Friday, October 9, 2015

Soulistic Poet writes

I Suffer Not

It feels like the whole world thinks I’m crazy.
They say my visions are too dark and shady,
That I’m blinded by blood,
And that my eyes are now hazy.
That I’m fascinated with knives, guns,
And fires that blaze me.
That I’m sick and twisted,
For wanting blades to graze me.
They say I’m a fucking mess,
Because the thoughts of blood mixed with tears amaze me.
And the sight of dead bodies don’t faze me.
And sometimes I think,
Well maybe,
The world is right I’m crazy,
But who cares,
This is the shit that makes me.

They try to convince me that I’ve lost my mind,
That I am being led by thoughts that are blind,
And since I love S and M I refuse to escape my bind.
They keep telling me to fix myself cause I’m running out of time,
They refuse to fucking listen when I tell them that I’m fine.
My thoughts may indeed be a warning sign,
And my fuck it attitude may be the results of a corrupted mind.
But damn if I don’t love walking this thin ass line,
Damn if I don’t love the sour juice that comes with life’s lime,
I love the burn in my skin when I bathe in vinegar brine.
I live for the pain that comes with a graters’ grind.
And it’s a great possibility that I have lost my mind,
But who cares,
I enjoy burning in the sunshine.

Every now and then,
I get approached by men,
Who have full intentions,
Of being more than friends,
Then when I display my love,
They say it’s too intense for them,
They run in the other direction,
Say I’m too desperate for my heart to get mend.
And that I have too many rules,
And no wiggle room to bend,
They say I’m psychotic,
And should go back to therapy again.
And shit they may be right,
But they will miss out in the end.
For my love is hard to gain,
But it comes from deep within,
And who cares if these men are punks,
And too bitchass to take something so intense,
If they think I love them too hard,
They should see how I love my friends,
Shit I may just may love crazy,
But I’m the most loyal bitch,
Ask them.

Every once in a while,
The world tells me I need to smile,
They insist that I’m too angry,
And have been fucked since I was a child,
They say my anger boils and bubbles,
And combines with my inner bile.
They say they have fights,
Knives and bullshit on my file.
They are convinced my name is nothing,
And I don’t even deserve a trial,
They want me locked up,
And trapped up,
No phone call not one number to dial.
And yeah they just may be right,
My anger may be pouring from soul onto the tile,
I may be crazy,
And been this way since a child,
But I love being red hot,
And I have no interest in becoming mild.
Every day the tell me,
I suffer from insanity,
That my life is such a mess,
And I desperately need some clarity.
To which I say,
Thank you for your charity,
But I suffer not from insanity,
See you see me suffering in your world
But I thrive in my own reality.

1 comment:

  1. Notice how the poem begins with intense self-excoriation, then shifts in the middle to a softer, more introverted examination of relationships before returning to the intensity that is the dominant mode.


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