Gathering Feathers (24 August 2013)

*This is a post of loose notes from my Facebook statuses, phone texts and other scrap that I found profound enough to share with you from this past week. Most of it will probably be reused in my future writings. 

“Okay, here’s the middle but I cant seem to find the lid or the bottom:

“..Can you fit between the crawl spaces of the over-flooded and cramped chambers of my brain
You can cushion yourself between the hypothalamus and cerebral cortex.
Because I already think of you 10 times per second, 
Which means I would of thought of you more than 50 times before I finished this sentence

Joy? My heart no longer beats to that language,
Its not in its lexicon,
But it smiles when the sunshine sinks into my skin….””

“So many people talk about freedom from mental slavery. The truth is that most of them don’t want you to be free, they want you to be more accessible to their cause. They essentially want you to become their type of slave. They are just marketing and advertising a different type of slavery. I say motherfuck both sides, I wear the shackles of my own heart,thoughts and dreams and in that I can say I am free because these chains are of my own choosing.”

“While wearing Frederick Douglass’ chains as necklaces and his shackles around my wrists as bracelets, I still somehow find the audacity to shout ‘I am free!’. Those words are a blasphemy, coming from a mouth like mine.”

” I want to see chaos, I want to see careless honesty and love declaring itself naked. I want to see dirt, I want to see fire, I want to taste smoke, I want to feel pain and I want to spit in each one of their faces. I want to see blood as proof that colour still exits under my pale skin. “

“I’m gathering feathers like Daedalus to build wings – I wont become a prisoner to this planet like the moon, helplessly shackled to gravity.”

“More loose threads? Why the fuck not?
…………………………
My heart stands sovereign in me ,over every other organ
Even my mind sits submissive to its beat…..

One day this dream will breath outside my head.”

“Are there people who are emotionally gay but sexually hetero? For example, what if I couldn’t engage in an emotional relationship with a female because everything annoys me about them but their sexual organs and I had a boyfriend who Im in love with but I find physically and sexually disgusting? Is such a thing possible?”

“I need the ignorant confidence of a rapper”

“The more I try to be, the less I become. Its like pulling a loose string on a garment and watching it unravel.”

“Lets play a game of start again.”

“What’s worse? Loneliness as a result of being alone or loneliness as a result of being displaced and misunderstood.”

“I wonder then if there’s a place for everyone – a home? I guess all I can do is resolve to never give up until I see that place. I have no idea how that home looks like so I have nothing as reference to guide me. This is what Christians mean by faith don’t they, to believe in something, not because you see it but because you simply feel that it exists….”

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Post Card Poetry

Was that my voice wearing thin?
I kept mementos of the past in my tattered skin
Marked graves of our mistakes,
Designated signs pointing to where the regret lives

So Who can blame me for the nerves
that come itching their way out
Who can blame me for my eyelids blinking like the revolving doors
of popular malls and grocery stores

I stopped taking care of myself,
legions ( not lesions but legions) started forming on my sweat drenched pores
I’m a pile of fast twitch muscle moving too fast for its own good
I said Im a pile of neuron receptors, no longer accepting messages

So who can blame me for keeping my house looking like sacred
burial ground
Who can blame the air for rejecting the notes of my voice and
refusing to carry the sound

I come from the land of haunted house wives,
where fear is farmed and refined in furnace
Where education is made to mark and brand
Where community leaves you sold out like an empty market stand

So who can blame me for playing recluse
Who can blame me for caving in under the abuse
Can you blame me for every made up excuse
If so then the blame is mine to make and refuse

These questions are no longer accepting replies
This is the part where we depart and where bygones say good-bye
Just before the psychosis leaves me incoherent and all rationality meets demise
Remember that no life lived deserves reprise