I am Your Nightmare…Radio Edit

I am your nightmare.

That monster that will never cease.

The reminder that life

is only fragile

if you lack scar tissue.

I am a waking nightmare

trapped in a body

that can never express

fear or sorrow.

I am a fearsome beast.

A dragon guised as a butterfly.

I snarl with laughter.

I stalk with a skip.

I flash my fangs in a smile.

I am your nightmare.

The personification of

political correctness,

but only out of occupational obligation.

Which of course comes with

self-loathing.

For what beast is really complete

without self-loathing?

To never freely say

or do what I want,

because this monster

dreads ramifications.

This monster that has

forbidden herself

to show how ugly she feels inside,

only wanting others to see

what they want to see,

and feel good about themselves.

This monster cannot

smash with reckless abandon

as humans can.

Humans who’s opinion,

so inflated by

self-righteousness

that it should pop

like a cheap party balloon,

unfortunately are the opinions

that stick to the mind

like a crusty lollypop stick,

but with the weight

of an naval destroyer.

So I guess it’s really

the humans that should

worry you.

Always pushing the monsters

deeper in the forest.

What happened to the days

when monsters were accepted

and appreciated?

Oh well, as the humans say,

‘That’s life.’

I’ll simply endure,

as always.

Growing thicker scars

as I try and assure myself

that political correctness,

and the general anxiety

for selfish progress

that is the human condition,

haven’t murdered

the essence of art.

Breathe.

That’s what I always

tell myself when humans

get me down.

They are just humans,

and I am but a monster.

Each of us imperfect

in our way.

The only thing to do

is to endeavor to not

roast anyone with my breath.

No promises.

I am a smiling dragon after all.

The Many Ways

There are many ways
a butterfly can die.
Same as any other creature.
Fragile to
the many ways
the world goes crashing on,
heedless of the damage,
because the prospect of progress
is too great.
What happens when the
butterfly gives up?
When of its own fruition
it leaves this world
who so obviously
has no time for its
brilliant colors and fragile wings.
This world that does not care
about anything
if it has nothing
to do with progress.
Will it miss it?
Will it even notice?
Or will it carry on, making up fresh
ways to disappoint the butterfly
who has sadly adapted to the curse of apathy.

Captivity

I am happy, can’t you tell?
I am provided for.
Food appears,
toys and water too.
See how I play?
Or try to at least.
I am allowed out,
a very long leash
some would say.
Just as long as I
check-out thoroughly before,
check-in whilst out,
and when I’m about to return.
Safety first.
We would not want
me running loose,
the world is very big
they tell me,
full of sharp-tooth predators,
I know.
Just once,
or maybe for forever,
I would love to breathe in
air that isn’t borrowed.
I would love to be considered
“free range”.
Lucky cows.

Braver

You are braver than you know.

Wiser than you think.

Stronger than your body.

More patient than…no, you need to work on that.

Your faith my waiver, but you always know there home is.

Your inner beauty is what creates your outer beauty.

You are a sublime outcast of my own design,

made to blend, but never belong.

You belong to me.

I AM who makes you all of the above.

I love you.

Not Worth It

Comparing

for what?

There is no comparison

Where words will not reach.

Bridges exist

solely because of the whispered sketches

of the mind.

Empty and shallow role models

are pictures of ancient statues,

one-dimensional mimics of a

history that so desperately wishes

to have all it’s former glory,

with none of the effort.

The greatest achievement,

the greatest life,

would be one that others strive to emulate.

One full of light, hope and love;

not hatred, bitterness, and frivolousness.

This could very well be

the rambling dream of a

bubble-headed girl,

who needs to learn the imperativeness

of normalcy and logic.

Not worth it.

That Familiar Road to the Unknown

It is a pulling sensation,

not unlike magnets

being drawn to each other.

The only difference,

I do not know what I

am being drawn to.

I can only see that

invisible tether

in the form of highways.

A vision that is so familiar

to me,

and yet now,

I feel as if I have never seen

a road before.

I know

the destination,

but have no idea

where I’m going.

Fill ‘er up boys,

this is going to be

one hell of a ride.