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Rated: 18+ · Book · Spiritual · #1149750
10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind
Like one of those adventure games where you go off questing in different directions but you don’t advance like the others. You earn pretty medallions gallantly while other players buy, sell and trade at market to get ahead without moving an inch. Slow burn…hey? You’d rather keep your dignity, or try to figure out their game. That’s where you really get lost. Game full of misdirects leads right back to start over and over. You could have stayed on your quest. Now, you have this.

Redacted, censored, gaslighted…must be doing something right, my old boss would say. I’m not a sociopath, he tells himself. Equal parts, then? Mom should have had me tested. Because, life of turmoil produces stuff like this. Not going to call it beautiful agony…it gets a bit ugly.Tap on them. It’s part of the quest…see where I’ve been; see who I am:


         
                   
                                       
                   
                   
        
         


Right. I redact myself. The beautiful mess you made. Who are you?
If I’ve been denied the right of knowledge, I’ve earned the right to judge.
         |
Without knowledge, who’s to judge?
         |
No gavel; no voice.

"...politely reedy but ambitiously eclectic—moving effortlessly from hen-picking and bottleneck slides to a full deck of chucka-chucka rhythm figures."

I had a lover's quarrel with the world - Robert Frost
         |
I'm sorry you got caught in the middle.

*Neurodivergent poet.
*Don’t judge/hate. I love.
*Honesty without mincing words.
*Dump your prejudice outside my door. Hope you leave it on the way out.
*Nothing to fear but people who surround themselves with rules, can’t be touched.
*Real dialogue accepted.

My words collect, arrange on a kaleidoscope spectrum. The true experience/acknowledgment of my writing yet to come...long after I’ve left WDC, am dead, or both.

Truly been a blessing, but I've been pushing it — envelope, push world and all inhabitants away, push buttons to find boundaries, having no clue or told where they lie, where I've lived in your dark. Now and then, push dirt out of this hole; someone/thing/entity might envision me the way I need to be viewed. (if I knew what that was. Cryptic, I know. Try living in my dark, find comfort amid the strange, virtual walls that tempt me to try).
*The parenthetical lawyer up?



Foot free, I’m all over the place.
 
"Note: Poetry: life’s little interruptions amassing int..."
 

Best Poetry Collection 2X, nominated three years. What does it mean? I was enjoying myself, head bagged. A happy idiot. Something messed with that. I won’t be a coward; not starting feuds or wars over ideals and beliefs. We all know that’s a pile of crap packaged with dreams of pretty things to sell the next boob that walks by. *Clown*

Been more than I could imagine or expect. My achievements aren’t going on a LinkedIn wall. But, I get it. You're sick of me. It's how I feel about myself when I dig deeper, push boundaries. Don’t care my words that aim for honesty, either brave or veiled cowardice, flinchingly flung, inadvertently hit a target. Get a back off shoulder shot for asking your motivations to write…won’t get me to bend over backwards to appease, again.

There’s no prize to eye, not properly incentivized. So, does it mean when dealt the worst two cards before the flop, do the best with what you got? Yeah, rigged. Yeah, other tables — other ‘games’. But, something in my gut I’ll never be rid.



My Pluggers:
You are an icon here.*BigSmile*
You suffer, but you suffer brilliantly. Wow, what a great writer.{/blue}*Heart*

It’s like plugging myself, but using other people’s (reviewers) words…Review of "Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋"
Your poetic muse is on fire! *Fire* Some great emotion, well-balance(d), lovely lyrical qualities -- even the ones that were written out of sadness or anger came through in a clever cadence…It's obvious you've put a lot of work into each entry and the totality of the blog has eye appeal. *Cool*

 
Published four times with one a literary journal, including… *PointRight*   "The Tender Core (Sedona)" 
I don’t submit because it’s too much work. Truly alone, know no one cares to show they believe/support me. Lip service feeds delusion. I’ve seen a lot of smoldering and snow. Try not be cynical, work hard at openness and consideration — work, sooo…gut thing.

*Toilet* *RibbonW* Merit Badge in Taboo Words [Click For More Info] Brian, Congratulations! You won 1st Place in Taboo Words with your fantastic poem, [Link to Book Entry #1027659]. I absolutely loved this! *^*Heart*^* Rachel Merit Badge in Poetry [Click For More Info] Thanks you for supporting the [Link To Item #power] with an order to the [Link To Item #powergifts] ! We appreciate it. *^*Heartv*^* Keep writing the beautiful poetry. [Link to Book Entry #1027659] is an awesome poem! *^*Starv*^* ~Lornda

 
Love my process constructing and sharing visions in words collected (no small task considering personal and physical limitations, see below).


August 28, 2006 this blog opened ▼

BOOK
SuperNova Afterglow: End Of Days  (18+)
All that remains: here in my afterlife as a 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know.
#1300042 by He’s Brian K Compton


No specific aim going forward (2014) ▼

 
What I used to say: 'Maybe, I just don't get it. Watch me fumble with my version of reality, expose ignorance as truth. You don't have to get me, either. But, wish someone would explain me to myself.' Now I say: *Cool* *FacePalm* Now: I was such a whore.
 


*Laugh*This is old….
What? Oh, this? A rhetorical, self-motivational speech I'm working on.
Don't just read the parts to construct your theory, as if to confirm (construed out of context) your opinion, mentally-stunted Neanderthal. Therapist wants me to be less negative toward myself. I see it as attacking, rather than being defensive. Fear I will chomp too many bullets unintentionally sent toward the unsuspecting.
If you can be triggered for stupid reasons, then I?
…just looked like me rolling around on the floor with myself.*RollEyes*
             



What Was NEW

Who am I, you ask? My mirror knows that question, repeated daily.

Just trying to create a little buzz, not boost my ego.

#amwriting #poetry #blog #contest #freeverse #award #bestpoetry #freyaridings #lyrics #music #video #YouTube

Can you believe it took this long for someone to put a quarter in me and push the button GET ANGRY?
 

Mud 4 My Eye: Is that you, Poo? 💩 Secret Back Door ▼

The Best Poetry Collection on Writing.Com ▼
January 7, 2020 at 8:55pm
January 7, 2020 at 8:55pm
#972910
Universally, people are dehumanized,
forced prove they belong with this race --
alone, cut off, as the divide widens.
Individuals, who could form a fabric,
poorly woven, become worn, less resilient.
January 7, 2020 at 11:26am
January 7, 2020 at 11:26am
#972878
I'll write you sonnets, if you witness
Vacuous, hollow words contained
Restrained by structure
Ever toiling to find meaning
Or
Run amok in a field of words
Harvesting life's little treasures
Unkempt, sprawling, falling out
Of pants pockets before I shove
In your tall glass with my water
January 7, 2020 at 10:30am
January 7, 2020 at 10:30am
#972874
If there's one thing I know a thing or two about, it's mind games. More specifically demoralization and humiliation of opponents.

When I was young, I was learning to play. I might have yelled unfair to the kids who dominated the games. You don't challenge the likes of them or you don't get to play. You might get labeled or bullied. They can get other friends to accost you, beat you up where parents don't see. They might utter vague or knowable profanities at you, spit on you. These small people feel justified, even hate. It's horrible what they got away with. Meanwhile, someone who could mature emotionally regresses, acts out. Unable to solve their condition, pay it forward. The difference: they feel regret. But, because none of the original tormentors offered an olive branch, tuck it all inside where it does further damage.

Children who were bullied and become bullies have no one to witness for them. They gladly take their punishment lifelong because they assume they deserve it. In fact, conditioned to it, are unaffected when the next sneering ego-maniac arrives. Must be confusing when I don't flinch.

When I play the game now, wherever that may be. I don't seek pity, empathy, sympathy -- not even an 'official' to intercede. The rules of these games are unknowable, misinterpreted, reinterpreted. And the bullies ... surprise ... have more friends. I can only control what I do by being the most beautiful version of myself. It's joyous. I can imagine there is only one who knows what I've been through and where I'm going.

I also enjoy celebrating the accomplishments of others, lifting them up wherever possible. I can relate experiences with others and realize who else was a troubled child. I can identify who still tries manipulate the game. I'm not trying to beat them at their little games with rules that benefit them and their friends. I already enjoy what I'm doing.

What must be defeating is seeing fewer people want to side with a bully when there is one who plays their game without dying. The one thing my dad was surprised by (hard man to appease) was I never gave up or quit something I loved. And when others see what is in my heart, they turn away from these bully friends. I wouldn't dream of diminishing the bully's ranks. I just want people to do what is right.

I am not evil. I am not out to hurt anyone. I'm ready with love. I'm willing to give...to something that wants to give back what I offer.

This might contradict past positions I've taken throughout life. It's been a learning process. I can change or alter these beliefs at any time...just like the bullies are entitled to do.


(Needs some editing, I know)
January 7, 2020 at 10:01am
January 7, 2020 at 10:01am
#972873
Sequestered

I can see out the door of my room
and down the corridor to look
for the likes of you, as I am sequestered.
I need only look out my window
to view a charming village
where I could go,
should the likes of you inform I'm healed.
I return to my bed, slither in white sheets
The IV drips yellow concoction
in my once black veins.
Lovely nurses might distract with a visit,
change the sheets, feed me, fluff
an every-so-ready pillow.
Why not ignore the halls and vistas seen,
settle in and turn on the overhead tv?
I have health insurance
and the rest of my life.
Even if I'm dying here, I realize
nothing can hurt me anymore.
Even if the white coats do not arrive,
I have family who visit and see
how comfortably I thrive, feel at home.

No one has discharged me; many
have tested my blood pressure,
observed me perfectly fine --
even those unqualified.
Did they correct my illness
or do I mask the symptoms somehow?
Here, the nurse comes, checks my pulse,
takes other vitals. I imagine somewhere
a doctor or two looks over these charts.
Confused that I would take up residence here?

The thing is, I am placating children
playing their medicine game. Adorable
to think what they are doing is real.
I'm only too happy to play along.

But, should I be worrying,
for the other patients? Well,
I'm sequestered anyway.
How much harm?


I'm the eye doctor. Is this better?


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