i swore to myself
that a flick of the tongue
would never shelter self-hatred
so deeply embedded into the patchwork of my being.

contagion is a sad **** thing
and cycles seem to be an endlessly contributing factor
those who hurt cannot become hurt
and so we place our self-pity at the top of our priorities
disregarding emotion so carefully hidden in the fragile mind of others.
however there are few who's torment is only self-projected

i am one
an anathema that exists in silence

my past has been placed in a box full of secrets
along with the evidence of my self-mutilation
is there a way to keep my eyes shut and my dignity revealed?
this world is numb, and the apathy must be getting to me
because i would rather not feel a **** thing
than to be plagued by misery
from myself and the ones i love
however, emotions are not choices
and humans cannot be reprogrammed

it seems the pleas and slurs i leave in place of words
are what my familiars take to heart
bodies speak such complex languages
and not everyone has the patience
or the attentiveness
to listen to anything other than a cry

and although i warn
and beg for warmth
i receive only glaciers
and memories of faces
overwritten with impassivity
what i would give
to reach into the darkest parts of my soul
and rip out this sorrow
that has clung itself to the shadows of my psyche

in the depths of my worst memories
there is a wish
a want
a need
to take this heart of mine
and throw it to wolves
to be destroyed but desensitized
in my heart
is all my pity
my lust
my anger
my sadness
and sunshine darkened and gutted
so very long ago

This things are made for idling
transparent in their quotidian splendor:

A Buddha statue at the receptionist desk
golden skin, red robes
welcoming all yogis with its gaze
eyelids closed

The candle, a guardian of an aim
an intention that moves within a flame
over the palms of the wooden hands

Incense smoke dance softly around the entrance
like a dream seen from wakefulness
immersive enhancer of the humor
filling the place with soft calmness
Nag champa smell
and serious air

The bamboo doors
from Monday to Sunday
open the way to Indian sounds
and the voices of blooming teachers
guide the way
until shavasana
when practitioners become gently moving statues
and glowing air goes
breathing in and breathing out
daily efforts and daily hopes.

Falling in love
Is a scary, scary thing
But what's scarier
Is falling in love with the pain

It starts to feel better
Little by little
And changes you
From strong to brittle

I've decided I'm not going to let people hurt me.
If only I would not hurt myself.
I've fallen into the tricks of society.
Now I'm someone else

*and I'm sorry..

The sparkle each day may come your way,
Experience something new everyday,
Don't limit yourself on the same things,
Do more of what you love, the more joy it'll bring,
Say sorry whenever you know something you've done is wrong,
Don't hold such pointless grudges for way too long,
Keep in your heart love for those dear to your heart,
Life is a canvas, and you are making art,
Making mistakes is part of learning,
Musn't let your self-anger continue burning,
Share with those who need it most,
That man on the street who has only had a piece of toast,
The little things in life,
No matter how many sorrows or fights,
Do not ask for a simple life, rather ask for the strength to endure a difficult one,
It matters what you've given to the world, the efforts you've done,
The lessons of life come from experiences,
and in the end it's a human being's brilliance.

You're the one who walked by that homeless guy who once needed change,
You shrugged it off saying it wasn't any of your business nor any of your problem,
Never say your twisted tongue has never said something mean,
Nor ignored someone while you roll your eyes taunting,
Don't act like a smooth criminal because I see its your alter-ego,
You live each day so cold-blooded only to care for yourself,
You only obtain thick-skin when your are given authority,
Yet your a wimp amongst the majority,
You think not to stand beside that 'African-American',
You say it's because he is black he will steal your wallet,
******* racism that's what it is,
Your foolish stereotypical brain-washed mind,
Clear out your narrow minded thoughts,
He is from Nigeria worked hard and immigrated here,
But you wouldn't care to ask nor care to think otherwise,
Your ****** thought patterns will never change,
We are people and of all different colours,
From all the same ancestors,
Let us live together in once was peace and harmony,
Not commit acrimony.

Tonight, I could feel the nausea bloom in the core of my heart
Like it usually does when I think too long on your silence.
I could let the withdrawals start,
The shaking and the fear.
I could ask myself
Has she forgotten me?
Did I drive her away with my honesty?
Why can I never shut up?
I could torture myself
With the notion that tonight you consume someone else's lips
And think nothing of me,
Glad to be free of my adoration.
I could crucify my heart,
Nail it down with the possibility
That you see everything I say and choose never to respond.
I could.
But tonight,
Oddly,
My fear is tableaued behind frosted glass.
I can see the outline of my agony
All blurry and dark
But I can't touch it.
It's like one of those sliding shower doors is between me
And it
All rough on one side so that nothing can really be glimpsed
And all the more foggy with the steam of the years just boiling off me.
My pain can't see me, naked and exposed,
And I can't see it, menacing and razor sharp.
We know about each other, but only by the shadows.
It is out there, outside in the substantial world,
The one with hard lines and cold facts
And a biting breeze that keeps the brutal windows clear as crystal.
But it is warm in here and I have found a sort of spiritual nepenthe,
A numbness.
I know my torment is solid; I know that eventually the cruelty of my mind will have its pound of flesh,
(And perhaps more)
But...
Not tonight.
It's not real to me tonight.
And frankly
I am
Just too ******* tired
Tonight
And too clean
Tonight
And too calm
Tonight
To slit my pride's throat
And watch the blood run down the drain.