you're not obligated to swallow anything that you despise
Go without
'Til the need seeps in
You low animal
Collect your novel petals for the stem
And glow
Glow
Melt and flow
Eviscerate your fragile frame
And spill it out on the ragged floor
A thousand different versions of yourself
And if the old guard still offend
They got nothing left of which you depend
So enlist every ounce
Of your bright blood
And off with their heads
Jump from the hook
You're not obliged to swallow
Anything you despise
See, those unrepenting buzzards
Want your life
And they got no right
As sure as you have eyes
They got no right
Just put yourself in my new shoes
And see that I do what I do
Because the old guard still offend
Their pudgy hearts and slimy hands
They've got nothing left of which we depend
So enlist every ounce
Of your bright blood
And off with their heads
Jump from the hook
You're not obligated to swallow
Anything that you despise.
How I feel right now is the product of my personal view of myself and of the manner in which I reflect myself to those around me. I have spent a lifetime burning bridges. Flaming monuments cowering against a dimming horizon that testify to a destructive and callous view of this beautiful, confusing world. This is the very moment when I am placing my hand unknowingly to the pen. The pen to the paper. Thoughts melting to words. Symbols that beg the eye and tug at the edges of my tattered soul. An unconscious confession, a need for change, a ransom for growth that until mere seconds ago I was not able to express. I sit here alone at work with a half empty glass of water as my only vice. As I hydrate, I am speaking in tongues in my head. I am speaking to myself about a path. A path that until this hour on this day I could not imagine salvaging the strength to forge.
They say if life we are all lost. The restless rebel in my depths has refused acceptance of this fact, harboring a lingering resentment for my own inability to seize control of life's little catch. God bles her bleeding, tyrannical heart for trying. Terrified of changing directions, clutching a broken compass and gripping tighter still - a resistance to admittance of any fault. A little girl who never wanted to be wrong grew unknowingly into women with paralyzed potential. A feeling that walks my dreams almost every night. Circled by vultures and shadow boxing with those who desired to love me but could not withstand my boundless energy for conflict, I began to believe that I was trapped. Condemned to a fate worse than death. A life that repeats itself like an old videocasette. Sinking into the bottom of a bottle like Alice in an ocean of her own teardrops, I waved a white flag to those who sought to conquer me. I have celebrated my own defeat for nearly a year.
It wasn't until I realized that surrender does not demand a loss of pride that I become hungry again. Hungry for a renaissance. Today with my hand cradling the pen. The pen dragging the paper. I vow to ressurect from the sad ashes of self destruction. The cheshire cat will continue to whisper on my shoulder to me "it does not matter which way you go, as long as you go somewhere." It's only now that I begin listening. It was always so simple and I wanted to be so complicated. Walking a tight rope in the wind when really all it takes is one stilleto in front of the other on the flat fucking pavement.
'Til the need seeps in
You low animal
Collect your novel petals for the stem
And glow
Glow
Melt and flow
Eviscerate your fragile frame
And spill it out on the ragged floor
A thousand different versions of yourself
And if the old guard still offend
They got nothing left of which you depend
So enlist every ounce
Of your bright blood
And off with their heads
Jump from the hook
You're not obliged to swallow
Anything you despise
See, those unrepenting buzzards
Want your life
And they got no right
As sure as you have eyes
They got no right
Just put yourself in my new shoes
And see that I do what I do
Because the old guard still offend
Their pudgy hearts and slimy hands
They've got nothing left of which we depend
So enlist every ounce
Of your bright blood
And off with their heads
Jump from the hook
You're not obligated to swallow
Anything that you despise.
How I feel right now is the product of my personal view of myself and of the manner in which I reflect myself to those around me. I have spent a lifetime burning bridges. Flaming monuments cowering against a dimming horizon that testify to a destructive and callous view of this beautiful, confusing world. This is the very moment when I am placing my hand unknowingly to the pen. The pen to the paper. Thoughts melting to words. Symbols that beg the eye and tug at the edges of my tattered soul. An unconscious confession, a need for change, a ransom for growth that until mere seconds ago I was not able to express. I sit here alone at work with a half empty glass of water as my only vice. As I hydrate, I am speaking in tongues in my head. I am speaking to myself about a path. A path that until this hour on this day I could not imagine salvaging the strength to forge.
They say if life we are all lost. The restless rebel in my depths has refused acceptance of this fact, harboring a lingering resentment for my own inability to seize control of life's little catch. God bles her bleeding, tyrannical heart for trying. Terrified of changing directions, clutching a broken compass and gripping tighter still - a resistance to admittance of any fault. A little girl who never wanted to be wrong grew unknowingly into women with paralyzed potential. A feeling that walks my dreams almost every night. Circled by vultures and shadow boxing with those who desired to love me but could not withstand my boundless energy for conflict, I began to believe that I was trapped. Condemned to a fate worse than death. A life that repeats itself like an old videocasette. Sinking into the bottom of a bottle like Alice in an ocean of her own teardrops, I waved a white flag to those who sought to conquer me. I have celebrated my own defeat for nearly a year.
It wasn't until I realized that surrender does not demand a loss of pride that I become hungry again. Hungry for a renaissance. Today with my hand cradling the pen. The pen dragging the paper. I vow to ressurect from the sad ashes of self destruction. The cheshire cat will continue to whisper on my shoulder to me "it does not matter which way you go, as long as you go somewhere." It's only now that I begin listening. It was always so simple and I wanted to be so complicated. Walking a tight rope in the wind when really all it takes is one stilleto in front of the other on the flat fucking pavement.