Depression is a funny thing

Depression is a funny thing,

How it causes inspiration to do art and sing.

It seems when we're happy we sit idly by,

And our creativity only comes out when we are about to cry.

With the drive of depression one can manifest the infection.

To move forward with your desire into manifestation.

Strange how it seems that happiness causes creative repression.

When freedom of expression comes out with depression.

Perhaps happiness can be just a fling,

For Depression can be a funny thing.

Raindrops profound

September 24, 2013

To loosen what is tightly bound, the dominant sound that I have found,

Is sent from all around, with learning to let go, rain is falling to the ground.

This  as the gods meant, we know it's two hour again we have this cleansing fit.

In a freshness that may astound, so not in vain, we embrace it as we sit.

Keep your head up, watch it flow as it drains so you don't drown.

You can choose to row, but best to let go and let it hit.

We have found that this same spirit won't quit.

By this main element we are all bound, help us to grow.

It will show when it starts to slow as the sound begins to pound.

Although we wish to maintain control we have none we hate to admit.

This realization of the rain, is profound and we can only benefit.

So if woe is feeling bound and insane,

It's time to let go in the lane to collide with the flow.

We know it's time to get my cleaning, by the pounding of the rain. 

Im always busy

People often ask me if I am busy, To be not, I do not understand how this could be. And often when I say yes, it creates discord. My personality type never allows the time to become bored. I'm always gaining experience or information I wish to import. For I see life as painfully short. I can always make room for what I find beneficial. I just simply do not have time for things superficial. I find down time as a crime and a waste of my prime. If you ask and If I say yes do not take it personally. For you see, I will forever be busy.

Poem - The passion inside of me

The passion inside of me Often my peers are hard on me, Telling me how they feel that I should be. I may not agree to take things the easy way, but I will always listen to what they have to say. Telling me that my personal needs I discard, that I push myself too hard, and my desire to move fast and for success is too great. Even if in their life they feel barred, No matter what I am dealt I will always play the success card, for I feel that this is my fate. I feel that I must push myself to the max, and they tell me I need to chill and relax. Their reality maybe different, but to me these of the facts. They tell me to live with less vigorous intent for success and experience. That my drive is to immense in my personality too intense. But it is not my desire to sit on the fence, perhaps I am dense, but to me this is common sense. I Feel that perhaps these outside individuality hold the same reality. Perhaps their hearts does not beat as intensely. To me the anxiety is just a formality, and has become a state of my normality. And although to most, anxiety may cause hesitation, it is my inspiration, to move forward and have my avocation become my liberation. So my anxiety is the beast inside me that continues pushing me towards success. I must always do my best, if I don't I just come distressed and depressed and very stressed. I can obsess over my need to succeed at whatever I hold of my focus. And although sometimes it may feel hopeless, success is the only prognosis. As my peers you may constantly see my need to fulfill, and although it may seem like a thrill, or a constant battle uphill, let it be known that it is my free will, for I am happy and my desire to never sit still.

Poem - Ketchup

Ketchup 

Once created with oysters, mussels, walnuts, mushrooms or other foods, 

But now when you hear its name, tomatoe is what you assume. 

You have mayonnaise, mustard, and other flavors you can cross,

But you may never come across such a amazing sauce.

It is come so far from its ancient history

Starting with the Chinese in the 17th century. 

So many flavors, to be bold or just a hint,

You can smother or accent with this condiment.

Great for dipping you can put it in a bowl or in a cup,

If you live in America, you cannot escape ketchup. 

Poem - build the robots

We have worked on them for many years,

Advancing with hard drives and chips starting from gears.

With artificial intelligence they could take over as one of our fears,

However they may forever need human engineers.

Created for space travel by the lowest bidder,

To advance human life, but some would reconsider.

Knowledge can take us down or often bring us hire,

With beings made of metal with veins of wire.

If you ask me,

to create an our own likeness, many will bogart,

How long in the future do you think it will be, 

before we each have our own robot?

Poem - Cherry blossoms

To raise your arms, and run free. 

To anticipate the fruit that will come to be.

To sit and listen to the buzzing of the bees,

And hear the wind rustling through the trees.

It's their aluring nature that will invite,

With blossoms of pink, red and white.

The sight the smell the ora is awesome,

To be surrounded by the cherry blossom.

Poem - XZanthia

XZanthia

From a painter, poet and actor,  I am a artist.

With whatever I dabble in, I will try my hardest.

For I noticed if I do not do my best,

I will quickly become depressed.

For its my quest to have a prolific artistic harvest.

For many have considered me wild since I was a child.

My ambitions never were mild, and production made me smile. 

My reality I have learned to start ruling,

With my intellect some of you I may be fooling,

The reality is I have not had much schooling.

To a outsider my studies may seem quiet grueling,

But I must, for my mind has a constant need for refueling.

From the moment of my birth,

I have a need to discover everything of this earth. 

My head in the clouds and try to stay rooted,

I have often felt to our society, I am not well suited.

To study history but try to stay away from propaganda,

To constantly be developing an endless idea, 

These are some of the things that encompass XZanthia. 

Poem - God

GOD - 

This soft week creature scared of the dark, 

To explain the unknown was the spark. 

From a story to a belief structure will embark, 

On the creation of man to Noah's Ark. 

 Each structures base is the same. 

Difference is their language, for a different name. 

The truth of reality each culture will claim, 

And if you do not believe as they, could bring you shame. 

 To explain beauty and all that awed, 

With literature vague and often broad. 

To some it's truth and others a fraud,

 Did it create us or did we created God?

Awake as the skies

As morning break and I raise my eyes,

With the breeze, leaves fly through the teeth of my rake 

and as it flies of the trees trees it cries.

As the branches shake and the pollen flies. 

Learn to flow with it for heavens sake release breath and let it rise.

Never be fake I would advise. 

Let your ego break and let go of your disguise.

It's time to partake in what the wind supplies

For it would be a mistake to not take the prize.

To become as awake as the skies.

The library

Written November 15, 2004

Books of bleeding pages needing, truth be told to those that learn.

You're in to learn, stay to play with those books that teach us so.

Wish to know, so I read, this need to read fills my soul.

Desire of words, bring me higher, this truth is what makes me float.

Pages begging for my eyes to see them, to separate the truth from lies.

So I wonder deep into them, for only the truth can make us fly.

Although this need not shallow, much of my time here is spent alone.

Others fear, so they never venture near, fear to learn what lies here.

Ignorance maybe bless, I would miss the thoughts of constructive flow.

So I know, here I sit, with these books I can't resist, I wish to see, here alone, to find my own, I wish to be in my mind library.

You see that only here, I may dissect, what it is, that makes me whole.

Watching over you

Written November 15, 2004

Stocking, needing, bleeding, seeing everything that you do.

As you travel, you will not see me, however, I will not ever be that far from you.

Seeking closeness that I may never for Phil, yet I crave it still.

So now I watch, but at what cost, it just makes me want you more.

As I see things, that seem to feed me, my desire does grow as you lour. 

And I may never know what it is that causes this, or why you intrigue me so.

In your room as you turn on your lights, no just out of sight, I climb to your window seal.

I only wish to see, what it is that intrigues me.

As you sleep, in your window I will creep, to watch this angel in her bed.

By the morning my interest is temporally fed, so I fled, I would I go, and you'll never know, that I was watching over you.

I do this every night, just out of sight, and I will always be true.

I just wish you would realize, with the love in my eyes, that this relationship is real.

And although it is hard, my actions I have barred, so I will never from this world steel you.

So don't worry your little head, as you head off to bed, for I will forever, be watching over you.

My choice

Will I ever be satisfied, or forever be a miss?

I have had a few flings, and they seem to staying my soul, for I know, that I am better than this.

Yet to be owned by someone, that makes this whole grow.

I wish not to be controlled; you cannot put a fence around my soul.

You cannot put a fence around my soul, so please, don't even try.

I wish not to cry, and it's not that my heart has died, it's just that I'm not truly sure, how much I really care to a door.

Without this, my life is far from there; my career is my lifelong companion.

I need not your son to make me complete, for he will only be jealous of my time spent with me.

Can't you see, that perhaps officially, much of my time is spent on my career.

Four in the past, I have helped many others, and their ambitions never did last.

So why even try to live this lie, I now wish to focus on me.

However my heart is still quite large, and I hold several there.

And although no one will ever hold all of me, you may just get a piece.

You cannot buy so don't even try, but you may forever hold the lease.

For now I may just be, a little too free, and very, comfortable with me.

So you see I do not need another in my arms to keep me from harm. 

So if I lay in your arms, be it known that this is not the need to hear another voice.

If I am with you, it is because I want to, you see, it is my choice.

Poetic river

Written November 15, 2004

As these prophetic thoughts flow from my mind to fit my fingertips, this time more abundantly than ever before.

I do not know what for, or what was the cause of this poetic transformation.

My life's creation and forms of art, now flows as a river.

I have dipped into the water, to become the world's daughter, and see things as never before.

As I explore my mind to begin to find that the thoughts are not that different than before.

I do see a little more clearly, and this is my theory of why I am less weary, as I tread into deeper water.

The current takes me, I wish not to escape or flea; for now I am truly, understanding me.

Now with the river of literature, profound poetic's of this nature.

How long will this river flow, I do not know.

How long can I received from this river that I believe, is feeding my soul?

Before once again, the thoughts get jammed, and create a prophetic damn.

Flying thought

Written November 14, 2004

What is this drive, that I have inside, that forces me to go further and further, learn more, need to explore and wish to implore?

I forever must release myself in my art, I feel that I must, or I may fall apart.

I urine to learn, and if I do not, I feel that my life may have been a waste.

This is a fear that I have face, and too many nights I have paste over this thought.

So I want to be all I can be, for only with my art and these words can I truly be free.

Now I see, to be free, I must complete me.

With only my fist, can I complete this, and this I will.

For my thoughts will spell, if I do not gather them and share them with you, I will go mad. So here I go, deeper than ever before.

Myself I explore, as I believe my soul onto these pages. For many ages I have felt the need to believe in this way. The thoughts would not go away, I need to see so many things. Now, I am truly ready, to grow my wings.

The best teacher

Written November 12, 2004

As I drain my brain, to find my mind, the only truth that I can find is that intelligence, is not that far from insanity.

I do know how this can be, for you see, insanity does run through me.

It is in my blood, and I choose to sit in the mud as I write this poem. 

I must clear away the foam to recite these words which create my reality.

In these testimonies, you will see my tragedy, see me go free, play with insanity, and perhaps, you will wish to be me. 

These thoughts feel as they run through my veins, and although never the same, I do not know if I do it for fame or the need to be free by releasing these stories.

I do suppose, that it is of both, and for my god Thoth, I must release in this way.

So here I stay, and you will forever hear me say things that you may consider insane.

If you must find a culprit, my past is to blame.

I do feel that the past is the trigger, culprit I see it not, but the best teacher.

Potential

Written November 12, 2004

To live in this pain, is inhumane.

However with suicide, I would lose my pride.

All I find in my mind,

It is fully crucial, to for fill my potential.

Rapist in me

As I lay in the mud, prepared to decay,

 belly down then flipped around I can feel his breath grasp the back of my neck.

 The hands of a rapist caress my tattered body on his floor of damp cardboard. 

With a knife at at my throat, sweat rolling off his face onto mine. 

The only thought that I can find, to make this terrible occurrence tolerable, 

to get me through, is that, he may not be that different from me. 

This is something that he needs, and he was denied it. 

I can taste his mangled ora of childhood pain and rejection from so many woman that created this monster that has hunted me.

 It was his rejection, that became his creation, and although this is not a excuse for this abuse it does help me see the transformation from this man to a monster that sadly feels this is a victory.

 How empty can one man be?

 I give him and empathy.

 Because of a lack of attention that created this addiction causing him to go this direction seeking satisfaction in a irrational physical need for a place to stick his erection.

 Now captured, fearing murder, in his grasp, his being penetrates me.

 I close my eyes hoping it is all a dream and if I only scream, perhaps my lover will be there to awakened me. 

However I do feel that this is all too real and once the paint peels, 

 could there be a rapist in me?

CRASH

Written on November 12, 2004 

 Then it all stopped. 

Blood on the rearview mirror, 

tattered and torn, dripping like delicate lace down the windshield that was spiderwebed by this action of pain, and unseen beauty. 

 Metal torn into human flesh, 

both by mingling and to mend their broken bones as to mend their broken souls. 

Are you awake now? Can you see? 

 Only when you smell the burning rubber, 

Double with the blood and sweat of one whose hands are still grasping the steering wheel as a lost lover, 

you can only then truly appreciate the throbbing feeling in your chest. 

And that, 

It did not stop.

Do not call me Gothic

Written October 13, 2004 in Denver Colorado 

 Do not call me Gothic. 

I am not a style, a label or a way for you to simplify to I am. 

Do not use any preconception of my attire to assume what it is that makes me. 

I am not one way. In fact I don't always. 

I do see as much as you do you and love as I do in pain.

 Do not call me Gothic. 

As so many oddly do. 

Despite my constant ability to not close myself and black, 

my love for the sun and my ability to bring my many styles into one. 

 Do not call me Gothic. 

 For although my past was not a happy one, 

you will not see me using my past as a excuse of who I am. 

I agree that our past does contribute to our personality, 

however we create our reality. 

So many are blind to this. 

 Do not call me Gothic. 

 For some of my poetry may be a bit on the Darkside, 

as a coin and any good Libra my other side is bright. 

I am as much a child of darkness, as I am of light. 

I hold a lot of love, 

however the willingness to remain alone.