Sew it up tighter...

note to self. shitty poetry that feel soooo good to get out into words, into space, into their inbox and brain... never gets the point across...

Granted, i sent it a while back, not to get anything out of it.. just to show, how i hold emotions. Hell it's a two way street right? Friends do this sort of thing. Share. Collaborate.

I always want to surround myself with people who have a passion for "the arts". Hell, a passion for anything is good... cuz it shows me that you care about something so deeply it hurts. I do. So i need people around who do too. I want more people to make art with. More zombie love missed connections on craigslist correspondence, more painting nights, more co-op poems, here take this book and do stuff to it, give it back and it'll be my turn.

I live for that sorta junk.

Like Words From My Own Soul...

Mad Girl's Love Song

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

--- Sylvia Plath

Your inner selves.

Just about everyone feels as if they have another side to them sometimes. The easy persona you put on when at work, or when the family is visiting, or even the coping mechanism you use when in a situation you would rather not be in. Even celebrities fall into this at times. Beyonce's new album deals with her Sasha Fierce side.. and Garth Brooks ruined the awesome career he had when he 'became' Chris Gains... Now I'm not agreeing or denying that I am the same. But if you know me, this all makes perfect sense.

I am not always creative. I can't always draw or paint like I did the night before... the month before... There is a mind set I have to be in to create. I call it... 'The Twins'. The artsy and creative Jaq, and her brother, the more angsty edgy poet Jack. Today I'd like to feature a poem 'he' wrote, a few years back. Usually it's stories, but I was always proud of this poem. And as each day I want to try and explain one of my pieces (2 i guess for this entry) and then do some more main stream posts, and some spot lights on artists that I love or know... Here is my first confession, my diving into myself to pull out something personal.

Beauty at the top of the hill. --- Jack Bond

There is a hill where you live,
in your little house, way at the top.
You are stuck there, but I visit you
bringing you tokens of my love.
You accept them, yet move on quickly.
Stabbing yet another knife into my heart.
Your tongue traces the blade,
you consume me, inside and out.
Your eyes glance, here and there,
but never meeting mine.
I light a cigarette,
letting the smoke fill the air between us.
Eventually the blood will dry,
nothing will remain but scars on my chest,
and the stain on my clothes that will never come out.
I forgive you each time, for the abuse you serve me,
always cold, always constant.

I am your dirty secret, the sin you want to commit.
I make the blood in your veins boil,
and the desire you hide, well I've fucked that.
I am your knight in a blood stained pin stripe suit,
shaggy hair, and painted black nails.
You wont admit I'm real, I'm nothing more then a dream.
But I am holding your frail frame tightly,
feeling you break in my arms.
I want to shatter your glass bones, see you in a pile on the floor.
Make your heart ache and crave,
as you do to mine, each and every time.
You are too beautiful to harm,
through your tears, I see the goddess each wants to possess.
I kiss your blood red lips, soaking you in, as long as I can.
Slitting my wrists as you push me back down the hill.

Angsty? Yes. Angry? Yes. Truthful? Yeah...