Somewhere out in the world

You wake from sleep

No different from anyone else in this world

You drink You eat You sneeze

You piss n shit

put out your garbage

mow your lawn

Pick your nose

Fart burp swear

make love

Make anger your thirst

Somewhere in this world there is You

Who doesn’t think

About any of this shit

your name I know well


you wear a mask of the caretakers of life

oh my name you ask


everything you represent

The Maker n Taker of Being Human



The Dance of Odd Balls


Such is the dance
that leaves odd balls
lost in life
sitting in dark corners
wearing masks
sugar coated
with nothing real inside

don’t even know yourself
to fill quarter of a room
never alone
The kiss kiss
BIG smiles
pleased to sees YOU’s
popularity poles
that all
love to cling
slide and swing

NO YOU sit and hide shy
with that shell of yours
WHATS to talk of
star signs ?
and whats more frightening
to being out of it
or in
that shell you carry
like a crab has
on its back
moving sideways
never fronting your fears
not even when you catch a glimpse
of yourself
do you stand Tall Proud
and reflect
your reflection
even that of your own image
that you now make
since long ago
the gods must be crazy parents
you propped up on pedestals
and left you to deal with a world
your so quick to reject


But here’s the deal
once you give in
You give up on yourself
and all of the above is going to become
your lowest point in the world
your not a sad reflection
your not an affliction
Don’t let the phonies
push you back
in that shell
Get out now
while you can
Stop living your life in a trance
or this will be
your last chance
to show the world
Odd balls
can dance



The Drought Of You

I rain dance for the drought of you

Blackbirds die in the wells of your eyes
Your chemical love
pumps through your heart a toxic beating
Your kisses now give a death cold twist
for nothing is left
but the death of you

Your spirit
I watch
Slowly commits suicide
Still is your pin cushion heart
Toxic beatings bruise the cruise of your life
now a drought
Your hollow words
scream at me

I rain dance for the drought of you


Orange Bottles


translucent orange bottles,
unmistakable rattle,
No one has to know
They will tell me I do not need them.

Internal suffering hidden behind socially acceptable facial expressions.
Tell them how many activities you did,
how little rest you got,
you want to appear strong.
The answer to “how are you?” Is always “good!”

Dulled senses. Silence more enjoyable than music. Pleasure is a distant memory.

If functionality continues, your thoughts are inconsequential.
push the boundaries of your mind until it is so uncomfortable you can hardly bear it.
But do it with a smile.
There! Now you are doing it right!

The fallacy of society: strength is someone who suffers, does not take the “easy” way out.

I hide. I do not let them see. My arms and legs leaden. A parched mouth and cracking lips tolerated.
Too great is the energy expenditure required to reach a glass of water…

View original post 342 more words

There’s no I On The Street .. Just Survive n Live


In the brilliance of the night
screaming believers rage the streets of plenty
looking for holes in hope
needles and thread they carry in the plenty
band aids won’t help here ~ friends
there’s more than enough of the ill and the lost to live on
and here with the wheelers and dealers
the screaming believers and do gooders’ and not so good at doing much
Is someones little taste of paradise
thats all gone to shit

Down here with the lost and ill chills
There’s a taste for lost souls
Where the angels fly close to the ground
many a feather seen found
being worn in one of the lost crowns
For they are all Kings and Queens here

From times of once before and could have been and dreams
Yes dreams ~ There are dreamers here
those that will forever be lost in a dream
Mostly its nightmares and fallen frowns
that now blanket over once upon a time smiles

Here the smudged out blackbird eyes wear misery
thats been stubbed out like a coal bud
burnt down to its filter
to suck up the grease and shit on the street

Such is the movements of notes here
Conducted by the skinned boned pimps
that smile with croc teeth
hungry for fresh meat

Here is my street
here is where I was found
in the lost and found
here is where I lived my youth
taken by the smile of croc teeth
here is the place where I dreamed of escape
and lived nightmares
here is the place I will sometimes return
to remind me
life is priceless
come true
to get out
mine came with a price

Loss of life
the sentence
to carry for the term of my life

counting needles / ode to NT

Unreal this is wild ride reading n writes 💛🐝💛✨


dying spider
half crushed
as it crawled
across my face
a little voice
it’s not too late”
a little voice
too late

the sound of clattering
on the trolley
a stumbling
of hands
/    was I sure
she was sure   /

“oh you’re skinny
this will be easy”
still rang in my ears
as two
stood by my bed
my trust
in their hands

and three
so quickly
“can you feel this”
too quickly
/    passed    /
then on
with counting

four, a twitch
five, a start
six, the air
now thick
with swears




a plea
to at least
take a break

but nine

not possible
we’ll continue
just count
to 16
til the sobs
and gasps
bring one
kind face
to enquire
and make
the second

“I can’t…

View original post 51 more words

Once Upon a Time Poem Imagine A Birds Song


once upon a time I fell from the nest
I landed on a street with brilliant neon winks
of crocodile eyes n smiles
there were beautiful n exoctic birds of the most unusual rise
that got caged by the Plovers
vicious species masks of blue
These lapwings of policing would try to make the beautiful birds talk
n then let them go again
these beautiful birds
of different names
Honey n Sky to name but a few
all of them brilliant
all of them different
never flew
their wings had been clipped
It’s true
they were the saddest lil birdies
but you’d never knew
they never spoke of this act
n always laughed n sang through time
just went about seeking what they could get
to survive
n only cried in a silence no one could hear

Many died
Injected with poison
Mainly from the crocodiles
their given names were all the same
A family named Pimps
Another kinda bird
the scavenger of types
like Vulture’s they flew around the streets
Looking for the naive the very young
pretending to be Love
they didn’t tell the birds
the street was really a cage
A Giant cage within the systems cage
where all the wing clipped beautiful genteel n fragile of birds
were beaten n mistreated to engage
in acts of brutality upon them

I miss them all
those birds who were my friends
only a very few got away

n I now sing a song
my friend from this street
who saved me
before she died
sang to me each night
when I thought I would die n never learn to sing