This poem is dedicated to everyone who has lost their lives to cancer as well as to those who are currently in remission. One day cancer will be human history.
YOU MAY KILL
BUT ONE DAY YOU’LL DIE
YOU’LL BE PART OF HUMAN HISTORY
PEOPLE WILL LOOK BACK
AND SEE YOUR DESTRUCTION
BUT KNOW YOU’RE DEADER THAN DEATH
THEY’LL BE THANKFUL TO
THE SCIENTISTS WHO HAD THE PASSION
TO BEAT YOU INTO NON-EXISTENCE.
BUT FOR NOW YOU MUST MUTATE IN FEAR
KNOWING YOUR EXPIRATION IS NEAR!
Elected into the office:
chosen by the people.
Not by chance – by destiny.
The Third.
And the final to wear the WHITE.
Everyone looked up to him,
for he stood on a stage and gave his thanks.
And still they looked up – physically – each morning.
Some doubted, as is expected.
Commanding the respect from a crowd –
it is not easy, but he could.
He had it.
He spoke to be heard; people listened.
Dealing with the troubles;
holding himself high – always.
An unfaltering role model to all.
By the end of the term of service
everyone still looked up to him;
but this time not just physically.
Thank you for being kind –
It’s very rare to find.
You don’t know me,
But you’re what I want to be.
You have something unique…
I’ve had a little peak.
You’ll go far –
You’ll be more than a star.
Whack the ball out of the park!
Slap down your struggles, your stark.
Swing at that small ball,
Do it and you’ll stand tall!
For doing something with conviction
Will provide your heart no friction.
You’re from my past.
I know.
Do you remember much of me?
Only that you were shy.
You’ve changed.
Don’t we all?
Yes – thank goodness.
Do you want to go for coffee?
You’re from my past.
We’ve established that.
I hate my past – bye.
His heart had chambers:
two for all his love and care;
two for his heartbreaks.
This little girl has a story:
She grew up in a dark world,
But was surrounded by pinks
And soft pastel colours,
Barbie dolls and tea cup sets,
Clothes for princesses,
A tiara to top it off.
It was the perfect facade…
Pink reminded her of blood –
And pastel was the colour of happiness she hated…
Barbies were her mother,
And tea cups symbols of oppression.
Princess clothing – a mocking gesture to the world,
And a tiara – the final broken halo of goodness.
She cast her spells
(curses – that sort of thing)
And sprinkled her glitter.
(cyanide – looked like weird snow!)
She baked everyone cookies
(filled with rat poison)
and even gave her neighbours gifts!
(bombs – strong enough to damage, but not kill)
She was the sweetest girl,
She was happy too!
Can we blame her then
For living happily?
He’s going to be a great
Dad one day.
He has that
je ne sais quoi
about him
with his weird loving ways
and his ability to love effortlessly,
purely with a sprinkle of fun.
It’s a recession people!
If I run out of words
just know that I
grab the liquor!
poor it out;
let me taste the poison
let it run through me!
it heats me up inside
the fuel to my fire.
I cannot stop…
give me more…
yes
numbness
I feel alive when I feel dead
give me more!
pour it out!
here! put it in here!
it’s so blurred
things are so clear!
I think I love you
another shot
tequila!
YES
feel it slip down
it burns
I feel the demons escape
the noises are silenced.
I cannot feel
but I feel everything
the truth slips out like
the shots slip down.
burning me up.
leave me alone!
let me cry!
I need more…
I need more…
I don’t want to wake up…
POUR IT INTO MY HANDS
I NEED A DRINK
your overwhelming senses
radiate past my eyes
feel through my body
caress my ears
make me taste sweetness
inhale your scents
as you cruise down
down to the life
let the wind rush
as the sun smiles
and the air twirls
touching your tasty
slice through hearts
bursting desires
are you a sin
or are we sinners
for staring
Mr Individualist 