Don't Worry, it's Just Pretend.

The most I could ever ask is for you to give the world a chance before you cast it away,
unimpressed
with the way that it pretends to be like the lives you see on the t.v.
Is it too hard to take a breath, and use your legs to venture out into the open air?
Is it too much to ask for you to use your voice to speak your own thoughts,
instead of those you hear spoken to you?
The most I could ever ask of myself is to give up the world for a chance for you to be better than this,
because I'm not impressed
with the way you pretend that your life is just like those that you see on t.v.
Is it too hard to change your mind, and use your thoughts like legs to get into the clear?
Is it too much to ask for you to use your voice to sing through the lies, confusion, and fear?
Do you still have a voice, I wonder.
You have the choice to stand idle or wander.

The Trick.

Words are bars to cage oneself in.
Talk a box around the body, and see what can and cannot get in.
The sentences written and spoken-
to ourselves, to each other-
are in many ways interconnected to what we feel,
and the connections we feel to our sisters, and brothers.
There's no denying the movement, there's no denying the pulse.
The beat that falls into line with the beating of all of our rhythmic hearts.
But should that drum stop beating, should that connection- that rope anchoring us to shore- be severed:
what's to stop us from drifting out to see to float aimlessly forever?
It's important to manage ourselves, to keep morality within stable limits.
To force boundaries upon our hopes and dreams, but still continue to try and live them.
It's a game that we all play, that we all must see played to understand the fundamentals if only we could get it down ourselves, maybe we'd be better off.
The trick to winning is not to take part.
The trick to winning is to only make art.
The trick to winning is to make what you feel, to create and inspire no matter what's up, down, right, wrong, imaginary, or real.
The goal is inevitably up to oneself:
a prize only obtainable to yourself.
Maybe something small, such as food to stay alive.
Maybe something materialistic, like just enough money to get by.
But before money, we had freedom; and before freedom we had ourselves.
We built our homes with each other, fed and clothed one another in the hopes that we'd all be willing to help...when the time came.
But the time did come, and not everyone was there to stand their ground.
So the social contract came into being: we can only have our liberties if entrusted with all others' liberties.
It is that freedom that coats the very fibers, the spindles upon spindles of wires, that run through each of us on this Earth.
While some of us are oblivious to the pain of others for various reasons, there are those who are still being hurt.
The trick is to open the eyes.
The trick is to open the mind.
It's a trick not often done in these times, but come hell and high tide, it's time to sign on the dotted lines.

To pay where pay is due: once and for all.
The trick is standing up on our own two legs, and to be stable enough not to fall.

Perfectly Imperfect.

there’s color in honor, only the best;
and when the sun shines through our windows
we sail away like untied ships;
our futures’ at stake, and we play these games
like a spider weaving its web
in spite of the incoming rain.

in debt to the best of my world,
all amounts of money could not repay
the decisions I’ve made,
the family I have;
and how imperfect they are.

we are not perfect, we are not best,
but we know this and try just like all the rest.

Mad the Hatter.

for or against, it makes no difference to most.

from the gutters of the street, to the businessman’s toast:

do us all a favor and pick a side.

because war makes no sense unless someone lies.

just do us all that favor and justify

our disconnect to each other, and lost moral ties.

but it’s easier to win if we all unite,

under one shared belief- that we are right.

cheated out of rights, and left for dead.

this country has become rotten

from the inside.

children unfed.

the little man, forgotten.

all thanks to greed inside of small heads.

I’d give it all to stop them

from tearing everything apart.

for or against, it makes a difference,

choose your words wisely or never speak them;

actions are louder than words will ever be.

it’s far too late for sorry to mean anything.

do us all a favor and pick a side.

because war makes no sense unless someone lies.

just do us all that favor and justify

our disconnect to each other, and lost moral ties.

but it’s easier to win if we all just unite,

under one true cause; turn all the wrong to right.

all the wrong to right;

rewrite all our rights,

and put down the wrong, tonight.

for or against, it makes no difference,

as long as your with us.