Category Archives: Freedom

I Am a Stone

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I am a stone.
Crashings of the waves
beat me barren and raw,
wear me into abyss,
as if I wasn’t here at all.
Until I am a pebble.

And by moon of shame,
the tides flow above me
and through my veins,
and the very essence of the girl I am,
thieves that word I once called my name.
Just a pebble, now.

Until I am no more at all.

And whispers of a stream,
through crevices and cracks,
rivulets of siren tears,
drowning dirt and grass.
But receding back,
with threat in heart,
and home left sole.
Costly memories,
too lonely to forget.

I am a pebble.

And when boulders and shoved above me,
and the ground is
no ground at all.
When I am caked in mud
on every side,
unable to move,
but unable to fall.
As time wears on,
and no less cold,
than an arctic tundra.
Here I am again.

I am a stone.

And here, beneath the surface.
Strong and below the water.
Untouched, underwater.
Drowning beneath obligation,
set forth by preparation,
I am stone.
And unmoving.

Shatter me ten thousand times.
Destroy me, I suppose.
It makes no matter anymore,
I shall wake once again,
stronger than before.

Wear me away with your tide
and ocean,
Freeze and breathe into me.
Beat me into pebbles,
and then there shall be more,
feed your ego and insecurities,
just as sad as before.
Will you never change?
Will you never grow?

Thousands and millions of years
you may torture.
Treacherous foe, I bow to no one,
find me companions, leave me alone.
Makes no matter.
I’ve thousands of years, millions,
to be whole.

And you?
A hole.

And anchored in my place.
I live on.

A debt of gratitude for you,
because I am stronger without you.

Shadow Kitten

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Glitters in the stars,
it’s like she’s already gone.
Whispers in the yard
that her whole life has been torn.
Rumors spread abound,
she’s gone to sanctity now.
Never come around,
and never return to fade out.

She walks on careful paws
to streets of dastardly deeds.
Rubbing her black paws raw
until she fulfills her needs.
Captures lust beyond love
and all the fish in the seas.
Beyond a forgotten word
with wandered mice in the streets.

Black ears perk to sound;
a music she cannot deny.
The voice of lost one found
and the comfort of somebody’s eyes.
Stolen belief at bay
she falls to faith of the fools.
Until she runs away
from fear it would not be true.

Kitten cast astray
from those who could not keep still.
A toll, a right of way,
a darkened passage of will.
She is forced to grow into fur
that only makes her feel weak.
But she has been cast down
and she is lost to the street.

In shadows long-past gone
she sees her face in the crowd.
Such a long-lost song,
she’s almost forgotten now.
The touch of human hand
she longs for heart and for home.
The kiss of human lips
and a relief from the ‘lone.

But she has been forced to grow up,
she struggles to catch her claws.
Walking bear on the stones
upon her gravel-worn paws.
A cat now, stray to the world,
she only wants to go home.
Back to her land she has seen
and the old life she had known.

And stray meets stray on the street,
he is so very much alike.
He teaches lessons of old,
and teaches how to survive.
That the world is so cruel,
but one can still stay alive,
if only one should hold hope
and continue to try.

He has scars on his legs
and his dark eyes have gone blind.
He does not see who she is
or who she wanted to find.
He cannot fathom the trust
she has instilled into his soul.
He does not realize that she
has now found reason to be whole.

But he is wounded and sad
and she fears that she might strain
his life in pieces and bits
and he might leave her to blame.
And he might walk away
and have no love such the same
because she knows nothing of
the treatment of ill and the lame.

He has seen battles strong,
and so many has won.
How can she still compare
to what is second to none?
Has he never seen more
to life than what he has done.
Is he really so blind
that he thinks she is the one?

Fearing she might hurt him more
she prowled on more cautious paws.
Protecting him from the wars
and battles, large and small.
A shadow panther she’s grown,
and caught the weight of it all,
so long as her stray mate
might find a happier call.

Until the day that she dies,
she fights to keep her love safe.
Despite the blows, the abuse,
the two harbor away.
Until alone elsewhere near,
they live much happier days
and the life they had known
has just faded away.

The Girl Who Held up Atlas

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He held up the whole world on sun-kissed shoulders.
Seeing nothing, hearing nothing.
Feeling nothing but the small ones
crawling like ants under his fingertips and flesh.

That he might protect them from what was to come.

That the ocean might still someday, on tideless waters.
That time might resume again, cold, and unaltered.
That children might sleep well at night with a home that loves them.
That no war might ever plague our world again.

He wished, and hoped, and prayed,
so that he might put the Earth away.

She had fought enough of this Hell-bound life.
She had come to terms with her reality
though, a rebel, she dare not accept
the constraints of her barren society.

She would not accept her world.

She held her arms out like a bird,
felt the breeze kiss her cheeks and lips.
Closed her eyes and took a breath
and fought not when her balance slipped.

She stepped off the side of the Earth
into the abyss.

And stars, like glittering monuments
and statues that watched quite adamant,
and scolded her for her selfishness
and burned and fell to banishment.

And the sun, the smallest, or one of them,
greeted her with warmth again.

His eyes caught the little one, as she grew,
taller still, until tall enough for two,
and taller and larger, grown from a seed,
until so tall that she could compete.

She looked so awestruck.

What was there here that she did not see
on Earth below, where she was meant to be?
How had she come to manage this change,
how could she be exactly the same?

Were all little ones like her?

She turned at the sound of his hastened breath,
gazed at him with her eyes bereft.
Felt nothing but sorrowful remorse,
for pity might wound the man, of course.

Pity was for fools.

He stiffened as she stumbled near
on infant legs that had brought her here.
In clumsy void she took clumsy steps
until there was no more space between them left.

She was silent.
And he was silent.

She placed a hand upon his face.
The lines of his age, she saw and traced.
The bridge of his nose, his cheeks, and lips.
And there she placed a single kiss.

His cheeks flashed red and a vibrant pink,
he might like this Little One, he began to think.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, soft.
He was out of place, his blue eyes were lost.
He was drowning without water, suffocating without air,
in misery from exhaustion, and the lack of someone there.

He could use someone there.

She wrapped her arms around his waist,
hugged him close, and expected to wait.
Spent less than a moment before returned,
the scars on his arms were fierce and burned.

He held her.

And the world did not fall, it continued to spin.
And the Earth remained in its orbit, day and night once again.
And it saddened him to know that it would move on without hin,
but he had found life beyond Little Ones and their sin.

Beyond heart, beyond Hell, beyond protection and loss.
He found his life without toll, without cost.

In the Little One whom he leaned on, not so little as before.
Changed, and she loved him, and she seemed now so much more.
Beyond stars and their eyes, beyond worlds that still spin,
Atlas had recovered his life again.

And she began hers.

She took his weight gladly, held him so tight
that he might not leave her, and she could keep him for life.
That she might be his Savior, when no one else was.
That he might be her Atlas, the only one.

That he might no longer bear the weight of the world.
That he might abandon his post and love her.

That she could be his Savior, for now and forever.
That she could hold him up, if he’d ever let her.

I did have a completely different version of this that I had planned on posting, but I decided against it. I thought it would need a rewrite before available for public (or internet) eyes. (If you want to see the original, comment something to that effect and I might post it beneath)

We all have that one friend who thinks he can save everyone. He (or she, I’m using he for now, because Atlas is supposed to be male) cannot stand the sight of others’ sorrow and would give up his life in a moment to help someone. These are the truly good people in the world. The ones that keep the world at peace. But what happens when Atlas grows tired? When he gets hurt? Injured? Heartbroken? He plasters a big fake smile on his face. His is the master of disguise, and would not, under any circumstances, allow anyone to see the truth. But he can’t just be that way forever. People who are close need to help him, whether he wants it or not. Because sooner or later, Atlas needs someone to protect him. And maybe you could be that person.

Trust me, it’s well worth the effort.

And Snow Falls From Her Sky

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She steps out onto the terrace,
and gazes at the sky.
Perhaps it shall uncover some truth this day
that since now, she’s been denied.

What is this world, why am I here?
she wonders with a sigh.
She asks in blatant amnesty
if she might know the reason why.

Snow falls again this day,
in the middle of the spring.
There is no sun, no moon, no clouds;
only forgotten things.

Like beams that come from nowhere
of light that may not truly be.
And darkness that comes without warning
any day, any night, suddenly.

And moments that last forever,
time stopped by empty words.
Promises of a beautiful place
beyond this snow-globe world.

And the case that now confines her
to a land she’d never been.
She places her hand upon the glass
and yearns for her heart within.

And the land above that spans her,
the lightbulb in the room.
The cat that prowls and watches her,
the flowers in the vase that bloom.

The fish that so resembles her life,
only palace is his home.
The dog that barks incessantly
when the Others leave him alone.

The mother that cries for her child’s loss,
she yearns to touch her hand.
To promise her she is still alive,
here, in this snowglobe land.

The father who is now a lush,
and spends days and nights in a vapor.
The sister who sleeps in the very room
where Snow Girl’s life feels tapered.

Her tiny fingers leave prints of dust
upon the glass held strong.
She yearns to hold herself again,
for she’s been here far too long.

Too long missing, too long gone,
in a world she should not be.
A globe of snow, shaken each day
and tortured by what she sees.

The mouse that crawls in during the night,
places his palm to hers.
Understands her entrapment
in not so many words.

Would release her if he could,
but cannot break the glass.
So becomes her companion
until the day that he is past.

And again, alone, in snow.
In house she can’t enter,
trapped in spring and summer and fall;
cursed to forever winter.

And so she sits upon church steps,
and watches her outside.
Is shaken again, and falls again,
and snow falls from her sky.

I was watching a rather strange show on Cartoon Network last night called MAD. I had never seen it before and I don’t plan to see it again, but it did bring up a rather strange idea. It gave a fake term of phobia for “the fear that if you shake a snowglobe you are ruining the lives of many little people inside.” It was meant to be funny, but I thought that with a little effort, I could change it to beautiful. And out of that came this.

On another note, I will be undergoing surgery tomorrow so I’m not sure if I’ll be able to post anything. I’m going to try my best to get something written tonight and schedule it for tomorrow but the last time I scheduled a post it didn’t pan out and I ended up having to post it myself. So we’ll see what happens. If nothing else, I’ll write something up while I’m in recovery on my iPod and post it that way. Of course, if that does happen to be the case, you’ll have to forgive my writing. It may not be amazing in my drugged-up state.

Solitude

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Among all the pretty faces,
peach-pink cheeks and smokey eyes.
Long, long lashes, and pen-drawn lips,
and gowns the color of the skies;
in hues of orange, yellow, red, and grey,
white, and black, and cerulean,
and all others of the stars, sun, and moon,
and every other that there has been.

Among all the pretty faces,
in a crowd packed tight of panderers,
I have never felt so perfectly alone;
not that it ever mattered.

Among the multitude of swollen sorrow,
wreathed with lies built of smoke and deceit,
along walkways, long worn by travel and run;
no one should notice me.
In a crowd of thousands of people
each with a different world,
no one should look down upon an invalid,
who poses as a girl.

Among the multitude of swollen sorrow,
each a purpose greater than mine,
each a stranger in very right
with no strings left to intertwine.

Among the throngs of faux brown fur and thread,
with eyes as black as night,
looking on with constant ambivalence
to the once deploring fight.
Watching without feeling,
hoping without care.
Inanimate stuffed animals
who don’t know that I am there.

Among the throngs of faux brown fur and thread
and memories of what is gone.
Here in my room, thinking of you,
I’ve never felt more alone.

I hate loneliness. I really do. I suppose we all do, but I honestly have it as a huge phobia. Strangely enough, I don’t mind being on my own. There is a difference between being “alone” and being “on your own.” I feel the most lonely when I’m in a crowd of people. When there are hundreds around me, but none that I can call my friends. When I’m just on my own in the house, or whatever the case may be, I can walk around singing at the top of my lungs and doing pretty much whatever I want.

But in public, you are supposed to pretend. In public, one must be mature, and act responsibly. Or rather, I am forced to pretend. Perhaps there are those out there who enjoy being mature and lady-like. I just don’t happen to be one of them.

Just Another Chapter

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Just another mark of ink
upon a blank white page.
Stained in an eerie permanence
that I might not erase my mistakes.
Soiled with the arrogance
of another author’s place,
pulling at the strings in my life
without regard or taste.

Fingers tapping softly
with the sure-footed step
of the padded wolf,
the cunning of a fox,
the silence of a cricket,
crying out for reprieve.
How can I call this
relief?

Grasping at memories that flee my mind,
reaching for friends I’ve long left behind.
Foreseeing a future too far out of sight,
replaying a past that I still cannot fight.

Just another chapter in my book,
just another lesson
that I never took.
Just another mention
of a name that meant the world
in between words
that described how he walked away.

Just another chapter in my life.

Just another memory taken by tide.
Just another person stopped in time
with a hope that dissolved with any fate
and a life that returned when I misconstrued the same,
only this time, the boy to blame
who managed to heal my heart again,
loved me with all of his.

Just another chapter in the book.

And yet, I stop my author dead in her frightened tracks.
I steal her pen and snap the thing in half.
I tell her that I’m never going back.
That I’ll never return to that Hell-hole of a past.
That her finishing words to that chapter were her last.

This is my novel now.

And I’m rewriting the ending.

In the end, the character falls in love.
In the end she meets the man who steals her heart.
In the end, she is happy, with all of her soul,
in the end, she is whole, like the start.

Sometimes I feel like I’m not the one writing out my life. As if, someone in some cosmic universe was writing my story for me. And, please do excuse my language, for a time, she was doing a damn shitty job. My author must have been sadistic and angry at me for some incomprehensible reason. And yet, here I am, happy. I’m sick of everything else dictating the way I live my life. These are my days, my chapters, to rewrite as I please. I can’t change the past. But I can decide the future, and I can decide to live the way I want to.

The Master in the Sky

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Her head holds high
on fish-line taut
with eyes that do not see.

Her arms to each side
never moving, not a motion;
everything is out of reach.

Her feet tread water,
splash clumsily in
but she cannot swim back to the shore.

Once, she was free
without puppet strings, or dark masters;
once, but forever nevermore.

As a kid, there is very little that is worse than being told no. As a teenager, I feel that the urge for independence is even greater. I cannot speak for the adult population, but I can speak from experience. I am a stubborn person. Tell me no, and I’ll do it. Tell me I can’t, and I’ll find a way. I have a bad habit of rebellion, to the point of lying, and cheating, and screaming, and fighting to get what I want. I guess I’m a little more than spoiled.

But what happens when you can’t get what you want? When all your life, you have been guided by the will of others. No control over any situation in your life. As I’ve already said in a previous post, I am petrified of losing control, so the idea of having my life planned out for me by someone else infuriates me.

And so, as an ode to all of the evil puppet masters of the world, and a song of sorrow to all of the puppets, I wrote this. At about two in the morning. While half asleep.