many small people, doing many small things, have the strength to change the world.............
Twenty Ten FourWe never notice.
Our alarm doesn't ring, it sings
Pharell beating our mornings
'til we remove from our snooze. We
forgot the tink-tinker or
and emerge the same.
The same commute to work:
Heads sunk, tired eyes drunk by
thumb movements. Our ears dumb
locked into a Will-I-Am trance. Not
a glance of the changing scenes;
the only birds we see are angry.
The same office echoes with
of emails blaming others and smack-talking.
instead of actual talking. We fall for
the hype of Skype and only Siri’s
voice drones narrow answers
we accept as truth.
The same playground, huddled corners;
Children pick a blackberry instead of
picking blackberries, for their late-night
Facebook fights. Words will always hurt see:
no kids to hit with sticks and stones. Unless
there’s an app for it.
What do we do when stop?
Orwell you're too late
took thirty years to demonstrate your
doublethink and we all cling to
The... Last Night
I felt you... last night.
You left the covers at my feet.
I looked off a thousand miles...
As you walked out the door.
The room was so gray that night.
And I couldn't feel anything but cold.
You violated me, in every essence of the word.
And now I feel nothing but cold.
If I tell anyone, the cold blade I will feel...
The cold... I will feel.
And if I cry... you'll give me something to cry about,
I don't want to shower...
No matter how hot the water is,
I'll still be cold.
And I don't want to drink water,
I'm so lost.
look at the clouds todaywhen i met you, i stopped writing. i also stopped waking up to a face full of post it notes saying things like its bad luck to see the woman before the driving test, or my house smells like apple cider and bluebottles have eyes, or i've got static in my arms. i stopped feeling sorry and i stopped falling down the stairs. i noticed the stars at night could have a story and you could have taken the ocean and put it in your eyes. i also stopped writing.
when i met you, i stopped trying to be a nice person and just was. when i met you, i discovered post it notes and then i couldn't use them. i realised my house was not just a picture of a house and that your silence is so loud and my loud is so quiet. when i met you, i stopped writing and i cut star shapes into my blanket because i couldn't reach the sky, even with a ladder.
when i met you, i traced the map of your bones and filled my hands with yours because i stopped writing. i also stopped walking backwards because i noticed that i coul
A Cure For Writer's BlockWhen your pen hits the paper and nothing comes out
With a full cartridge, something's about.
Sitting there lonely staring off into space
You've got Writer's Block mate, it's a terrible case
The symptoms are some of the worse things to *bare
If left untreated, might as well say a prayer.
Diagnosing the problem is the first step to take
So let's get it started before it's too late.
Do you find yourself doing, the things you've put off?
Or watching TV late at night till you cough?
Dusting and cleaning. Hunting for food.
Surfing the net since you've found yourself glued.
Hanging out with friends all night long?
Getting them together for a night on the Town.
Or lying in bed staring off into space
Tossing something up till it hits you in the face.
This list of symptoms can go on and on
Keeping you busy for weeks, whilst mentally withdrawn.
Now on to the cure which you'll see,
It's really quite simple like *growing a tree
To Block means to stop, the ideas from flowing.
Get this barrica
every star is an empty light housethey say saltwater cures anything:
or the sea.
if you were here, you'd say
we were never sick, we were just
maybe all broken things can be made new again,
put back together with a miracle -
or the sea.
maybe all lost things come home,
and all you need to do is hope.
call out in semaphore.
stand on the pier 'til they make anchor.
come back to the empty lighthouse.
name a star after them
and make a wish.
kneel on the wet sand
maybe all it takes is an ocean song.
maybe nobody has tried hard enough.
or the sea.
as I await
I close my
June 1st, 2010
on sleeping with a friendYou unchurch me
When you spit sermons
In my mouth
This is torture.
This is drowning the slow way.
Bit by bit every press of your kiss
drags me a little further down-
This is drowning with my legs around your hips
and your feet on the ground.
This is gasping for air between your lips,
trapping your eyes in
Mary j’s mist, this is hoping
For a drop of sun and getting
A blister. This is sleeping with a friend,
This is a fucking disaster.
This is saying your name this is saying,
This is not speaking all day
And not speaking all night.
This is three full days with your
need at my side.
We’re perfect together-
But the timing’s not right.
"What’s this about,
What’s this all about?"
one day I'll tell you that
ever since you crawled into my mouth,
i have tried and i've tried and i can't get you out.
Because of Doctor WhoBecause of Doctor Who I am Afraid of...
2. Christmas trees
5. school food
7. blue tooth devices
10. children's drawings
11. MRI machines
13. gas masks
14. brass bands
17. the dark
21. coma patients
23. ...and hospitals again
25. weight loss pills
30. old ladies
That's so gay.When the newspaper talks about homophobia in high-school
They call it 'bullied for being different'
Instead of hate-crime
And I wonder if this is because we still think the religious right
Has a right to hate
A 13 year old boy for being gay
And they were right about me you know,
The kids who cornered me behind buildings at catholic school
Because I painted pictures of female bodies in my art class
I am different
I would never film my college roommate having sex
I would never want to post that on the internet
I would never steal a schoolkids diary
And read it out, laughing, to my friends
I would never feel like my ability to love somebody
Had anything to do with what was between their legs
I don't believe in birthright
I don't believe your colour, or your lovers
Should be written into our war-cries
But I would still hear them when I cry
I would take my fathers gun at thirteen
With the voices of my tormentors
Ringing in my ears
I would climb over the orange railing and leave my wallet on