Find your voice,
Find your ink,
Air through lips or pressure through finger tips,
Find your voice,
Use it proudly,
Share your love,
Your hate, your pain, your vision, your create, your palette of life lived,
Sing it however you will,
Your voice will carry resoundingly.
Find your voice boy,
Find your voice girl,
If you whisper in the street,
If you stutter and feel like you bleat,
If you shout with violence and hurt,
If you crackle with intensity unleashed.
If the paper runs torn beneath your pressure,
The pentip breaks and spills its hidden treasure,
Find whatever you find that lets you know that you are able,
Complete, and perfectly capable,
Damaged beyond belief,
But beautiful in shining relief,
Find your voice
Find your words,
They’re the path out of wherever you’ve roamed,
And will cut the road home.
Speed It Up – Spoken Word
VERY quick spoken word – pushing for speed to grab the urgency of mania or #bipolar.
Your shares are appreciated, thank you.
Strange Waves – Spoken Word
Plummet describes in a word the dumb shit,
The result of a life lived from one hit –
-to the next and that second of fuck it.
As intense wash the waves,
Through your secret filled caves,
Telling memories back from where you sent them away,
Until the shores are a littler cascade of broken mirrors pelting your gaze,
Each reflection a question,
Each flash a suggestion,
Of what happened and why,
Where you broke the faith and started to cry.
Each lens is a how of what could have been,
Who you are without all the sin.
No more pills and bottles and rock,
Bags of dope, sacks of coke and the inevitable cops.
Living on streets and the pity of strangers,
Acting devil may care to numb out the danger.
When each shot you took put a pin in your son,
Blocked his love just as well as you holding a gun.
You got loaded and loaded,
Raised finger and goaded,
As your legs washed out at the thighs,
From a tide on the rise.
If not for the merciful care,
From those you punish unfair,
You’d be sunk,
Drifting drunk,
Out to a personal sea in a trunk.
Boxed up tight when you ran out of fight,
Away from the world and your right,
As a man to do your best to make it alright.
And as long as it took,
For you to confess as a crook,
Thief of dreams, hopes and beliefs you forsook.
You can’t change the past,
It’s gone while the onrushing future hits fast.
So you accept the regret,
Live learn love and refuse to forget.
Keep strong in surrender,
Committed to change,
Because in the end you’re not alone,
And are any of us really so strange?
Your shares are appreciated, thank you.
Sectioned – Spoken Word via Scriggler
Sectioned – Spoken Word via Scriggler
This is a rehash (new momentous news and releases in the next couple days) but Scriggler has been kind enough to promote this and I want to share my appreciation. Your like, comment, or view would be greatly welcomed!
Your shares are appreciated, thank you.
Damned to Succeed (Slam/Spoken)
YouTube Video of the Spoken Word / Slam Poetry – apologies, my free plan doesn’t allow for direct posting of videos. This isn’t a gimmick to get you to click through,?” I just don’t have another means to share. Thank you for your time – I know you have a lot of quirky and unique folks and things to see online, we’re thrilled to have had your attention for more than 10 seconds and hope we can do even better the next time around, 😉
~S
Why is always the question,
Regardless of the fucking answer.
Why did it happen?
Why is this the way it is?
Why do I not have this?
Why did I make that one choice?
Why is she gone?
Why are they not here?
Why am I stuck in this endless fucking cycle with no one to blame but myself.
Pity is the answer when there’s no one to answer back.
Regardless of the reason behind why,
Pity solves the unsolvable,
Pity for yourself feels like absolution,
Pity shames the word away,
Because pity lets the hurt ring true.
Whether it’s honest,
Or a cry for attention,
Pity is a thing that has meaning and passion,
Feeling not lessoned by the outside,
Rather enhanced by memories and dreams.
Pity cries that you regret,
But don’t want to be buried beneath all of your miserable self-hatred.
“Get off the pity pot.”
Idiotic fucking saying.
“Stop feeling bad that you destroyed your life.”
It’s grieving, one part perhaps.
Fuck you for telling me to “man up.”
I’ll get there.
But right now I’m a child embracing the need for a warm touch from someone who will tell me it’s okay.
Clearly that’s not you.
Or so many in “the rooms.”
Anger is a statement of action,
Which can burn to the point of liquid sunshine,
Or freeze the world in a halo of hatred.
Anger shows a path forward.
Anger lays out the choice to move someplace new.
To take the past in an embrace and crush it with disgust,
Use it as fuel to burn a path into the future.
Or,
It can smolder into bitterness and resentment,
Regret with rage shimmering outwards in an aura of disgust.
Either a tool for success,
Or the death sentence of purgatory by one’s own hand.
Ice yourself over with hate for what caused the pain,
What caused the frustration,
The misery,
The loss,
The devil on your back that whispers sweet nothings in your ear.
The misleading moment where you believe it.
The damning consequences of that instant.
Fucking ice,
And seething determination.
Fuel the burning demand to NEVER GO BACK.
To forge a road forward.
To lay waste to anything that stands between you and success.
Today I’ll try and remember to turn the flame towards where it truly belongs.
Crawl out from under my self-pity and depression,
Stop asking why,
Just take it all for what it is.
The past was what it was.
The future makes unknown moves to confound the game.
This moment has all the possibilities I will ever see.
And it’s time to stand proudly in it.
Raise flag and grit teeth.
I’m sick of this shit,
Forward the march into the question of tomorrow,
And damn yesterday for the last time,
It’s about time to win for a bit.
Your shares are appreciated, thank you.
Green Haired Angel – Video/Spoken Word
Misha
Spoken word for a special someone who holds me together when I’m on the edge. I don’t know what I’d do without. With heartfelt thanks, and wishing you the recognition you deserve.
Your shares are appreciated, thank you.
Green Hair Angel
Spoken word is coming shortly…if you haven’t seen it, I’d really love to hear some of your own work…take a look at the Studio34 for the listing if you don’t see it a post or two down. Cheers!
She told me in a voice that wants for something more,
“I’m stuck with you and you with me,
But I don’t want to be stuck,
I just want to be happy.”
Simple words of wisdom,
Drop out the only mouth from which I tend to listed.
All around life is in tatters again,
It’s a battle of just going and going,
Churning up the ground as I try for traction.
People ask if I even know what I want,
It would be easier to drop my head in the sand,
No one wants to be confronted by the fact,
That survival doesn’t constitute a plan.
No goals
Just obligations.
Another sick hollow spot,
Self-indulgent in wasted life,
A never ending emotionless vacation.
The idea of walking a road with no end in sight,
Sounded so peaceful when I was younger.
I can’t be old enough to be this tired,
Those thoughts drag my feet,
Mired in mud six feet deep.
When you’re bound to the pipes,
The needles, the bottles, the pinners, the caps, the strips, the tabs and the doses,
The misery never knowing, always moving,
Chaotic insecurity, discomfort and the fear –
It’s easy to lose yourself in the haze,
No rag can clean vision so glazed.
Occasionally you need a multi-colored head of hair to show you that there is still more to be had.
That whatever tomorrow brings,
It’s worth holding steadfast to belief in something better.
Even if you have to lean on each other to get there.
She told me in a voice that wants for something more,
“I’m stuck with you and you with me,
But I don’t want to be stuck,
I just want to be happy.”
Your shares are appreciated, thank you.
(Need your Help!) Addiction & Recovery – Spoken Word, Rap, Rhythm
Looking for your word(y) contributions….
Anything and everything…spit fire or choke gargling on vomit…just a message in your own words.
Your shares are appreciated, thank you.
Recovery Flow – 1st Spoken Word
Depths – Spoken Word, Addict Recovery Flow
(1st attempt at spoken word….written version below. Please stick past the 1:00 mark as it hits a much better rhythm and pulls together everything)
Go deep.
Depth.
Because you and I have depth.
No shallow pieces of paper whipping in the wind here.
We’re fucking mountains with roots buried in lava.
Dig deep.
Through chunks of earth.
Through underground lakes.
You and I are living statues giving statements.
Cut through miles of meat.
Let out rivers of blood.
Depth.
No 2D, weak minded, single sided bullshit here.
Find the spinning core of pressurized EVERYTHING that powers our furnace.
I’m not powered by the drive for one thing.
I’m an addict.
I’m a fucking hero.
I’m a lunatic.
I’m a fanatic.
I’m an extremist.
I’m a fatalist.
I’m a romantic.
I’m passion given wings and no name.
I run on need.
I’ve been asked what makes me tick.
Why do I do it again?
Why am I so fucking sick?
Because I live on fear,
On love, on hope, on greed, on determination, on demands, on need, on want, on confusion, on chaos, on misery, on joy, on pleasure, on excess, on more.
I live on intensity.
I breathe it.
The world spits straight fire down my throat so hot that all I can beg for is a drink to put it out,
And a shot to start the burn again.
Go deep.
Find depth.
I’m not bored.
I’m scared that the moment it stops, I’ll be less interesting to myself.
That the world won’t have a reason for me to be around.
I’ll be normal.
And I don’t understand that word.
This is the only norm I know.
The unusual.
The strange.
If I didn’t have this excuse, what would I be?
What would I call myself?
What excuse could I hide behind?
How could I explain the things I’ve done?
How would I explain my failures?
What if I didn’t fail?
What if it didn’t have to be so intense it hurt?
Even if it feels so good.
Love wouldn’t have to be so intense that it overwhelmed.
Passion so hot that nothing would ever live up to it again.
Confusion so baffling I couldn’t see a road out.
Joy so large that no laughter would fill it.
Chaos so overwhelming that the world would fall to pieces.
Pleasure so satisfying that nothing would ever be enough to replace it.
Past the screaming need for everything in spades.
For each emotion to be etched into me until I’m raw.
Way, way the fuck down there.
Beneath the lowest layers of urgency.
There is peace.
There is a quiet place that I can call part of me.
Part of the landscape of my soul.
Proof that I wasn’t always an adventurer.
Once, I was calm waters welcome moonlight to bathe across me.
I was a home where the word gentle wasn’t a foreign concept.
Where there was no race for adrenaline.
And that was okay.
All I have to do is take a breath and let myself submerge far enough to find it.
Go into the dark.
Into the deep.
Into the depths.
To Ink - a blog from Melting Neurons 