In every corner

We will find you in every corner
In every alleyway, elevator and bedroom
Behind every closed door we will shine a light
On what you have done to her

We are popular now
You are out of fashion
We are well known
You are simply known by many

We have rules
If you abide by our norms,
Riches and fame. Otherwise
The opposite is your bounty

We do not care about the particulars
The root problem,the explanations, excuses
We are too popular now
And we don't notice exceptions

Don't try to escape from the corners
When we find your there, fist clenched
Do not run to the grey center
For us there is only black and white

You have hit her
If she asked for it
It was not your duty to oblige
It was your duty to question

Why does she want this?
Why do I?
What will this fist do to her?
What will this fist do to me?

If it weren't for us
These four questions
Would be rhetorical
But now you know they are not

She held herself in low regard
You held her in low regard
It will leave a mark on her forever
It will leave a mark on you forever, or

Her feminine narrative is outdated
Your masculine narrative is outdated
On impact she was forced to face reality
Now you are forced to face modernity

She was angry, fragile, destructive,
You were impulsive, reactive, not thinking
She was dropped without notice
You have been dropped without notice, or

She was after your fame
You were after your dominion
She will settle now for your infamy
You now are her submissive, or

She is a jaded, deceitful sadist
You are an innocent, adventurous sadist
You got unjust pleasure from her pain
She will get unjust pleasure from your pain, or

Or, or..
You get the point
You didn't consider the effect
We won't consider the cause

A stop sign means
Stop always, and look before proceeding
Some people just fly through
Thinking the day will never come

But when you hit her
She became innocent
Far more than pedestrian
And you have no case

We won't join you
In the grey center
Debating just cause or consent
The debate is long over

The debate has survived millennia
And we are tired of it
Never hit her
Even if she asks, begs

We know why she asked, begged
Even though you didn't
How rude of us,
We forgot to introduce ourselves

We are victims, past and present
Forced to these dark corners
When we wanted sympathy
We were given no audience

The corners are our abode
We will shine a light on any intruder
When you hit her, you escorted her to the corners
We'll take it from here

We are only armed with flashlights
All we can do is scare you
Each and every one of you
Who take liberty with our flesh

You must feel deceived, embarrassed
Unable to express yourself, but
Without a friend int he world
We know exactly how you feel

This is not a safe alley
Hopefully you'll do what we do
Try to warn others
Not to walk these dark roads

Because they will find you in every corner
Be rough with you, take pleasure
And not think of the effect
It will forever have on you

New land

Why am I asleep to what could awaken me.  Why am I awake to ideas I should sleep on.  Inspiration cannot take root in these soils.

Goodbye to yesterday

At night, enough hours after the commotion has settled, the errands have been run, my food has digested, my plan for tomorrow has been cemented, I touch the ether.

With my mind alone I touch the smooth and warm fabric of my existence.  Muttering words to myself as if recording a surgery, the extraction of observations from my cerebral cortex.  Out there beneath the night sky I remember what was forgotten.

We already know what is true.

My eyes are closed as I write this.  You know what I am talking about even if I forget to cross a 't'. My eyes are closed because I am not making an observation, I am receiving a sensation.

I am in love with tomorrow.  Actually, no, let me be more mature.  I am in love with yesterday.

Yesterday is the only thing that I know how to obsess over.  It's the only thing I feel I cannot have, now that I have made the transition from feeling young to feeling old.  But tomorrow is starting to look tempting.

When I was young, I was passionately in love with tomorrow.  When I got older, taller, faster, fitter, more intelligent, more successful and wise, I was going to find the greatest love.  And I was going to be the greatest lover.  But I wasn't any of those things yet.  Each yesterday left behind was good riddance; another leaped-over hurdle I was happy to have never really touched, for it would have slowed my progress had I actually endured the stumbles.

But now tomorrow is right in front of me. It's the closest day to today so all I can do is lament on the furthest day away - yesterday.  Yesterday is gone.  It's gone, they're gone, we are no more, I don't remember most of what happened or why it was important.   But I'm in love with it.  I think about it in different colours and different shades, what it would have looked like in the sunlight and what I remember it to look like under the moon.  Each day I try to recapture it, because yesterday is where I left my treasures.  Yesterday is where I left my books, my poems, my drive, my passion, my discipline, my focus.  And each day I open the box of yesterdays and poke underneath the clutter with my mind because I'm certain I left my map in there; absolutely certain in one of those yesterdays I jotted down where I was going.

But each book is now blank, each poem has been swallowed by lovers past, each passion extinguished by circumstance, each discipline interrupted by worry, leaving my drive and focus moot.  The past is dead.  Each yesterday is either a dark empty void or blinding hellfire.  

And that's why it's been so hard to write as of late.  I keep trying to impress yesterday.  I keep trying to impress yesterday upon myself.  I get confused combing through the dark box of yesterdays, eyes wide open, as my fingers comb through those mysterious coarse pages, trying to make observations instead of receiving sensations, I confuse those coarse sheets with the soft ether.

For tomorrow, there is little truth in yesterday.

So tonight I close my eyes to receive the truth, and tomorrow any truth from yesterday will appear to me on its own; I will not despair for the lies that remain hiding forever in my past.  I will not search in the shadows for truth, not even in those I have cast.