People are People are People

We all turn into the same thing, don’t we? Memories, shadows, worries, dreams. We all join up somewhere in the end.” – Tim Winton

It troubles me
sometimes
when I look around and see only beady eyes and folded arms,

and sometimes
when I hear Lou Reed
or Lennon singing on the radio
you’re attached to their voices through memories
and I wanna tear every limb off ’em
and listen with new ears again,

But I’m trying to be good to the past
and find solace in gratitude
and sometimes gentleness wins
and I’d like to know that
when I hear a song or your name,
that I’ll care as little as I show,
and that hate will surrender
its bloody hand,

’cause time really does heal everything.

Sometime soon I’m sure,
your name will just be another sound that floats by with the wind
’cause I won’t be walking on the wild side
or imagining a unified world
Nor will I watch the wheels turn
under your sun
again,

It gets confusing
Sometimes
When I look around and see only beady eyes and folded arms,

But just as Lou reed did say,
“There’s a bit of magic in everything and then some loss to even things out,”

So even when it gets heavy
sometimes,
I always remember
there are so many people
who’ve become more gentle
from where they’ve been,

I mean, You know how Tim Winton said there are
no good people
no bad people
just people,
It’s about strength of mind
about wanting to be kind,

to bear flowers instead of knives and guns
to hug another rather than turn away,
to support another when given the chance,
to share words of peace
to spread truth rather than act out of self-interest,
to let life happen, to tread lightly,
to plant flowers,
to watch streams,
to connect the stars with our eyes,
to draw our names in the sand
and smile as our traces wash away into the endless sea.

You cannot resuscitate yourself
But you can resuscitate someone else,

and doesn’t that kind of save us a little bit too

Instant Gratification

Are we a generation strung out on convenience?

instant gratification

listless, always craving

a couple pills

and a cap,

let’s get some drinks

and some shots,

a heavy base line,

latching onto the cages,

we let the DJ

shake us

and we don’t even like this music,

but tonight we don’t care.

Slip another

gotta feel this,

not even hiding the treats we keep,

like I’m blind –

blindside me

so that I wake up in a daze

forgetting the reasons for resorting

to snorting the praise of strangers

and rebelling against all authority,

that’s something I never did,

just to save this sense of a personal sanctuary

that’s really just a self-made prison,

thrashing against guards

that are trying to protect me from myself.

Getting kicked out

but we still crave the pills.

Slip another

so disoriented

is this real, what is really real?

we’re all in our own cages

trying to unlock the padlocks

through body contact

and head massages,

cheeky glances,

having several impassioned conversations

all at once.

Trying to find that blissful place

in synthetic –

one click, one grin, two wink

– tricks.

We lost track

but kept at it

Floating down the halls

feeling ourselves

feeling the walls

sinking into the thick cushions

of these second – third – tenth – hand couches

rolling into the bathroom

girls tripping off

each others’ outfits and hair

and shit they don’t even really care about,

seeing flashing colours

discussing space invaders,

Where the cold tap water feels like silk,

We push through the portal,

meet your mates again,

Grab ’em by the hand,

It’s all a blissful haze, 

Give ’em a kiss,

Never too close when we’re on this,

We’ll go exploring

for more more more.

Conditionally Human

I will not be anyone’s object of desire,

angelic statue to admire,

sweet-tongued rebel,

nor gypsy-wanderer,

And I know already that you won’t be able to forgive my misguided mind,

’cause it’s harder to accept people just as they are,

We all balance upon muddled stepping stones 

That don’t always have a reason or meaning to be there,

That we can only trace back and edit inside our own heads

which does no good anyway,

It only cements the confusion,

Do not expect anything,

Do not limit your dreams to the human condition,

I will never be who you see in the distance,

I will fall from the cloud you graced my name upon

As soon as I step in front of you, outside of your self-curated mind

Spilling Over

Trouble
is a knock on the door with no response

Trouble
is an unanswered phone call with no return

Trouble
is that email I never sent you
That still sits amongst drafts
of other significant fleetings
That I will never dispense

Trouble
is something that
I can’t seem to handle

Trouble breathes
Out my pores
When my lungs
Can no longer suck in

Trouble seethes
At the cusp of us
When our hands touch
But we don’t hold on

My voice shakes
As I try to talk
over the bubbling
bile that is building
into fermented following feelings
That I can never tell you

because I’m afraid
that you’ll think I’m crazy
or that I’m too much all at once,

that you’ll run away
and never look back

Trouble
is that distant echo
through the hollow space
between us
even in my dreams

sometimes I tell myself to run away from trouble,
that it’s not worth the pain,

but maybe I’m afraid
that trouble is not just
a buried broken barrel
with a few leaks
like this one here

Maybe I’m afraid
that
I
am trouble

’cause I can’t seem to handle myself.

Tread Lightly

You can’t use other people as vessels

for your own wandering soul,

You can’t hold another’s heart hostage

while you try to repair your own,

It doesn’t work like that

and you know it,

This isn’t a game that you get to step into and pause and exit when you’re done,

Don’t shoot another down

to draw blood from their pumping veins,

Don’t you even try,

to suck the marrow

and dissolve of all the bones,

Your toxic-waste voyage

flooding through the high seas of your relentless will

are of no one’s concern but your own,

So don’t go about hunting another vessel

of which to call home

Let’s find the unseeable realm

My mind does not contain maps
but labyrinths,

My heart does not beat
it throbs,

My words do not flow

they dribble out

and drown me when I don’t make sense,

So I want to listen to every word you dispel,

The way you hand pick words

and give them out

for others to explore and expand,

I want to sit still

with you

and listen to the soft thumping of your heart,

I’d like to step into your mind

and wander through

your staircases and bookshelves,

and the turquoise trees,

the violet grass,

the orange sky,

the pink-feathered birds,

all wrapped in silver and gold,

I want to learn things from you

that sound and touch

cannot teach,

I want to breath

with you

in that unseeable realm,

will you sit still with me too?

and if you refuse

I guess I don’t mind either

’cause I like imagining what it’d be like,

and you will never hurt me

as much as I hurt myself,

‘Cause when I catch a glimpse

of a wonderful thing

I throw my whole heart into the depths of the jungle

and still wonder why I get lost.

Stuffing Flowers In Pigeon Holes

I’m bemused

a lot,

Sometimes,

I think,

No direction at all

Sometimes,

It seems,

I catch my reflection

staring back at me

In the bottom of the sink,

sometimes I forget myself

When I pack my bags and set out,

and sometimes I forget everything else

and find myself back at the start,

I’m bemused,

A lot,

Sometimes,

I think,

Can’t seem to pick my feet up off the ground

even when my chest is pounding

beneath this sweltering heat,

and there are so many things

I wish I’d already said

but there are so many things

I wish I could say yet,

So why do we convince ourselves we shouldn’t be who we are?

Shoving cotton buds down our own throats and plugging our ears,

Sometimes I step away and it comes back to me,

that when people try to fit you in a pigeon hole

You can’t allow yourself to take it as a truth,

it’s only for their relief,

to simplify their own overturned brains,

and we’re all so eager to fix other people

in the hope that it’ll “fix” ourselves,

So maybe

It’s worth a try

to step away from the judgement we place on others

and stuff flowers in the pigeon holes,

to step into ourselves,

to begin an internal revolution

that cannot be seen

but is immediately felt,

and this idea seems more than plausible and feasible,

it is necessary, it is imminent

and it can begin right. Now.