I declare, I am

I declare I am

I declare I am

I declare by action

You can not call yourself a dreamer of dreams

Unless you first close your eyes to willingly sleep

To strip away reality that’s solid to your skin

Throwing blankets against the world’s forgetful sin

Standing not in the sands of the shores

But drowning in desires begging knowledge of more

You can not call yourself a writer of poems

Unless you first strip back the skin to know ‘em

Stripping down to muscle, blood, grinding bone

Becoming so grotesque, by default, displayed alone

Repulsing your own belief that you were enmeshed

Engaging your spirit fully until it bleeds through your flesh

You can not call yourself an artist of the arts

Until you’ve ripped shreds of everything you know, torn it apart.

Chopped off arms, legs, noses, fingers, and ears

Assembled them into a shape that disappears

Become a nothing awaiting rebirth to this plane

So you can become a God/dess of your own domain

The Power of No

She holds on to the bad memories

No room for the good

She holds on to the power of them

She’s misunderstood

She pilfers from the treasuries

Nothing is her fault

Slicing her body that he condemned

Each wound she exalts

She is good at making simple things

much more than they are.

Her pain is offered as a cursed gem

She, a self-saboteur

Sympathy is the power she sings

like a siren’s song

A toddler’s tantrum screeching for Mom

false beauty versed wrong

She puts fear into what no means

Fear is all she knows

she is empty of empathy

she yearns for sympathy

see how far she’ll go

tearing down all her hopes and dreams

all her confidence and self esteem

anything she sees good in her life

what happened?

well, she said no.