the white binder cont. from old journal days

This is a poem that I wrote the other night when I couldn't sleep. I was up till 7am flooded with thoughts so here it goes...


Anger...hate...depressive actions...

I would LOVE to write,
About something else.
I would LOVE to write,
About a loving mother,
Who took one or me to her breast,
And gave necessary bonding;
Or a family that stays together...

Abuse is what I see instead,
A girl who gets raped, knowledge and carnal,
Again and again...

Tears,
That happen inside and out,
And sometimes happiness is a guise of tears.

God?, Now where did that god minded creation come from?
Shit, fuck, I cuss, you cuss.
Is our souls man's to damn each other to hell?
Who is this God of these religions,
To teach torturous justice?
Didn't everyone follow everyone else,
Except the one needed?
HA! It's man's version, insipid, some say,
Playing God to get each other's money.
God, or more properly named:
The Creator;
Cannot be bought with cash or attendance.
Fuck man's religions some of us say,
And their guile of truth!

Fear...Satan...darkness...
What are these names?
We've put a face to them,
Like an excerpt of our stupidity,
Or a fear of the unknown.

Fuck that topic,
Without life there wouldn't be death,
And without death, no life.
Standard biology, a cycle, some pro's agree.

Again I would LOVE to write,
About something else.
Something without the chaos,
The negativity,
The views of evil.

The simpleness of life would be great.
Roses, white tigers, a cat's purr,
A composer's composition,
And the great harmony and flow,
That a lot of great music has.
Reading books, and poems...

I would love to see heart felt love in them.
But I don't, not many tolerate the beauty anymore.
I see it all as a facade.
Like a world of politicians,
And car salesmen...
Get a good face,
But not the value...

"I will make you mad,
Angry, frustrated, and depressed!
You will not like me,
All the time, or at all.
I might even make you snap.
Be cautious around me, I lie,
Sometimes I don't give a shit."

Shouldn't we say this,
To someone new we meet,
Instead of "can we be friends"?
With the cunning intent sheathed.

We know were all guilty of something,
So there's no need.
We do not trust, but we do,
We fight, then kill, slaughter,
Cover up the past, change stories,
Create new points of view,
For people to believe in, conspiring,
Across the sea's near and far,
Knowing it started with wrongdoing...
Or was it not remembering,
'Cause it felt right,
Even glorious?
Wonderful? Consumed by feelings,
A desire,
A driving need to feel good,
About something, anything!
To SUCCEED! To FLOURISH!
To feel love, fill the gap,
Or find the missing pieces of us.
Maybe to feel found,
Acknowledged.

Some may feel this way sometimes,
And sometimes some want some,
To do something about it.
Save them or save some,
Who really need it.

Help! Help is the cry,
Of the world I hear.
Depression and loneliness,
Where are we?
What are we?
Confused.
Forgive, forget,
Hold the grudge?
Bored?
Should I have quit,
Or kept going?
Get comfortable,
Until someone else,
Finds an answer.

I would love to sleep,
But this is what I saw instead.
A world's insintct, individuals,
An instinct of my mind,
What it saw.
An overall aura of A world,
On the path to death and suicide.
Many would kill themselves now, today,
If it weren't for fear,
Guilt, hiding from a reality,
They don't know is real or not,
Only claiming it to be.
It's what drives us,
For comfort,
The instinct to live,
For survival,
Something good yet to come,
Amongst a tiny planet,
In so much twinkling darkness.

I would love to sleep,
Delve into my dreams,
Slip into my subconscious memories.
I cannot continue this for all,
Nor speak for all, only some, mainly me.
To speak for all,
Is only speaking for some or none at all.
Not all will agree,
It's in our instinct,
To not agree on everything.
The good, the bad, the ugly,
Five stars to no stars,
Sunrise to sunset's revolutions,
The eyes must shut now.
Good morning, good night,
I'm too tired to care,
Which one I'll fall asleep in...

end poem.

I might do more with this poem in time, it feels like it needs to have more added onto it. I have also noticed some weird things happening in my life since I decided to make "The Instinct" my screen name here.

My world is turning into more of instinct than not. I'm finding that my emotions are more, gee, how do I put this, more in the moment and trying to trust the moment? Not so boggled down by planning for a future that is always in motion-the angered life, a frustrated life. A less confused life this new one is, but none-the-less a bit more content and confused still with a mystery. Less concerned with the petty materialism and consumerism with what I am surrounded by. I hate the materialism and consumerism but I am walking a different path. When I think about it we just don't need it, I don't need it. I see separation from people, one's with their noses stuck in the air full of pride, a prickish attitude because they have a bigger or better car. Selfish. Government agencies who tell you what to do with your life when they are just as bit confused and lost as you or I are. Too many trying to get comfortable in a world that is uncomfortable as hell. Afraid, fearful of each other because of differences we have created in each other so much to the point of creating weapons and to control other's lives to feel more secure about themselves. These I feel are creations and we/I hide from our true instincts. The instinct to let go of anything unnecessary to survive or fear to lose.

I am finding that it's also in our instincts to be afraid. We are alone and we want to find someone or something that has an answer and this loneliness is terrifying us. So we take it out on the closest thing to us which is each other. Creating conspiracies and horrors to build more fear because it's also the fear that drives us, maybe entertains us. Picking, hurting, taking aggressions out on a weaker specimen because we are weak. I don't know about anyone else, but I want the truth for a change. I'm tired of being lied to, manipulated, and unable to trust the world around me. I am more insecure of this lying bullshit and feeling like I am surrounded by a bunch of demons who turn their back on things and each other that should and should not be done. I'm tired of people telling me to kill myself because I have a heart and feelings for others, a desire for people to come together. Tired of heartless comments to someone whose in need. Should I or someone commit suicide because someone is more angered, lost, or naive to a truth I have spoken?

Tolerate is what we are told, I am told. Put up with it because it's what is. Accept it. Well I say hogwash bullshit and question that authority. Question everything. It needs to be done to find the real answer, the truth, the fact. I cannot accept something someone says when they don't even know for sure themselves. Shit, I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore. Maybe I'm just trying to release some of this inner tension but reading it again always comes out with a new and different version. I see things differently each time I reread the same words. Emotions have changed. One time it's anger, the next is pity.

Ah, well, time to move onto other things.

Some viewers comments of my thread about the poetry contest hit home to me about how I used to feel about poetry many years ago and because of their responses I have completed and posted the contest for poetry called "Leaves of the Epic". I guess I'll see how it goes now. I can't give away any real prizes on here but maybe a certificate of award. That's okay though. I guess I can say that may flooding of thoughts that I had that day a couple entries ago was my minds way of giving my life an instinct of survival since my life had nothing in it. Nothing real important anyway.

I have sent a message to the administrator with a piece of my intentions about the contest I want to hold. I guess this is the beginning if all works out o.k....or the end of a piece of the beginning, or the end, or the beginning of the end.

Lately I have been just moping around not knowing what to do with myself. Not wanting to watch movies, play my guitar, write, read, nothing. No purpose to really live for. I was laying on my couch and bam this site came back into my mind and had the urge to post a poem or two online.
By the time I was finished getting ready, I headed out the door and the thought of a poetry contest began flooding my head. So I posted a comment about it in the poetry forum asking if it would be okay to carry out the contest here online. More to post on this idea if all goes well.

I am finding myself not online as much as I used to. First I have a kitty now whom I named Yoda. Second, I have extreme writer's block. I tried writing one the other day and destroyed it. My poetry and really anything to come to mind to put on hipforums here comes up blank. I guess my instincts are leading me elsewhere until I can write again. However, I do enjoy the site here so I don't think I will leave entirely. Maybe I just need some time off. However, writer's block is truely frustrating!