why do i explain things to people when
they leave my tongue full of razor marks designed by lies?
why do i find poetry interesting if the only thing
it does to me is hurt the muscles in my fingers?
i stay up late at night, when pens stop speaking and papers stop
listening, when poets obsess over 2am.
i dont have the answers, so i wont tell you lies.
i see you in the dark, ’cause i’ve been where you are.
my hands are fresh with scars, reminders that
im just clay and knives can easily create form
out of me.
i’ve learned that the world has accepted pain
as beauty.
i’ve learned that poets are now starting to romanticize pain.
i’ve learned that on twitter, people replace vowels with v’s & x’s
and depress themselves with sad quotes until it hurts their chests.
its quiet easy to say that the world is a mess,
feeding our brains with junk served by television sets,
believing everything the internet says,
and the only way to change this is to change our mindsets.
but as always, this is easier said.
ignorance is acceptance as a standard.
reading a book makes your eyes bleed, ’cause you’re not used to written word.
we fill tongues with mud and wash hearts in dirt.
we think money is love, and love is power, but the
only thing money can buy is tears and material possessions and empty hearts.
we see each other as black & white but we forget that aside from the
difference in pigment we’re still human.
we forget that our skin is fragile yet we still pierce one another
with 30 caliber bullets.
i dont have the answers so i wont tell you lies.
let it happen.
we think rain and thunder is a sign of a new season but
its God crying out and telling us that
we’re suffering at our own hands.
men hurt women too much nowadays, and women play games with men
nowadays and haemens start to break as much as hearts do.
and the words ‘i do’ sound like a jingle from a cereal ad,
it leaves people mad,
and people sad.
while all this happens, i’ll be out running with bears.
teddypoet 