Poet Robot – Now Available, Also… Goodbye for now

Couldn’t have said it better. I haven’t been blogging for a while. This is as relate-able as it is overwhelming, in a good way.

A Narcissist Writes Letters, To Himself

Today’s the day.

You can get the book here:

https://www.createspace.com/5919886

And now for a farewell (for now).

All methods, ideally, self-destruct.

I began this blog as a means of coping with depression, anxiety and anger.

I did so by expressing said depression, anxiety and anger

in jokes which made me laugh,

converting pain into something light and joyous.

But eventually, the natural pain subsides

and I was left with a vehicle

which demanded pain

such that beauty could be created.

So for many months, I asked myself to bleed

beyond what wounds were innately there,

and so the means of liberation from pain

became a trap within itself.

This is not to say I am done writing forever,

only that it is time to change gears,

and for that to happen one must give space.

You can write to me at poetrobot@gmail.com

and I will do my best to reply.

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The archer that strikes from behind

It must make sense to synchronize a body

into a series of the complex; rust unpolished.

Less sense, however, to digest the susceptibility

of the rough, with the raw, with the weary

To the orphans of this gawky road, can’t even‍

I’ll pretend it’s alright, it is as much as it isn’t

You’d give it all, just to gain it all

Don’t. Even for a minute

Convince your other self

That woodpeckers carve because they sculpt.

 

You whom I let escape

Your cloak

Hula hoops around your knees, a recap

You listen, just to relate

Whisper; just to misinterpret

The curtain closes on your big act

You taught me wrong

It’s not safe here, neither is it outside

People have always been afraid of what they don’t understand

 

You whom I let escape,

Roll these stones with you, give them pace

 

The child within, running away from you

A facade of neon lights gone unnoticed

As the alienated flee; a thousand follow

They worry, their hands turn to dust

 

 

 

Paint me

Just as you and I, were indecisive about Piggy from Lord of the flies

Whether or not, savages exist or could have

Decorum of funerals; morality, mortality, depravity

Mingling with each other

The way a totalitarian system should’ve worked

The fruit I could not reach; the conch ceasing to exist

“Maybe if there is a beast… maybe it’s only us”

Weeping for the end of innocence, the darkness of man’s heart

The fragments of the wheres and whens

Shove me in a ground zero from which all this bias radiates

 

 

Let that sink in

Scatteredmockingbirds

Once you know why you felt what you felt

Let that sink in

Let it remind you not to ever remind you

Of grass that remains dry even with,

grasshoppers willing to give up their name

so they can hop on roses tomorrow,

Like that’ll ever be!

It makes me think of

Legacies of few
that remain as undue
Compared to those
Who lived on hearts that tore
At the very thought of
Independence
Yet dependent
On the blink of an eye
Of a figure of power
To give permission to breathe
To let them be

I wonder what this means
If liberty was at stake of just
Cries for eternities
Wishing for
Bread to bake in seconds
And for crumbles not to burn
For this
Disease of the heart to melt
Because ever since
People molded mud into art
And words into poetry
Riots began
Armies faded
Wars alike
Of…

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