Also, does anyone know why the last poem I posted refuses to appear on my page? It's in the gallery anyway. Bugger devart. I love devart.


ErinLight, and life, and laughter, These things are easy to love.Erin
Like you
Youre a song and a dance, Youre the sunshine.
When I held you in my arms, I melted away. And when your smile was only for me, I almost choked on tears.
But darkness, anger, hate Who could love these?
Do you have a poster of Ed Gein on your wall?
Maybe there is music, or beauty, or mystery in me. But so is there murder.
I carry genocide in my heart, Rape and torture in my belly.
How could you love these t


My Kind of PeopleWhen I am happy, I am a child.My Kind of People
Would you fuck a child? I don't want a pervert. So I must also be a caveman.
But to release the child, To release the caveman, I must be a monk.
And now a poet, too?
It's getting crowded in here. Something will have to go.


WritingI used to want to write.Writing
I would sit down with a blank page And force my hand. When nothing came, My stomach would tie itself in knots, My chest heave and my heart ache. I had suffered! I had loved! There was poetry in my soul! Why couldnt I squeeze just a few drops onto paper?
I wrote very few poems during this time.
Now, I dont care very much about writing, But sometimes it happens anyway.
Quite a lot, actually.


Going HomeLong ago, I can hardly remember it, Freedom was an afternoon with nothing to do, And chocolate.Going Home
Love was football, and bedtime stories.
Not so long ago, Freedom was sprinting barefoot, Cliff jumping.
Love was poetry And something made under sunsets.
I can remember, too, When freedom meant freedom from love.
It seems like only yesterday That freedom and love were creations of the mind, Illusions to be overcome.
Now, Freedom is lying on my stomach, Beating the ground like a b
--
self injury club [link]
--
If your cat barks, it may not be a cat after all...
--
War is Peace
Freedom is Slavery
Ignorance is Strength
Previous Page12Next Page