I Love Cheap Thrills!

money, peace, poetry, self acceptance

I’m spoilt for choice really on the type of person I can choose to be in this life. You saw that film about that bloke who had multiple personalities, well I’ve got multiple casualties that have left me with a choice: revenge like a savage or avenge and salvage an entire generation.

I love cheap thrills but such ain’t really cheap because they come from expensive hearts – no let me rephrase that – they come from priceless hearts that aren’t afraid to skip a beat or two and donate love for the sake of our humanity, now that’s humility. In today’s world it’s become a calamity to give up one’s self for the sake of the community.

Quick recap: snap- crackle and POP, that’s memories from my childhood I’m wondering where I went wrong from that innocent youth, I’m going into beast mode…

Sugar, Spice and everything nice, I’m rolling dice in street corners now because I’ve got to get that ice. Blood diamonds light up my brand new watch and I spray imported cologne just to dream of a trip to Germany with all the mindless pretty girls that made the mistake of looking at my glitters and thinking I’d make them rich.

I’d feel bad for them, but they’re better off than all the mindful girls who made the mistake of looking into my sparkling eyes and getting lost in my lies when I promised that I would care beyond this light filled night when really I would never dare to reveal even a peace of my heart just to start, because once I get to that part where I’ve got what I wanted I begin to amaze you by turning my back and running off into the wilderness with no love in my chest, but with your heart in a chest, along with all the other goodies and souvenirs that I keep as trophies – for this one I conquered like this, and that one like that, and these two I stole from here and I threw them there.

I treat these memories as a reminder that this life ain’t fair – if I couldn’t have peace then neither should my enemies. And everybody who got tangled in between has to understand that it was a necessary evil, a work hazard, and if you really where smart enough then you should have seen the warning signs and if you didn’t then you simply weren’t good enough and that’s why you should have encouraged me when I told you that I love cheap thrills, but instead you called me a bore and laughed it all off in my face, testing my patience and misusing my kindness, well tell me now…am I interesting enough? Has my head proven itself worthy of your expensive standards, or do I need to go on and come up with a nice ending for the sake of Art? Well what about my heart, do you think it goes unbruised every time I have to put it through this raging?

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Contentment

art, poetry, Uncategorized, words

Contentment…I treat this word with contempt. Trying to pay attention to only the positive content but something always wants to tempt.

Resentment is an overwhelming feeling I have to admit. Trying to stay optimistic under the pressure to submit.

I have this head that feels like it’s not connected to a neck. It sounds weird to say but it is even more weird to live with it.

In this head I live most of my life while my body operates on auto. Sometimes my head wanders off into the distance, chasing the horizon and when it does this I don’t even notice until I find myself examining hieroglyphics in Cairo.

I stand in the shower looking over at your life – I see your kids, your street and the rat poison in your kitchen corners and the luck in between that’s keeping your toddler from eating the tainted cheese.

I ask my head, why are you so messed up? What did I do to make you like this? How can I ever become a better person when you always say that isn’t enough? And why do you even bother to make me think this way if you won’t give me the answers?

My head never answers and I’m left with the blame. I’m trying to focus like all the other robots in my class but you want to make me feel special. You tell me there’s something better to do and distract me from reality…

O’ yes, I know there isn’t any better. I don’t know why you lie to me.

Discipline Discipline blah-blah-blah, if I don’t control you, I might go tah-tah-tah. Label me lazy for a daydream that never seems to end. This is how it always goes, I get a nice thought and begin to write about it and it starts off well until I get to this point and my head gets out of it and all I’m left with are fingers picking letters composing words, makes sense or not doesn’t really matter coz IDGAF, I’m a Millennial so you already know my problem…

I’m lazy and entitled is what they say. I’m crazy and delusional to think the world revolves around me. But you told me I could be anything from President to astronaut, you put no limits. But now I’m here to claim it and you resist, so I persist in my head to imagine – to dream of me on mars bearing Columbus’ scars! I heard that history repeats itself so I wanna be on the front line when she comes, not stuck in a cubical surrounded with pastings of motivational quotes from people who beat the system only to become the system and take turns on our lives, dopamine dopamine dopamine – I’m a junky, you’re my hit, I feel all fuzzy inside…Roses are red but I’m pansy inside.

Word ArT

art, words

Words are words, it’s nothing special, just a bunch of letters put together.

Words are Words, it’s nothing special, just a language to communicate.

Words are Words, it could be special, but only if I pick them right.

Words are Words, it’s nothing complex, just pick a pen and write.

“Words are Art” is what some say, I’ll understand it one day.

I use words to laugh and cry – you should try… it’s as easy as pie.

I tried once to compose a poem, full of idioms and fancy synonyms…but words are are so much like girls, they often run and ruin the fun.

But words are also powerful, they are the world. They come in many shapes and sizes but can only go as deep as you can hear.

Oh but the pain you probably couldn’t bear, because the best words are often cries from deep cut wounds escaping from cells of despair.

Oh friend if only you could care to dismantle the perfect paragraphs that coat broken ribs and tarnished promises and lost tears in a heartbeat – it’s like standing bare feet on sheets of glass while smiling and keeping your class, sweeping away the real pain with a fake simile like a honey bee protecting your honey made from hours of misery and words can be fun too like look how I have stopped using punctuation but as long as I choose the right words I can keep going and I can even change the topic and forget about paragraphs as I’ve already done and Ooops there is an apostrophe ruining my flow of words but I have managed to salvage my sentence and now I hope the grammer police do not sentence me for misspelling grammar but you probably did not notice because maybe you are not as smart as you think you are and I probably know that only because I am not as smart as I think I am but I am this and this is me and I do this kind of thing and I still have the nerve to call myself a writer hoping that you will remember me as a word painter making cheap art with these words that are not so special because they are just a bunch of letters put together.