if and fate and fear

The word if

We may imagine ourselves making it through
Getting a degree and then making good money
Owning a home and then starting a family
With the happily ever after theme
But there’s one word that holds us back from achieving our dreams
From standing up to the crowd
About what’s right and wrong
Fighting for a better world
With peace and justice
And freedom
What if
I’m laughed at or don’t find love
Or become sick and
I fall into debt
What if I don’t get a job in this degree
Lose my friends
If my spouse turns into an abuser
And takes all my money
If my child becomes sick or I raise her alone
Or I vaccinate her and she gets autism
Lose my house and property, and all support
What if all my hopes come crushing down
To my feet
Begging me to dig myself a grave
Cursing me for being brave
Yet not trying hard enough
To escape fate

as long as you’re alive you can make things meaningful

doesn’t matter how or when just as long as you leave those ifs behind cuz bad things happen and it’s so you can do something about it and become who you Are as cheesy  and escalated as it sounds but die with dignity and with something to be proud of- which is you. Don’t let the bad things devour you to your death.

Giving In

It’s like painting a new picture

for the strange object that never fit in

Like a sock on a vase

rather than flowers within

 

Strange and despised

What nonsense is this

A sock on a vase? 

This art has no face!

 

Refusing to be abashed

The artist changes state

It’s the viewer who was wrong

And the meaning was misplaced

But the vase was painted over

with a desk and a sitting mother

knitting the last sock

for her dying little child,

because the idiots whose understanding

of life and living

is so very mild.

 

 

Looking for the Unborn

Why dwell on the past when the future guarantees your self-worth

Why live on moments that are not different than death

It’s happened and it’s gone

It’s forever away

and nothing more than a figment

or a nightmare

The reason is, you are never alone.

Those who are like you are hiding just the same

Living in the past

of shackles and thorns, bleeding away

distraught and cold

they hope to find the sunshine

in something already rotting

They dig to see if there may be something left,

unborn.

A plea that it may regain the light and bud into a new life

But everyone knows, the past is like the afterlife.

Just death and memories

Instead search for respite, come out of your graves

begin your quest for inner peace

there’s no telling what fortunes lie ahead

except that you are in control of the piece of flesh in your chest

that creates the line between you and your past