Under sheets

All the clutter in my head
noiseless sound and day old bread
can’t get up no sight or ground
my feet touching skyward bound
I am falling up not down
my words seem to make it loud
mouth is shut-they still persists
these words all out of context.
All this clutter in my head
I’d need three of me to send
just enough to breathe again
get these thoughts out of my bed.

Puzzle pieces

And then it falls to pieces
like a puzzle in my head
the world a mirror around me
now shatters cutting red
I see only something-it’s name
I cannot place
for everything is broken, absurd
and out of date.
I can’t make the shadows
keep in their proper state
no reality can’t stay
everything again is clay
the mirror shatters then it breaks
snaps back into sight and space
puzzle pieces all in place
nothing shatters it’s just the same.

Pennies not dollars

They will come
know they will
when you speak of ethics and will
they will try and take your voice
you have more then just one choice
never silence ethics or beliefs
the ones who abuse power
will sow what they reap
never allow for pennies to fall
luck for a movement
luck for them all
but leaders don’t act as they preach
subtle abuse and manipulative speech
blame the soldiers
blame the guns
don’t let the leaders take the brunt
of the blame for their actions
leaders often don’t like factions.
Just keep moving
never shut up
for ethics mean more
than just showing love
if leaders don’t bleed
their speech and language
you can be certain they aren’t
worth your patreon patronage.

on the shelf

Just a doll on a shelf
no use for nothing else
catch the dust
and sit real still
don’t know how I really feel.
Just a toy for their amusement
cannot refute just how I’m used
yet I’m impatient for real life
wish I knew more then to survive
just a doll upon the shelf
taking up space and nothing else
breaks the same as time will tell
no real voice just frills and lace
she sits quietly while in place
meaning nothing
taking grace
she cannot walk, speak, only take.

anita sarkeesian

Flipping the script
a woman lacking integrity and wit
making the rest of us look like idiots
she’s a bully, manipulative feminist
using her gender to get out of it
this is a female who uses her tits
just a Katy Perry though much less famous…

Cassandra ‘Cassi’ Maire Johnson

The sky is a crisp blue the world is bright and the birds are singing. Everything is shiny. Everything smells of apple pies, of Liberation Day and of celebration. The not too distant ocean breeze carrying the anticipation of fireworks later that evening.

Mrs Johnson stands with her husband watching from the kitchen window “we’re never gonna find her a husband” she spreads soft hands across floured apron sighing.
“She’s a good girl, Susan” his voice is rough just as the hand he places round her waist. “Pretty too, and handy-what man don’t dream of a woman who can fix dinner and his truck!” He laughs a full belly laugh pulling his wife into him.
“That’s the problem Phil she can’t fix dinner!” delicate Susan bats at him her eyes focused on the fossil truck in the driveway. Young Cassi is currently tuning the ancient vehicle, but would burn the roast without turning on the oven. “She’s eighteen now, and has had more time with engines from the dark ages then boys-that’s a problem that’s a-”
“Attractive quality” he proudly interjects she looks up at him in horror, but before she can protest “a man loves an experienced girl for” he struggles rocking his head and shrugging “say a nice cruise up to cherry hill” she blushes as he bumps hip with her “but the girl you marry, the girl you marry spent her adolescents busying herself waiting for you.” He’s looking down a romantic smile in his eyes as she looks up still unconvinced “that’s why I married you”
Shoving him off “oh! What are you trying to say Phil!” she demands stamping delicately heeled foot to freshly installed linoleum floor.
He laughs again full belly “that you were a good girl” grabbing her by the wrist he pulls he in “the best girl-that’s why I married you while other girls were playing fast, my Susan was at home cooking and taking care of her studies. Every boy wanted you” her arms are wrapped about his rather barrel stomach looking up lovingly as he looks down smiling eyes “but I saw you, and you were mine. Cassi might not cook yet, but you didn’t know the difference between fossil and hybrid before I met you.” He hugs her tightly as she buries head into chest “or filo and watercress”
She laughs kicking his shin gently, not moving. Sighing that ever so lovely womanly sigh “you’re right, Phil, I’m sure when that boy comes along she’ll want to do those things and I’ll be here to teach her. Just like you talk her how to build par-”
The windows shake, hoots, cheers, and the roar of a road techtank fills the air. The couple sees Cassi pop out of the hood as the tank reaches their front yard “ahh the Castillo boys are home” Phil laughs waving into the window excitedly.
“Oh that’s wonderful! Diane will be so happy to have her boys home! And just in time for Liberation Day!” Susan comments to no one listening as Phil’s attention is on Cassi whose attention is on the eldest Castillo hanging off the tank looking down at her.
Musing he comments “this year let’s go to the Marina with’em pay respect to the boys”

Understand this

I need, I need, I need
to get across this theme
of everything we breed
encases something sinister.
That nothing is as pure
as my truth and word
all these lived experiences
shed light on these entanglements
the dark web of my true regret-
the message clear
you’re malcontent.
I need, I need, I need
to make you truly see
that though our plates may seem
equal in entirety-
that we are all the same-
you can’t make that claim
you just play their game.
I am the one in need-
give me your understanding
that we are not equals
for I’m the realest victim of you all.

 

diagnosis accepted

I woke up in a world I’ve lost
closed my eyes now down is up
nothing is as what it seems
cloud of smoke and brain disease
mindlessness and stupidity
led by ego and delusional thinking
grandiose but un-diagnosed
at least not properly.

When I went to sleep,
when I laid my bed,
I knew the sky was blue
and blood not the color red
when I was sleeping- dreaming ever sound
my own diagnosis was settling
down, down, down, down, down
but eyes wide open-the world is flat
am I an animal, maybe a cat?

I woke up and the world turned wrong-blinked but once all logic has gone
but if this is healthy-what the fuck is normal?
If this world is stable-how am I diagnosable?

Essence

She is;
sacred-a temple of creation,
holy-mother of tribulation,
a sweet bloom in dark places.
She is;
strength beyond measure,
intellectual and clever,
wordsmith under pressure,
a true vision in hard weather.
She is;
the very essence of guile,
a wish of a child,
a bitter undoing
of all that they wrought.

Betty Ruth Sinclair

Again she’s laying in this bed no shadows, just light, bright white light. She’s wondering if they’ll visit today she might like to hear them, but if not maybe someone will turn on the music? It’s quiet, always so quiet, but Betty has become accustom to it having known no other existence.
She knows she is in the Capital, in the premier Medical Center of the nation, and she knows she was born defective. She has never seen a thing only shadows from above, or to the side. They say she is lucky for she will soon be fixed. No real use of the eyes, a missing leg, forearm, and hand, paralyzed from the neck down this pink haired angel cannot speak they only recently discovered she can hear. The whole twelve years little defective Betty heard every last sound. Since the discovery they’ve been reading to her the gossip has stopped, mostly. They say it’s so she’ll be ready, but she’s found she misses the daily drama.
The incubator begins to close around her, eyes shoot open, she cannot move. The light is changing as they lock her in, restraints attach, and the shadows still-silence.
She hears distant heel clicks, Mrs Sinclair, she’s with her husband and the doctor. What’s happening? Betty is terrified-have they changed their minds? Darkness covers everything as the nurses enter with a pitter-patter and hushed breathing. Everything sounds so strange, the incubator pump making everything hollow, milky eyes are watery.
She can hear Mrs Sinclair “are you sure?” her voice is small, but piercing. “I mean it will take? I don’t think I can handle a mishap.”
The incubator begins to shake as nurses ready the medical bed to begin. It’s happening. The heels are moving away, the shadows break in quick succession as bzzzz air hits her ears, the light return, her head is being held in place. There’s a tickle on her temples tendrils licking at her skin then pain. Severe pain. Six tendrils on either side dig in as the visor drops on open eyes. She screams, but there’s no sound. Down her open mouth drop several disk forcing the scream to remain.
Inside she is crying for her mother, father, the doctor, God, anyone to make it stop-is this fixing?
The bio-tech limbs fall into place again with a tickle and then with a bang. As scalpel goes down to chest she cannot see it, but when it touches skin another silent scream this time with static distortion.
The agony turns her numb as tear drops stream down pure white skin-is this being fixed?