Wordsmith a Murderer

Poetry is dead
Shot through the head
Bang! Dead on the floor
Corpse rotten to the core
Draining words run
Though holes poked by my gun
I stood there blinking
The gunpowder stinking

The discipline and art
All ripped apart
Dead by my pen
And reborn again
To take another hit
When I write this shit

-o0o-
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Panic Attack

Can't move
Heartbeat
My fists clenched
Heartbeat
I can't breathe
Heartbeat
My brow drenched
Heartbeat

Walls closing
Heartbeat
Head ringing
Heartbeat
Teeth grinding
Heartbeat
Eyes stinging
Heartbeat

Panic
Onslaught
The floodgates open
Drowning
Legs paralyzed
Lame before the deluge
I can't move
I can't see
I can't breath
I just

I
...Just
......Can't

Heartbeat
...
Heartbeat
...
...
Heartbeat
...
...
...
...
Heartbeat

-o0o-
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Two

I wish I had what it took
To set your mind at ease
To help you hear and look
To let you feel the breeze
To feel the grass and leaves
To pleasure in my eyes
To end the pain that grieves
And open up your skies
So you can feel as I do
Free in every single way
As I take pleasure in you
As I do every day
I can't give you that gift
But I can stand here by you
To help your burdens lift
With me and you as two

-o0o-
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Caelum Ardere Colores

the hues are impressive
your god has much to contrive

after such a cataclysm
one might paint the sky with colours too
if only to conceal the carnage he committed
killing children
killing babies
pregnant woman
and this is what you'd have me consider?
seriously?

perhaps
you need prepare a better P.R. event
than some pretty lights
if you're proposing to sell your product

-o0o-
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Transgender

I wanted to be that thing
To carry the sting
Be a man
Virile and strong
All my life I was told
That I had to want it
Be bold
I had to be it
Not to was wrong
I had to be strong

But I can't be something I'm not
I can't pretend at that thing
I can't pretend to curb my body
Embody costumes for clothes
Folding my mannerisms
Acting out a new speech
Talking a false sex
Flex into some box

So, when you say it
"Man"
Damn
I'm sorry
But that's not me
I just don't fit
I'm not that shit
I'm just not it

-o0o-
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Meaningful Painting

in one colour
as this brush
pushed and pulled
pain plastered like putty
that squashy feel it gives
visceral
sexual
painfully immanent
one colour
simple art
the brush the plough
to texture the field
my hand a horse
to labour at the ostensibly valueless
and the farmer?
strangely absent
there will be no crops this year

-o0o-
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Jealous

Can't I just have what he has?
His confidence? His grace?
The way he moves through the world?
And the world accommodating his space?

Can't I own that grandeur?
His elegant excessive style?
Carving out slender slices of reality?
With a twinkling eye and a dashing smile?

Couldn't it just be me for once?
To simply feel at fucking ease?
Without causing such a huff and fuss?
When I dare do as I please?

Can't I just have his clothes?
His flawless baby-like marble skin?
His azure thousand meter stare?
His million dollar show time grin?

Can't I just have his wealth?
His house? His yard? His car? His pool?
I bet you, I could wear him inside out,
And still turn out this fool.
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Waiting for Hope to Strike (Old Lightning Tree)

ah, but our liberty
(for them and me)
is tied to the branches
of the old lightning tree

when your threats came
you tried to shame
but ignored us
and though we did explain

this, our liberty, you see
for them and me
veins and gizzards
to the lightning tree

we are stuck in tar
bound to what we are
and when we roam
we are never far

from boughs and leaves
that shades and feeds
sticky gory tendrils
that meet our daily needs

though axe, you see
might rip us free
we starve to stray
from the lightning tree

so you come joking
warning of a fire choking
of the selfsame flames
that you were stoking

your bibles fanning
plots: years in planning
yet, yours the guilt
something worth damning

our liberty, you see
for them and me
regrows under the ashes
of the lightning tree

and though we're in fetters
at the hands of our betters
we carve in the earth
our initialled letters

L.G.B.T.Q.I.

-o0o-
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Cry Victim

how you frame yourself
uncanny
the hunter
using the deer's blood
to draw sympathy
you the victim?
who'd have thought!
how difficult it must be
to live life handed to you
privileges you refuse to see
why would you?
but you feel victimized
when those who actually suffer
dare to speak up
against your entitled bullshit
poor you
poor, poor you
it must be so terribly difficult...

-o0o-