Browsing Human Nature on deviantART

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to the starsI’ve got this arrow
curled around my finger
like Apollo’s heart
& your nicknames
engraved on the inside
of my lungs.

I don’t want to write
pretty little stanzas
or pick at the seams
of your poetry
like some deadbeat
psychology major -

I want to
scribble profanities
all over everything;
shoot down your moon
& wear her
like a charm
around ink stained
wrists.

I want to
take you
to the stars,
& leave you there.to the stars3 days ago in Visual & Found Poetry

Psychotic ramblingsI, in the eternal void rest,
Am the unwanted thirteenth guest,
Insane, deranged and psychotic,
There are people who even call me sick.

Isn't it joyful and greedy to demand
A sacrifice of strangulation at the reach of the hand?
Cure the poisoned in a prison built of mental sand.

Murder is the solution brought by the resolution.
Is this the final, one and only conclusion?
Better think again, there will be no retribution.

Death is not the liberation, just the beginning.
Is there eternal peace? The solution is sinning.
Unacceptable lies become the truth, the chaos keeps spinning.Psychotic ramblings3 days ago in Free Verse

Redeeming Light
Read bottom to top:
.
there
journey
e
h
t
and the stem is
than the flower must be redemption
n
i
s
are
If the roots
Redeeming Light2 days ago in Free Verse

a true writer's souli write to release
i write to breathe
i write to feel
i write to bleed

i don't care
if you don't understand
i don't care
if you can't relate
i don't care
for your opinion
i don't care
about you at all

my words are thoughts
my words are emotions
my words are curses
my words are memories
my words are everything
i want them to be
and fuck if you can comprehend

i could write in measure
i could bother with rhythm
but i'm better than your rules
i'm beyond the margin

i'm a fucking psychotic mess
of ambiguous lunacy
that only the ones that think
can understand
the ones that
are just like me

fuck your critiques

fuck your citicism

fuck your opina true writer's soul1 day ago in Free Verse

Candy Coated Lies1 day ago in Visual & Found Poetry

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Life Haiku.We obtain our want
We realise discontent
Forever searching.

© Rocio Belinda Mendez 2013Life Haiku.2 days ago in Haiku & Eastern

What IfYou try to mold me into whatever you desire
But what if I don't want to be like you?
What if I want to be my own person?
What if I want to make my own choices
And not be spoon-fed like a newborn?
I want to be my own person,
But you take me like batter and try to turn me into what you want
Not what I want to do in life,
What I want to accomplish
You call me weak
You say I'll never survive in the 'real' world

But what if I want to go my own way?
You call me a baby
Just an infant
Who wouldn't last
But I'm ready now, and it's my life
Not yours
You say you're there to guide me
But you're getting in my way
Of living my life
My wayWhat If3 days ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

MaskUnderneath that mask,
What do you feel?

Is it a burden
Or is it a shield?
Is it a disguise
For your emotions and lies,
Or is it a barrior
To conceal what you feel?

Is it to protect
From danger and to heal,
Or is it to hide
Your psychotic side?

Was it always there
Created with care,
Or was it forced by others?

What’s your secret;
What do you mask?
When will you ever reveal
Your hidden side?Mask19 hours ago in Free Verse

EmptyAnimating ideas is the cruelest form of self-mutilation;
It is the fool-tested, masochist-approved tradition of
Draining an artery
And convincing like-minded patrons
Their existence was somehow lacking
Before they experienced what leaked.
The torment is knowing everything spilled,
Over time, will be replaced and
That the vocabulary, edge of the animist’s blade,
Grows sharper by the syllable for having wounded.
With a pool that never deepens and
A blade that never dulls,
The inevitable result is the cultivation of
An artist so honed that he or she might convey any emotion,
Regardless of depth, with the slice of a single word.
AgonyEmpty3 days ago in Free Verse

today just isn't goodi'm afraid i'll go cross-eyed
from smoking so many cigarettes;
these days, i can't help but look
at the smoldering orange tip, the ashes
created when i inhale deeply,
then glance straight ahead at the smoke
pluming from my lungs.today just isn't good3 days ago in Free Verse

FOOLS2 days ago in Visual & Found Poetry

An Elegy to the ObjectRest your grey swans, your winter is over;
Their songs delight the fruitless heath.
Alas! The country wizened drover
Grants his good wife your dying wreath.

And all things bear my homespun sheath
In which you sleep as you depart,
And all I have I did bequeath
To you: the object of my art.

Yet, still your rotting soul does impart
A whisper through the bolted casements in me,
And I for one, must have a cold, cold heart
To beleive you lived for my elegy.An Elegy to the Object3 days ago in Traditional Fixed Forms

the fountainthe first words were not
sun and moon and stars, but oh god I will wear this
power like a bearskin - like a drum machine in a chicken-bone
key. carnivorous

instinct is the sum
of all the parts we're too afraid to eat:
black wires, white bulbs, wicks from tallow
candles. if they

would let us, we could make wax
breathe:

we could hunt the essence
of smoking fluorescent galaxies, all our
strange living lives and neon paradises, all our
blue planets and disemboweled sacrifices, if only we could

breathe while below us the round sky winds down
and holds bone to our throats, so we
are spilled, forced up
and wondering:

if sugar were
sweet, tthe fountain1 day ago in Free Verse

IdealistShe fucks the policy
She spits on the vanity of the rich

She dreams of a just world
She dreams of an easier life

So tonight, she came into the street
So tonight, she will launch of the stones
So tonight, she will yell her despair

The purpose of this night
Show to politicians that she has also a right to existIdealist18 hours ago in Free Verse

vu ja dereduced
to
living in hollows of our own

& a hopeful sort of sad;

only with you, are
last drags not so
bad.vu ja de2 days ago in Free Verse

Public DomainInternet thunder:
the rumble of an argument
on my Facebook feed.Public Domain20 hours ago in Haiku & Eastern

weighti almost
had it
then i choked

i was thinking any of those islands
would have been enough
space for me
but we flew over not underneath
and the fucking light fell in an exclamation point
choking, holing up in the back
of my throat
with all that

space

my heavy space
unravelled me
like touching a photograph
of lightning,
inside out
from the mirror to the toilet
like something wrong,
like the sky, forbidden,
incorrect.

tonight it was purple out,
the city floundering, sitting wrapped
on top of itself like a huge octopus.
i kept washing my hands
and choking.
it didn’t work
but i almost had itweight16 hours ago in Free Verse

Writing InsomniaThe wheels are always turning
In a grueling sort of fashion.
Count the beats per measure,
Numbers don't lie.
They’ll paint a picture
That the children understand,
In the language without letters
Like a defunct garage band.
Useless sleeping,
Useless lying.
Danse Macabre is playing in the background
As ballerinas dance before my eyes
In a gruesome parody of
Horror-movie thrills.
The killer’s already been introduced,
So let the speculation begin.
They want you to guess it
To prove that they’re
The smart ones in the room.
WriWriting Insomnia2 days ago in Free Verse

I take the busI take the bus as a metaphor:
a desert island populated
by people who have no choice but to
wake up every morning and endure each other

Survivors

Because that’s all we humans do
we survive
pretending not to stare at each other
standing so close together
that the spaces in between are ignored

The only time we’re ever still
is on a moving bus

I stare at their shoes
to avoid staring at their faces
and try to guess
what kind of person they are
and whether or not they’ll survive

There are two types of people in this world:
those who wear different shoes every day
and those who don’t notice what they put on their feet

I take the bus2 days ago in Free Verse

23:47.2 days ago in Free Verse

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Playing the AngelShe laughs with her hair thrown back
Her white clothes all blinding to the eye

I watched her, mesmerized
But then her clothes began to turn black.

The ink splotches came, little by little
As she spoke each tiny white lie

With an angel's voice she spoke
Words that drove me down from the sky

Her feathers, now falling apart
Drift longingly upon my face

Now, in the dark, I see her
As a raven in an angel's placePlaying the Angel3 days ago in Free Verse

Now HaikuSave tonight, right now
Pause it there, forever more
It is now–– that counts.

© Rocio Belinda Mendez 2013Now Haiku2 days ago in Haiku & Eastern

the awkward**words are always getting tangled up on my tongue
like somewhere on the way to my mouth from my lungs
riding on a highway, a skyway of oxygen
skatin’ over bones and their insides of collagen
at motorcycle speed, drive up the sides of my throat
only to come out o’ here on a completely wrong note
like, everything i try to say
comes out in the wrong way
like russian roulette ballet
i mess it all up~
i try to tell you how i feel on what’s almost a daily basis
but over here, my voice is breakin’ vases,
your faces, i can tell that i’ve said the wrong thing
in this game i’m too early or too late with my swing
i kthe awkward**3 days ago in Urban & Spoken Word

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