You don't see my eyes...
They look away whilst my cheeks
with a band worn thin,
hold up this mask.

With effortless ease,
I maintain this smile
plastered upon the sheen
of cheap mouldable plastic.

Fooling others
with a face acceptable by default,
when my neck and collar
stain wet.

Protected and hidden
are my innermost thoughts
and emotions - a morbid
sense of oneness and freedom.

I, therefore, cannot shed
such an accoutrement.
This mask - a fort I will hold and
a bastion, I will not compromise.

Because behind it I feel safe, hidden
and unjudged.

He is everything they want him to be
He is a boy made of play dough
He acts as though he knows who he is
But they mold him
With their sad hands that want something to hold onto
He is only half
Bones are dense but organs are hollow
He needs someone to fill him up
Where the arrow falls and is picked up again
That's where he finds his next home
His love is never forever
but nothing can be
Maps nor closely watched compasses can lead one to him
He will be strong one day
When he finds his own mold
The one that allows him to enter into the paradox of time and space
To be strung like a bead on a wrist
To sparkle like a star in the night
To be what he wants to be
No longer breaking ties with the ones he loves
But thanking everyone for their contribution
The permanence cannot be
He knows it
He just swells and compresses too often
He cannot crack or they will know he is breakable
But he is mystery in his conspicuous way of teasing
He is self proclaimed intense
He is going to find something, anything
He is my friend
He is parallel with me
He is mouldable
He is human
He is
a masterpiece

This was the nuts and bolts
of her,

stripped down

tasting metal with her iron tongue

licking, licking the corners of cogs

this is the age of

steel

welding, glass-less

sparks flying into her eyes

and she is

aluminium

light as air and mouldable

I work the shape

of her

with my fingers

mere brass and copper, yet

in the moonlight she is

silver

Let me clear something up:
ALL HUMANS ARE PSYCHOS.

And you can't tell me otherwise
Because we are.
We weren't born this way,
We were made.

And yeah you may not act like it,
But let me tell a secret...
You've got it in you.

We all do.
We can all be bad.

We weren't born good or bad.
When we were born,
We were like clay.
Mouldable.

We were taught the differences between good and bad.

We were taught to be good.

But do we really know the difference?

Say a kind person is called 'good'.
That same person can hate someone.
That person can be bad.

Because being a bad person isn't just killing someone,
Or stealing, doing drugs.

A bad person has dark thoughts.

And you can't tell me you have never had such a thought before.

Because I know you have.

Therefore, all humans are technically bad.

We just don't consider ourselves to be
Because our definition of good and bad,
Isn't ours.

It's someone else's.

Our definitions are based on what we see around us.

People may be innocent...
But that doesn't mean that they're not bad.
They just haven't done anything...
Criminal.

Yet.

The soul is us at purest
It is all we can be, and all we are
A light that glows personality
That emits emotions
Mouldable like dough
It takes shapes for shelter
Spikes and barbs to ward away
Manipulated by poison
It turns against the host
Needles face inwards
But the opposite can heal
Warm, Invisible hands can take it
And shape the soul in their palms
Until the remaining
Like a puzzle
Perfectly fits it’s own