry.
Where someone stands up high and belts out truths.
Truths that bleed through all the masks.
Truths that leave you feeling tattered and raped.
And it's a voice.
Louder than the whispers you tried to tell it the thousand times before.
The same stories, told to all those around you...
Yet none of them able to grasp the meanings.
The deaf ones surrounding you nodding and turning away...
Because what would someone like you ever have to say?
And that word, yes that word... Poetry.
The word you were bred to despise simply because of a day in second grade.
Where a writing assignment died on Valentine's Day.
And the teacher that reviewed the child's poem....
simply decorating it in red ink and smothering any pride once held in the eyes of the young.
And the child, moments before satisfied and awed by this thing called poetry...
Where she could write in rhyme about all the things...
All the things and tell them how they were, using magic words.
But the paper was now bleeding.
Blood dripping off the page from the scars of correction.
Unseen, unheard, unknown.
And once again love was beheaded and the name of the poet cursed.
All because of your syllables, parables, and typos.
Miscounted steps releasing far too fast and much too slow.
There'll never be a place for you here.
And in the eyes of a second grader... one with fire and ice.
One that relished in a higher world, yet savored destruction.
She couldn't have agreed more.
There'll never be a place for her here.
No place among the commoners, no place among the heathens.
No place with the kings, and none with the servants.
Behold, she was a universe on her own.
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so yeah, that ^^ came to me this morning, way too early...
and I'm sure it is not the same as it was then...
cause I didn't write it down, but hey, I remembered some of it
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I spoke with a girl named Riah yesterday.
I know who she was, but I'm not sure she knew who she was.
I told her all the things to help her find her way.
I don't know if she'll remember, or be able to use them.
But it was what it was.
Also had a visit from someone, but I'm not sure why.
The contrast isn't as clear with him as it used to be.
And although the purpose was simple and short....
the means to go about it were not as conflicting as expected.
I'm not sure I know who he is anymore, or his purpose.
But perhaps my original meetings with him were from a different perspective.
and now I can see him better.
perhaps
there's moments throughout the day where the ego wants to take hold of the reins.
take hold and steer us into some crash course
I think ego has forgotten that she doesn't know the way...
and that we don't have to do anything or fix anything or anything at all...
oh, but ego.... sit down and calm yourself... I've got this.
Ego hated everyone today.
Especially Target. (they had NOTHING I went there for. NOTHING. They didn't even have dog food for fucks sake, or chocolate ice cream!)
Especially the pet store. (I don't want to buy a ten year supply of fish tank stuff, I just need a little bit)
Especially everyone and every place. (grumble)
Ego wanted the Thanos glove with the infinity stones...and again the whole world would have been wiped out in a single snap. Not half, ALL of it! No fucks given.
Soul is just crying, because she understands Ego's annoyance and disdain.
Soul is okay with everything snapping out of existence too, .... but
Soul, also enjoys this contrast and urge for war.
The push and pull between destruction and construction.
between evolving and devolving
between higher and lower and all the inbetween players who think they are in charge.
this game....
Loving them fiercely, yet able to watch them dissolve into nothingness.
Both sides of the wall.... watching from the tower box.... sipping on an iciee....
because it doesn't matter who wins or loses....
you fools...
it's just a game
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I really have nothing to write about that makes any sense.
There are intentions I mean to take action on.
There are ideas I mean to humor.
There are plans I want to take action on.... as soon as the pieces arrive.
There are moments.... when courage pours in... and then is snuffed out by a second grade teacher.
Times when an exciting miracle is planted and someone else rips it from the ground...
Times when fear tries to inch it's way in through the gates.... but the guards set it afire with their torches.
Ego still wanting to take the reins and be reliant on it's manic energy....
Mind just sitting back and relaxing, not caring what Ego does.
Oh, but... dear dear magnificent Soul....
Soul replants the magic forest, singing to each sapling as it's placed in the earth.
Soul writes things with words, but doesn't label it as anything other than her ramblings.
Soul still waves hello at fear when it tries to enter the kingdom... happily and welcoming.
Soul humors Ego and gives her some rope and some colors and a horse on a stick.
Soul tells Mind of her truths and effortless beingness.
and Soul.... carries us all.
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ack!
that was all LAME!
(not really, I bet it will sound really cool when I read it again in a few months)
I don't know what I'll be doing tomorrow, but I'm up for something worthwhile.
I 'should' do like 3 things, but will I? pssh.
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