when my shit turns, asylum.
(our tribe of fucked up souls)
when my shit turns asylum
most will run, no thought, no care
like the couldn't be bothered, find the truth, in the dare
as to, the reason why, then
i'm a slave, of the "touch your heart", blend
that's just the nature of the beast
like a smorgasbord, a gang banged feast
that "the many" will wait in line to devour
without connection to anyone
but themselves, stuffed, empowered
no concern for anything
but themselves, their needs
like a drought drenched garden
of flowerless seeds
planted, but devoid of the water
no awareness to grow,
"the reaping of sow"
it's "on to the next"
buffet to corral
like the golden ones, good, gone
pigs, left to gnarl on the bowels
of insides, be damned
it's all "outsides", this sham
of a lie, the majority not a "brotherhood of man"
then, left the minority who feel,
we, the "get up and ran"
for the hills
for the skies
for the shadows,
any place safe, and away from the slaughter
of soul and heart, truth and art
taking place, name her, the apocalypse's daughter
let's kneel and pray,
what to call her..
who's holding the leash, who's wearing the collar?
who's actually picking up the phone, hear your voice?
as in calling you, real effort, see?
it's not a matter of convenience,
it's the "connect, real", a choice.
but who wants that
when all the "getting's so good, guy"
as in everything, you think you want
without stopping to breathe, or ask yourself why?
when your shit turns, asylum
there is no one there to comfort your cries
there is no one there to heal the wound of the lies
there is no one there to kiss and bathe in, your eyes
there is no one there to hold the "exhaust" in your sighs
but just a precious and sacred few
like the "831" in i love you.
eight letters, three words, one meaning
it's not just a sentence, it's an actual feeling,
and it's not a given, it's called a gift
like heaven, throughout all the chaos and shifts
of moments and tasks
the reality, that little here
of substance, does last
not in a world of bodies, by the billion
you're blessed here to find, still alive inside,
that "one in a million"
add technology to it
and deaden, with ease
the "stop, soak in, and feel it, please."
anything and anyone
who actually sees and feels you, for you
the new "terrify and mystify"
the "kill it off", before the truth
comes crashing in
and knocking on your door
it's "let's rape the angel"
and sanctify, the soulless whore
the one that just wants the sheet, of your skin
without capability, or caress, "look within"
to the you that is hiding,
behind, all the "hard cocked",
the limbs and holes
of other pre-lubed, pre-forgotten trolls
we are all here now prisoners
of pre-projected, pre-defined roles
as in "ed",
voted most likely
to be left, long, for dead
but amongst all of these
there is a tribe of empaths
who define "live to please"
as in care for others,
beyond the care of themselves
in a state of being, now mamed
please let them show you a place called hell.
as in being this way,
ever naturally so
and having to navigate a world
more of "me", less "we", shown
as in bonds so deep
they define love,
as in, "got your back"
like you've got mine
as in, live to help you endure, heal
i shall call this,
"our tribe of fucked up souls"
we, the "lived for love"
as in "to give", no roles
or pretense of gain,
no causation, bring pain
the "just want to take care",
here,of others, and share
in the experience of being
all too awake and aware
that this is not
the place we are told
shamed and scorned for growing old
it's a backwards land,
and don't you forget it
when my shit turns, asylum
at least i'm honest, admit it
the man i love, cannot love me back
yet i'm compelled to take care of him
endure the weight, his attack
of hit and run,
then leave, then come
but he can't see why
i will never give up,
i will remain steadfast and try
to show him, in steady
i am waiting and ready
to be the one that will not abandon,
like he's done to me
i just want to stay, he's in me
take his hand, heart, be free
and introduce him,
my tribe of fucked up souls
he will see himself, be himself
in our heart bleeding holes
made from rips and stabs
and push, shove and grabs
all too often, used up, and left
but it's us who's crazy
the damaged sensitive, bereft
in the dark,
and i, and we, and us
will be there, in truth
when my shit turns, asylum
it's because i am shaken,
to the core,
i love you.
(as in, you throb, deep inside me, let this truth, be the guide, to "we")
9 june, 2019
for my sacred tribe, whom i could not survive, this life.
christy, christopher, christina, tania, terah, julie....
catherine, jo-lynn, the beloved babs, brian, marie, julie....monica..the angel man know as lew lew bird.
for stephanie, you personify the lifelong wonder, the beauty, the mystery...
for the goddess kitten anissa, my everything.
and for "him",
yes, i'll wait in the forever, for "when"...
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the realm of the poetic.
prisoner of the psyche and the inescapable. heart.