What Music Is"What is music?"What Music Is4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
A young boy asked me that today.
I bent down to his level, so our faces met eye to eye, and, grinning, I responded.
"Why do you care? Out of our world today, why is it you who cares?"
He looked thoughtfully back at me with his eyes, too full of wisdom for his age, and he said, "Because I want to make good music someday."
I liked his answer, so I told him I did. He smiled, seeming honestly pleased that I liked his opinion. He grabbed my hand as I stood up, pleading at me with his eyes, and when I looked into them, I knew he wanted to hear more.
"I will show you the things that proper music make." I said to him. And as I walked along down the street with this child's hand in mine, I thought of how trusting he was being. I didn't know what to make of it, but as he followed along the street with me, I began to point out the things with which proper music was made.
"Music," I said, pausing to think. He looked up at me, as he had noticed my pause because we had stopped walki
Strange EyesInsane as the shadows,Strange Eyes4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Unhinged is her soul,
Awaiting the verdict,
She's lost to madness,
Bleeding the sins
Her mind wont condone.
Allowing the madness
To dictate her way.
So injured she struggled,
She defied her demise,
An unexpected prize.
This prize was simple;
A boy with strange eyes,
Who ignited her valor
And saw through the lies.
This boy was different,
He used her real name,
She was no longer known
As the girl who's insane.
Relentless WordsYou've found your way into my diary,Relentless Words3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
though I still don't know your name.
The scribbles and twirls that make my world,
for a short while, your essence tamed.
Pen after pen, running out of ink,
in a desperate sprint towards forevermore.
It seems I am trapped by a mapped out life
that I do not remember signing up for.
The edges of this book scream freedom
but the border is no place to rest my hands.
My fingers grow tired, filling pages with desires
but within these boundaries and contours I am damned.
Each time pen meets paper, the void slowly fills
but the words never match what I wish to exclaim.
You found your way into my diary today,
though I will never know your name.
UnsatisfiedRebels searching desperately for a cause.Unsatisfied4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
IllnessMy voice is boxed in.Illness4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'm a bird who can't sing.
I have to make motions
For people to understand.
I can't scream.
I wouldn't be heard, anyway.
I can only run,
And that will take me so far
Before I cannot move any farther.
My head is pounding,
And my hands are cold.
A side-effect of illness.
Illness is weakness
And weakness is shunned.
I just don't know what to do
Tonguesmy tongueTongues5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
reached for your
where our mouths
but our tongues
my tongue wanted
your tongue but
i wanted words
and soothing sounds of lips
though i lisp and kiss
grew to know
PhotographWith a flash,Photograph4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Frozen in time.
The beauty, the grace,
Will never fade.
It lasted a moment,
Treasured for a lifetime.
Only HumanThe heart,Only Human4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
They create our values,
they make us ecstatic,
they make us depressed.
The heart and the body:
they give us desires
which lead to sadness.
The body and the mind:
they are our conscience
which make us moral.
The heart and the mind:
(the worst of all) - conflict,
which is difficult to overpower.
They heart, body and mind,
two each stronger than other pairs,
which only make us human.
Notes on a Psychiatric WardJohn Forbes Nash, Jr., was one of the recipients of the 1994 Nobel Prize in Economics — but he nearly wasn't: the Nobel selection body had expressed concerns that he might embarrass them.Notes on a Psychiatric Ward4 months ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Mr. Nash was a paranoid schizophrenic. His illness had led him to believe, among other things, that he had been charged with creating a new world government that would lead to his being crowned Emperor of Antarctica.
Some people might call such a belief mad. Mr. Nash himself, acknowledging what he had been through, said: 'My quest has taken me through the physical, the metaphysical, the delusional — and back.'
The same might be said of my own quest.
After a long and interesting life, Mr. Nash, along with his wife, died suddenly and needlessly in an automobile accident. I was on a psychiatric ward at the time.
The point of these brief, loosely-structured notes is to speak a little about some of my fellow patients, and to illuminate the often obscured truth that people with a mental illness
SPIRITSStepping stones in a streamSPIRITS4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Memory leads to memory
So busy conjuring spirits I fail to see
I have made contact
Startled, they question my reason
Why bother us now?
I have no sensible answer
I miss some of you?
What would you look like
had you lived and grew old?
What is the power of death?
That magnificent perfect beast
A parked Ford Mustang
Windows tightly closed
Canister of nitrous oxide
As deadly as carbon monoxide
Is this my fate? Survivor's guilt
from a different kind of war?
I seek you out and ponder
the punch line of your death
on being a ballet dancer.maybe we are collectively held breaths.on being a ballet dancer.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
maybe we are the mirrors we hold in our eyes,
the mirrors that line the walls.
maybe we're the hollow between our hipbones or
feet facing backwards in the stall.
we are the moment of suspension in a perfect split leap,
we are blisters and dancing-through-injury
and the ache in our muscles and the way the clock ronde de jambes around its self so slowly.
we are the almost-made-it triple turns
the teachers correcting hand.
we are a tilt of head,
a deck of cards continually reshuffled in new combinations.
ballet is a memory game,
our bodies an empty casket we let our dreams fall in.
and i am tired
of praying to a mirror,
an unfolding blade that will only ever answer back 'not good enough'.
tired of leotards like skin hugged tight across
empty stomachs and highlighted imperfections.
of failed combinations
and days my feet would rather turn in and my body lie down.
we live for the hours on stage
that make us f
They saidThey said I would be okayThey said4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
They said that it would be fun
They said they would never tell
They said I would never have to do it again
They said come on just give it a go
And look at me, stupid me
Trying to be cool
Trying to fit in
I said yes
They took my arm
Put a belt around it and squeezed it tight
Brought out a needle
Filled it up
Found my vein
And injected it into me
A few moments later I felt awesome
Adreneline coursing through my body
The world a better place
It was downhill from there
I drank too much
A needle in my arm more times then I can remember
Going places i've never been too
Seeing people i've never seen
Doing this I would never do
Then I blacked out
Now i've woken up
In a place I don't remember
In a bed that's not mine
Doctors around me
Tubes going into my body
I hear that I overdosed
And almost died
I don't remember anything
I feel so stupid
And all I want is a hit
But if I could I would
Go back to yesterday
And change my answer from yes to no
Heavy Eyelids Broken ShouldersSome daysHeavy Eyelids Broken Shoulders4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I pull myself into a ball
And make myself
As small as I possibly can
Like when I was little
And I used to curl up against
And pretend that I was still a baby
In her belly
The same way I
Curled up against you
In the backseat of her car
And tried to pretend
I was safe
In your arms
I Thought You Were The One.You're the oneI Thought You Were The One.4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
who's supposed to see the real me.
see through the plaster smile
and see the pool of pent up tears
and purple scars.
you can't see.
You don't take enough time
to even try to see.
I thought you were the one
who was finally
going to break my chains,
set me free.
no one will ever
be able to see
the real me.
DiabetesIt was years ago. Many, many years ago. 13 years ago, to be exact. I was four.Diabetes8 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
And I remember being four and normal. Id been a happy kid. I remember that much. I found immense joy in playing with dolls in my back yard, near the big tree the neighbor kid had gotten stuck in one summer. I loved to swim, and was convinced that I was a mermaid princess and my parents just hadnt told me yet. I had a dog that I loved and played with frequently. His name was Marutte. We also had two cats; mouse and bear. I watched The Lion King, Wish Bone and Bill Nye the Science Guy religiously, and seemed to always be with one of my friends, a trait that Ive still retained to this day.
I dont remember the exact date; it was thirteen years ago. But I remember that I was at a girl named Kindles fifth birthday party, and Id eat
Fair GameA raven criesFair Game4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Well more of a "Kaw
But you know how that goes
Whether a bird can cry or not,
We'll never know
They fly so high
Never letting anyone close
We'll never know
But last time I checked
A raven, Isn't fair game
And hunting season,
Has long since past..
A LamentLament with meA Lament4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
For all the times we cried
Alone in the dark
All the times that love
Was not art
And life gave you
Oh, lament with me
Hate to be made
but someone you must bare
with much distaste
Lament with me
no more -
i got drunk on the blue of your eyes again.i.) yellow:i got drunk on the blue of your eyes again.1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are sick, I've caught you
vomiting in the downstairs
sink four times this week (that's four times too many),
ribs jutting out from dying
canvas skin; maybe i'll play the keys
on your bones instead of playing your
sister's piano badly (it makes you
smile sometimes, even though we both suck.)
still, i hold you even when
i feel like you'll
the elastic band on your left wrist is
terrifyingly loud as we huddle in silence
outside of hell, waiting for the devil to
hook you up to his various
machines. maybe it's my fault i
called him but there's plenty of
blame to go around in our house
(you broke my grandmother's
china last night again.
i broke your heart
when i re-made a second dinner
so I guess we're even.)
iii.) it's freezing.
i thought you were cold, but being
in this bed alone is makes my veins ice over.
(the devil took you away this time, and
he said you might not come back.)
(and honey, I've spent 8 days, 6 hours
Recollectionyou are mystery,Recollection4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
slipping through my fingers;
I had you once, didn't I?
God has a LibraryOnce apon a time,God has a Library11 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
I died and went to Heaven.
My ears rang with the cherubims chime
And my eyes went wide as I saw the beauty there.
I was greeted by angels, family,
Then by God himself
Who said he had something special for me
Then took me to a room filled with shelves.
It was lined with millions of books
As I gazed around the room God said,
"My dear, I have a job for you. Would you like to take a look?"
I observed him in awe, then nodded my head.
God smiled the began pulling books
Some old and falling apart, some new and unscathed.
I quickly took them from my King,
And opened one to see the words that were engraved.
I read and read till I had finished every book
Every word, every page, every cranny, every nook.
So I walked back to God's throne in tears
I hadn't realized that my job had taken years.
The King looked at me and asked,
"What's wrong darling, was the job not your liking?"
I shook my head and said,
"If I said no my king, then I'd be lying."
"Then whatever is the ma
RememberingRememberingRemembering2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My brother said he slept with me (unholy congress),
a bramble brier of limbs, cocks and mouths.
They never said, oh so poor sleeping beauty’s wall
was pocked with uncoupled blasphemous poppies.
But I was a strumpet, the number of how many I slept with
could be be found if you tore through a cereal box.
His first wife sang Hail Marys when hearing of my lovers,
labyrinthine mazes of prayers. When my husband danced with me.
the Pavan, Lord Zouch’s Maske. We all wore delicious masks,
fingers touching then other things touched, fevered, liquid.
But that was a long, long time, things are clove breaths,
they are endlessly muttered prayers, they are my brother standing.
The blade is waiting for both of us (but he is innocent).
I am not but I was not taught to be innocent.
So I remember a mouth singing unholy psalms into my mouth.