Awkward and Odd – Lines

I’m an awkward person, with an odd sort of mind.

From time to time, I’ll cross a line.

I don’t mean to offend, the intent to harm isn’t mine.

I’m an awkward person, with an odd sort of mind.

I’ll talk out of turn, or say something forward. Still…

I don’t mean to offend, the thought to harm or alarm is not what’s on my mind.

It’s awkward and strange and an odd sort of place, that place behind my eyes.

I’ll step across that line, I’ll offend from time to time.

Without intent, I dare say that no harm was meant, no cause for alarm was offered though it was taken all the same.

I’m an odd sort of person, with an awkward frame of mind, I might step across the line, but I didn’t see it there, with my gaze up in the air.

Consider this an apology if you must, a way of saying sorry for a skewed perception of me, for I can’t say I consider myself mean.

As an awkward person with an odd frame of mind, I can’t be blamed for miscommunication, for lack of conversation that would otherwise show me, tell me when to draw back as I’m about to cross that line, your mind isn’t mine, how would I know to pull back when it was you who drew the line?

You who decided where to take offense and where to make a friend? With no intent to harm I offered my words freely, you took them as knives to wound you dearly and silenced the words completely.

Takes this as you will, but despite my crossing your line, for which I did apologize.

In ignoring me, you have crossed one of mine.

Jumble in My Head/Mess Inside My Brain

Running forward looking back the path remains the same

The track though changes all the time the curves straighten into circular lines

It makes no sense it’s a jumble in my head, topsy-turvy inside out

It’s a mess inside my brain

I run the track and I walk back looking forward along the path

The path that never remains the same on the singular consistent track

It makes no sense this jumble in my head things don’t remain from one moment to the next

This topsy-turvy, inside out, this upside-down circle, this route that can’t get straightened out

It’s a jumble inside my head it’s a mess inside my brain I can’t get a handle I can’t stay sane

I wish I knew the rules, I wish knew the game but it never remains the same

This topsy-turvy inside out jumble inside my head, this mess inside my brain

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~P.S.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You can also this on my deviant art, along with a lot of older poems and stories. I’m going to be trying to keep the two in sync as I post for now one (as I should have been doing from the start really)

http://zip0186.deviantart.com/art/Jumble-in-My-Head-Mess-Inside-My-brain-669632864

 

 

 

Sorrow

You see my friend the voices are back, they chat and whisper so.

They show me shadows, the twists in the light and tell me secrets only they do know.

They feed on sorrow, this pain I know so well, and turn this to words and worlds, stories and poems to share and tell.

The sorrow is my mistress, my creator and my muse, without I’d be little at all, it defines me so.

Muse At Play Pt 2

Oh it rants and rails its wants and needs but its persistence leaves me quite unfazed.

In part, perhaps not totally for this rhyming is the symptom and the mark, the current mood the cause,

But I’ll persist and continue despite this moment of disarray, though it certainly has caused a bit of dismay.

I worry not and soldier on, despite my muse deciding to take this moment to play.

Muse At Play 1

I’m saying I feel strange and in disarray, disjointed and disappointed,

In me and my seeming to the point that my perception of of my imperfections is insisting

upon an insurrection upon the tyrant of this established existence so that my fleeting

moment might fade and falter and fastly degrade, disappear, as if I were but a dream, a

made up seeming, something that was never really there at all.

Beautiful/Ugly

Yesterday gone, tomorrow not promised, see the world as it is rather than for what its not. See the shine, the glitter and the glow, and the rotten, the withered and the old, realize the bile, the bitter and the broken but rejoice in the shining, the golden, the gilded. See the beauty, the wonder in both, and find a point between that light, find a place that borders that night, and hold on to that now, that present place you make with everything you are, will all you have, for that might be truly all you get, for life is fleeting and life is fast but it’s ugly and beautiful and nothing so wondrous can ever truly last.