Mutiny

Cooler than the summer breeze, I have the power deep inside that brings you crashing down to your knees. You test me with your spitefulness, disdainful as the rose's thorny kiss, yet still I rise higher than the trees that caress the clouds like a trapeze. I am the only one I know in this flock of sheep that dares to question all I hear, my senses may attempt to fool me, yet I am not held up by strings, and you are not my puppeteer. The days they blur into nights, yet the fire inside fails to be doused, my determination has ignited a strength, a will, a promise that remains devout. It fills me with the utmost cheer, as I realize that I remain, consistent until the day I die, stronger with each passing year. I have risen from the ashes, a thousand times, as my wings refuse to catch aflame, paid my dues for many crimes, no longer a victim of your social concept known as shame. You can not hold a candle to me on your brightest day, I am the star that refuses to fall to Earth, I picked up the pieces that you left behind, as I have finally caught a glimpse of my own self worth. Indestructible until the bitter end, your hate crimes are not good here anymore, as I learn to be my own best friend, I am no longer privy to your games of war. Once a lonely piece in your relentless game of Chess, I repented and caught sight of the disarray that resided within your chest, you dared to refer to it as a heart, until it denied me of the love you claimed that it would give me from the start. So instead, I turn the other cheek, and take solace in knowing that I am not weak, burn the bridge that leads to you, as I paint with vibrancy and colour, no longer restricted to sullen shades of blue. Dusk falls on your city, as your soldiers fall to the ground, this is my reprieve, my mutiny, ecstatic that my heart still beats, was lost but I am found.

Wicked.

In the middle again, I found myself caught between evil and good. To grandmother's house I go, as I don my cape like Red Riding Hood. Unbeknownst to me, you were always the wolf, so big and bad; the little boy who cried lies, as hot tears stream endlessly onto my writing pad. I sat in the corner and pulled a blade out of my depressing pie, crossed my heart like hot cross buns, as I watched you stick a needle in my eye. You are the muffin man from Drury Lane who fed me cakes full of delusion and drugs, poisoned and delerious as I tried to trade them in for hugs. I left a trail of crumbs in the hopes that I would find my way home soon, pruck my finger on a loom, as I anxiously anticipated the arrival of someone who could make me swoon. This little piggy had dignity, the other piggy had none, as I hoped in my heart of hearts that I would stop tricking myself into believing that you were the one. Even Mary's little lamb would refuse to keep you company, misery will turn the other cheek as well, on your tainted tragedy. You tried to bury me young yet I rose from the dead with resilience running through my veins, consistent as my blood is red. I take my communion, drink thirstily of my wine, and eat my Christly bread. You were the spider that sat down beside her, devoid of logic or reason, with blood full of cider. You granted me three wishes, selflessly, I made them all about you as that had become the trend. Our life was filled with make believe, we were the most skilled actors as we continued to pretend. Like Bo Peep, I lost all of my sheep, yet my will to survive remained. I caught your social disease, then cursed myself knowing all along that I should have just abstained. Your green eggs and ham heart made me sick as I choked on the bile that I tasted on my tongue. You were the cancerous nicotine that became my addiction, the cause for my blackened, smoke filled lungs. So I do the right thing, push you furhter away, and find my way back to good in search of a brighter day. No more manipulating me, or monopolozing my time, I have regained my voice, no longer willing to be written into your twisted nursery rhymes. You might be a self-proclaimed Mother Goose, but save your morals for your own time. The fables that you attempted to turn into lessons, were mere double standards and your most critical crimes. All cried out now, I peel myself off of you, as I inhale the fresh air, and see that I am no longer your own personal punching bag, no more subdued little boy blue.

Out of Sight.

Teardrop waterfalls stain my eyes like the sun that refused to rise, my heart cries endlessly for the man I was supposed to become, numb, I hang my head low, deaf, blind, and now dumb. Enchanted once, but now I turn to distractions instead to make me whole, as the smoke fills the air, disappearing from life's bowl. Grandiose lies, schemes full of wasted effort, and wasted tries. My skin begins to sag, hanging loosely from my bodice, like a novice, I realize that I am my own future's artist. On my own hit list, I became my biggest threat; full of regrets, sadness poured from my soul, drowned my sorrows with toxins until my veins rejected the poison that I injected. Dejected, I object to becoming infected. Always the town fool, the little boy who cried lies, whispers progress into shouts and then screams, as time speeds up, and shows us how it flies. My face, once the cause for envy of many others my age, melted, stripped, and burned off until it showed the underlying rage. Caged, but never broken, my freedom remained within my mind, you could take it all, less mighty warriors have picked themselves up from worse falls. Yet, still I stall, confused, refusing to join the ranks of the rest, avoiding routine, as if it were the most petulant pest. Rivers of agony stream from my eyes into oceans that are now devoid of life, the strife I have experienced has made sorrow my wife. See no evil, yet I hear, and speak it all the time as I slowly lose my vision, the more my heart becomes set on a life filled with crime. The bells begin to toll but never chime, hoping to make me see that I am running out of time. Out of sight, and hopefully one day out of mind, fury fills my burning inferno heart that has been maligned. With hardly any gasoline left inside my tank, I assume the fetal position, and let the pain flank within my chest, as I digress, devoid of my once sweet disposition; I am left with nothing but a mess. Everything in disarray, no longer in its right place, learn to fly and save me, as my soul floats up to outer space.

Promised Land.

Your smile lights up my days like the morning sun. At night, you illuminate my world, my moon, you are the one. Your eyes filled with fiery embers, radiance emanates deep within, molten rock and lava blow your cover when it's clear that you are suffering. The same eyes that are filled with pools of wonder, with such vast expanses of wisdom that I could get lost. My mind is your playground, and your heart is my home; tell me all your secrets as we set sail for Rome. I kiss my feet for leading me down the path that ended at your own; majestically, you own me, as you help me climb atop your throne. The hands, and arms that hold me might as well be impenetrable castle walls, like a cushion, you are my comfort, as you protect me from my falls. Your ears listen endlessly, never hinting at judgment or mistrust, the chemicals between us bubble, fizz, pop, and spontaneously combust. Laughter fills our home from the wee hours of the morning until late at night, there is a fire within me that threatens to control me, you are the kindest knight. Now if only I could find someone to make these words ring true, my idealistic future would surely begin to brew. Until then, I will wait refusing to settle for footprints in the sand, one day I will find my salvation, you will be my promised land.