The paper of life is drawn pre-lined
With expectations society defined
Realigned, confined, remind me they're fine
Those lines that we take as signs
Are not divine, not a god's intervention
Just human retention
Of ways to quell dissension
We're writers, we wring our writhing hearts to restore words to paper
We think we're impressive but we're dissipating vapour, irrelevant labour, ignoring our neighbour
We were supposed to love them, that's what Jesus said, but we got it into our heads, religion is dead, the direction we're led
We aren't poets, we know it, we're failed usurpers and revelling rebels that thought they'd made their way through the seven hells, while ignorance swells, forget the gospels, silence the bells, and the preachers as well
Damn us all to hell
Lines, lines, inside every mind, a grid-work of expectations, starving nations, failed relations, poor imitations
Verticals arch to an archaic infinity, craving anonymity, breeding enmity
Turn the page, whirring rage, deplete the Stone Age, disengage
People are tools to write a machine, your hands are clean, bitterness seen, times are lean
Kindness is a commodity, somewhat of an oddity
Honestly
Stick with the lines, use me, abuse me, profusely
Write out my heart, tear it apart, into art, make a start, poison dart
To the chest, cry distressed, get some rest
No matter if you go up or down, the lines are drawn into a frown, on the forehead of free will, stand still, aim, kill
Disillusionment takes a chance, I'd ask you to teach me how to dance, correct my stance, your pen's a lance
Care for yourself before the population, disregard creation for imitation, but that train has left the station, we struggle within the lines' limitation
And call it Liberation
***
If anyone can make sense of this let me know bc I can't. Since it's technically the 12th where I am, I'm publishing this VERY early in the day due that the fact I'm really busy later.
Have a good one.
Alex xxx
BINABASA MO ANG
Under My Sofa
PoetryWhen I was little I wrote in the space under my sofa. Now I write on top of it. That's not poetic. I'm just too big to fit underneath anymore.