A Mad Bath

I'm sticking to my pockets
Because they are full of mud
And it makes me remember
What we did
Yes the mud makes me remember
Life before November
When I wouldn't so much as yawn
Yes the mud makes me remember
Life before November
When I wouldn't sleep or yawn
But my eyes were wide awake
And my mind would take and take
From all willing to give
And I listened when they taught
And built a mind of thought
Because
I learned from all the world
My pockets full of mud
Better that than blood
Reminds me of what we did
When I was not afraid
Or tired
Or ashamed
And the mud dripped down my face
We spoke to all the trees
And the flowers
And the bees
And we knew that they
Understood
Then my mom yelled and screamed
At the mud inside of me
But i knew
That it
Wasn't real
And I said it is okay
This mud will wash away
From my hands and from my sleeves
But I'm sticking to my pockets
Because they are full of mud
And it makes me remember
Waht we did

Movement in Motion

Lets be moved
By the wind and all we've known
Let them shout at us and say
Your oceans over flown
Put it under wraps
Control it
And leave it off the maps
No one will ever call it home
Let them say to us
Your diamonds are not Real
They can crack and they can peel
From the dirt beneath your toes
The mouse that you let move you
Stuck you in his trap
Bathed you in poison
And called you a rat
These are not yours
Even if your name is printed
In metallic sand script on their nose
No one knows
Your Egyptian dictionary
Is missing the page
That states today's events
On the main stage
Its a cellophane wrapped tiger
That no one can see
He his screaming and yelling
And screaming for free
He moved the wrong paw
You moved the wrong card
Set the alarm
He called you a rat
He called you a rat
And you ran
It moved you
The noises you heard
Beneath the basement stares
They moved you to the street

Self Portrait

Your breaking open my head
Can see every bit of me
You can see all I've put you through
And the walls lined with colored silk
You stand in the midst of a fairy tale, a romance novel
Screaming at the top of your lungs
Thinking you'll be heard
You speak to others
But you speak to yourself
And unlike the others, you speak back
You take drugs to stop the pain
Because you don't realize your already numb
With a million stab wounds
A knife in the back doesn't hurt so bad
You hear music in colors and in food, in people, in noise, in objects, in objection
You hear music everywhere you go
You have a face, but you don't know it
You can't recognize it when it looks back at you from the mirror
You raise a striped flag because you don't know where else you'd go
And you wear clothes that aren't yours because you don't know where else you'd fit
You know that it is always harder walking away from the light than toward it
That it never gets easier
You can't help but feeling smaller than everyone else in the room
And wondering why you look your age but can't act it
You know toy deserve much better but can't seem to reach it
And all you've ever asked for is happiness
Your life is ironic in a way that makes no one laugh
And the only thing you've ever trusted
Isn't real
You know speaking your mind is important
But don't know why
You know when enough is enough
And how to put a stop to it all
You don't know what your saying until its already said.

If

If all the colors in the world blended together would we really be an different? If every song flowed into the next like every river flowing into the ocean, would it all be the same? If the trees started asking "May I cut off all your arms?", would you let them? If they asked "May I cut off your legs so you are just a stump in the ground, immobile?", would you let them? If the sun stopped shining onto the earth to punish all the sinners, but just happened to catch all the innocent in the crossfire, would it be just? If the lilacs turned red like roses, would they still be lilacs? Would they still be as beautiful, or would they be competing with the tulips, just like the roses? If the world danced with you, all the trees, all the walls, all the people, all the animals. If the world danced with you, would you call it home? If everyone stopped destroying everything and learned to create, what would happen? If every falling building was turned into a work of art, would the gray be as gray as it was before? If everyone in the world decided to start caring, and save our dying mother, would we still cry over the things that don't matter? Would we still care about our money and our clothing and our jewelry and our cars? Would we still believe that the mark of success is how many homes we own and how many hotels we can buy? If I were to say that all the broken children are more beautiful than everyone else put together, would it make a difference? If I am not who I say I am, am I still me?