Horizon (Poem)

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I found her, Lydia, the final piece of the puzzle.

Her sisters were nothing in comparison.

Chewing through all she gave me broke my jaw.

Fighting back my heart snapped my ribs.

Lydia.

Lydia, you are d|v|ne.

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I also write books + it would be damn swell if you were to purchase one or two. ❤

www.linmtba.com

Universal Understanding (Poem)

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I was recently looking back on some of my previous blog posts, reminiscing on the blind happiness that I was once such a slave to. That isn’t to say it was a bad thing, not at all in fact. I was oblivious for a year or two to the horrible things that happen ever day but eventually I was worn down and couldn’t let my emotions be self contained. In a moment of weakness I broke down and afterwards I was filled to the brim with frustrations and self-doubt, worry about the world and all manner of other plagued thoughts. I forgot to focus on the simple things that I had built so much of my blog and business around. I know I like to spin the “blog + business” thing a ton, probably too much but it is so close to my heart. I need to reiterate it here every so often that GME + S+I are so damn important to me.

Because of that, I wrote Universal Understanding. A poem about not being shitty to one another, because I am working every day to remain focused on the good. To accept the evil in our world for what it is and fight against it every day. That’s what I started all of this for, I can’t give that up because it grows difficult.

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Slightly Broken Heart

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I have this rough draft for you today, and it’s really from the heart. I go through these patches in life where I get terribly sad for reasons I don’t know. I always push through it and try to make the most out of every situation but that doesn’t mean that those feelings never happened. I don’t want it to feel that way.

I was struggling pretty badly the other week with loneliness and where I’m at in life. I’ve spoken on it before, so I don’t want to bore you with more of the same, but I wrote this poem at six or seven in the morning after a sleepless night of my mind thinking without end and I just needed to get something out and onto paper, and this was the result. This won’t be spoken word, for a few reasons, because I don’t think I’ll be able to recite it out loud without losing it to some degree. On top of that, I think that there is a lot of emotion in this and I don’t want to influence that with my personal inflection. This poem can stand for broken heartedness for any number of reasons. Just because it’s about relationships for me doesn’t mean it has to be that for you too. I think that I want it to keep that raw feeling. Those emotions that I wanted portrayed won’t be the same to any two people I don’t think. I want that. I want you to feel this however you need to feel it, not necessarily how I did.

I hope that you do.

If you had told me ten years ago,

That I would grow to become a man I didn’t know.

I would have laughed in your face.

 

There’s nothing about this place,

About this version of myself that

I ever hoped to know. The man with broken windows.

 

I weak door stands a sentry as the entrance to my home.

A gargoyle nailed into the wood,

Telling all that would wish to enter, just go.

I would make him leave, if I could.

But the door to my home is guarding leaking foundations

Faucets rusted over and rotting false wood floors.

Published statuses for every second,

Stand still in time on a computer I don’t use.

My house was raided, and it stayed my course.

As if one event was enough to knock me down.

To get me off my horse.

Of course… the pride I sustained I built into the walls.

These halls are pained and angry.

Mosaic paintings from times I couldn’t stop my falls.

 

If it matters much to you, I’d rather just stay here.

Falling in love with people on the internet,

Begging homeless men for free beer.

 

It’s as if I’m just a shadow. A hollow home for sure.

Maybe that’s the reason I haven’t seen you by my door.

Maybe it’s the doubts and deprecation I insist on handing out.

Depreciation of the value in regards to the ones that I care about.

 

I guess that’s what set me apart.

Because if you had told me ten years ago,

That I would become the man I am today.

I would have laughed in your face.

 

The man with a slightly broken heart.

 

A Cave of Numbers

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I wrote this poem on a whim the other day, after hearing some kids rating all of the women who walked past them at the store on a scale of one to ten and saying whether they were “fuckable” (I’m serious this has to be put down.) I definitely lost it. Probably for infinity. So my mind started whirring and out came this poem where I imagined that these kids were basically just stuck in this little bubble in the center of the world and their job was to rate people based on appearances and the whole idea of having a personality kind of went out the window. I’m sure that this concept will be expanded on in future poems, but I liked this one’s start. It sort of evolved as I was writing it to include any numerical statistic that people use to put other people in boxes, because I honestly hate all of it. We are not a grade point average. We are not a weight. We are not a rating. We are not the number of follows on our Twitter feeds, nor are we the number of views on our blog.

We are all independently amazing for reasons that some of us can’t seem to fathom. We are precious gems in a huge, vast ocean, waiting to be picked up. Not to be sold, not to be fetched for a price. We are to be cherished. Somewhere safe. Somewhere happy. That’s what I want for all of us. You are not a number, and if you have to be. If you force yourself into a numerical value, I will always see you as a perfect ten. No matter what. You are incredible. You are shining for all that you are. Don’t let the world try to dim that.

A Cave of Numbers

 

 

In the center of our universe, there is probably a cave.

A cave filled with slaves, with creatures counting numbers.

People put in groups to tame us.

To change us, into what they think we should become.

How much fun, if we could find that cave and blow it apart.

Our lives are not a value,

But rather, we are simply valued.

Beyond measure, beyond statistics and ratings.

Gold stars and hearts define our twitter mentions,

A One to Ten system won’t decide the sum of all our parts.

There is tension, in your bones. Across the muscles in your back.

The sides of you that you don’t show,

Like ghosts that hide inside the holes.

Your mind, like mine, is littered with them.

Little heads that bob up and down.

Yet we’re placed into a box with those that are like us.

Yet intrinsically, we are so different that our minds have

Completely different topography.

You and I are good friends, sure,

But we can’t be close because you’re a ten and I’m a four.

But the numbers that we boast, don’t make a difference

When we’re dead.

So why should we let them get into our heads?

The space is already stolen, by those ghosts that hold our memories.

The ones that we have chosen. The good, the bad, the broken.

The hearts that we put there ourselves.

That’s the key. The fact that we are the only ones who have a key ring.

So don’t let these ratings and percentages stop your soul from singing.

You are not a 54%, an F. Your writing is unconventional.

The only thing that is a 54% is the parts of you that are exceptional.

Like the rest of us, your soul and body are two different parts.

Both add together to be complete, not 100.

Your person is not a number. You are like fine art.