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Rated: 18+ · Book · Spiritual · #1149750
10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind
I’m disabled by more than blindness.

Writing: Like one of those adventure games where you go off questing in different directions but you don’t advance in life. Pretty medallions sought for words/my soul, a slow burn now. Life is full of misdirects right back to the start, you still quest with a thirst.

If they take time to notice, must be doing something right. Life of turmoil produces stuff like this. Not going to call it beautiful agony…it gets a bit uglier. Minced words too pungent.

scripturam in hoc non mutamus, quia stultus es et differentiam nescies.

hic honor, quem accepistis, non est operae pretium, sicut non est bonum.
*BigSmile*
si hoc legere potes, gratiarum actio pro tempore.

The beautiful mess you made.
         |
Without knowledge, who’s to judge?
         |
No gavel; no voice.

I had a lover's quarrel with the world - Robert Frost

         |
I'm sorry you got caught in the middle. - me

*Neurodivergent poet.
*I yearn to love without that fart in the room.
*Honesty without mincing words.
*Stay clear of those surrounded by rules.
*Real dialogue accepted.

Diagnosed with new disabilities in 2020: On the spectrum/ADHD (it gets complicated by PTSD and brain trauma). Been suggested by doctors I might want another brain scan. As it is: 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, find boundaries, no clue why, 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 t the next boob that walks by. *Clown*

Been more than I could imagine or expect. My achievements aren’t going on a LinkedIn wall. I dig deeper than I should, push boundaries. Aimless words, brave or veiled cowardice, flinchingly flung, inadvertently hit targets. Get a ‘back off’ shoulder shot when asking your motivations to write.

No prize to eye; not incentivized. Dealt the worst two cards before the flop, do the best with what you got.



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 "Epigram ‘n Aphorism Samwiches"
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 Lorem Ipsum, Perhaps?


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
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February 5, 2020 at 12:32pm
February 5, 2020 at 12:32pm
#974910
Informed, written while thinking I'm broken already. Cannot be destroyed, because one part still perfectly functions with love. *Heart*

Shattered Songs

Words written atop my head
She hammers like a nail.
Passion strikes my hard anvil.
Sparks fly to the weary breast,
Weak from night odes dreaming
For one with heavy sledge slung.

Bell-rung-disaster for pensive organs
Dark with the matting blood,
The cavern insulates noise
From ears deafened by life's blasts.

The truest organ alive fires anew,
Attuned by touch of blue instruments --
Compose bittersweet again.
Shattered songs just vinyl,
Forged by mother's steel last
Forever.



Maddening when your villain won't die, emerging re-inspired...?
February 4, 2020 at 10:21pm
February 4, 2020 at 10:21pm
#974882
I'm flawed
Though you appear not witness.
I glow
Through the fatal cracks, bleed before
I die.
Should you clutch my hot corpse in your arms
Give me your heart
Until I am stronger.

I'm marked
Though I never was perfect for anyone.
I shine
Through the dull exterior, gleam before
The night.
Dream you'll hold my hand, walk out these woods
Keep me safe
A little longer.

I'm already dead, aren't I?
How long did you know, keep the mystery alive?
I'm wrapped in something my blindness won't see --
Longed it would be your immortal arms.

When the dawn comes
And you're not there to hold me, will you sing?
Can it be melancholy? You don't have to care,
Just let me know you once witnessed me alive.

I'm cold
Though you never tell me so.
I wonder
If the chill arrived from your ventricles.
If so
There's hope of rescue from another who'll
Keep me dreaming
A little longer.


2.8.20
I'm done pandering to judges

 Invalid Item 
This item number is not valid.
#1971713 by Not Available.
February 4, 2020 at 6:38pm
February 4, 2020 at 6:38pm
#974874
Rewrote this:

 
STATIC
I Don't Know Your Name (2023)  (ASR)
Beauty and sloven, blue collar beast she holds dominion over, drawn to her indifference.
#2055123 by Lorem Ipsum, Perhaps?


Original:

I Don’t Know Your Name

Heels clomp decisively
echo in liquid air
Eminent vanilla
brushes past flared nostrils
Penetrating brown eyes
masked by miniature frames
defeat the sloven shapes.
Cast a gaze over this loathsome beast
with your amber warmth
Let fire breathing, sun glaring, stinging words
incinerate me to the ground
my pooled ashes lingering
as you walk over me again and again.
February 4, 2020 at 10:01am
February 4, 2020 at 10:01am
#974855
Poets I Envy

They write like an easy river
         Smooth as glass
         Gently gushing past
         Undeterred
By jagged outcrop, rocks
         Crushed by time
         Driven down silt
         Heaved upon shores
They drink rain,
         Merging with acceptance
To sea, viewed
By helpless me
With no paddle
To kayak.

Yet, the sun is up
And I want to try.
February 4, 2020 at 9:34am
February 4, 2020 at 9:34am
#974853
I've always lacked 'good taste.'

Realized
Slathering premium steak sauce
On Mom's over-broiled
Two dollar steaks
Dad splurged for
Twice a year
Seemed in poor taste.
We were half way to jerky.

But what did I know at 10?
Catsup tasted better than A-1.
February 4, 2020 at 9:17am
February 4, 2020 at 9:17am
#974850


Of Your Verses

Somber, low
I rise to your eyes.
You thought me dead in bed,
In this rumpled earth.
I couldn't burst with thirst.
I died sad. Was I mad?

This dirt holds me fast.
It hardens in your winter.
It's a long season, waiting
for the sun's revealed truth
and Mother's love.

Linger low, slow I will rise.
Who buried me, set words free
in my crumpled hell?
I didn't thirst, just the worst.
I'm glad I'm free

of your verses.


- written to Mad World by Gary Jules
reluctantly wanting to be more open, honest
as I am walking dead through this Internet scene.
Truth doesn't set you free.


For:
"The Soundtrack of Your Life
February 4, 2020 at 8:44am
February 4, 2020 at 8:44am
#974848
From Passages North at Northern Michigan University:

Associate poetry editor Kenley Alligood on today’s bonus poem: I am thrilled to have the honor of introducing poet (and fellow Julien Baker fan) J. David’s work. This piece shimmers with color and surprise at every line. With a voice that is assured and emphatic while remaining tender and, at times, almost whimsical, “Letter to Death...” is a poem I can’t stop thinking about.



LETTER TO DEATH ENDING WITH RED UMBRELLAS IN A FIELD

          after Emily Pettit

             you can call a yellow bird a yellow bird and mean
the night i stopped loving myself it rained popsicles.
                    you can say i caught you skipping moon-rocks
          across the puddle-jump of my heart and mean
          yellow birds scale trees as yellow birds do.
once, i felt nothing and the bright balloon above the sky
          asked me to consider the source of all my unhappiness—
i still want to know the dispersal mechanics of a dandelion
          and have conversations with hermit crabs
             about the glad gadget that is the heart.
and sir, i don’t need to know why i’m here
          i just want to know where the red umbrellas came from.


J. David is from Cleveland, Ohio and edits Flypaper Lit. They love Julien Baker.
Jennifer Howard

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