War Is Just A Violent Euthanasia

war is just a violent euthanasia

lay me to sleep with your eyes like minefields and blood painting the grass red. behind those gun barrels are mother's children and father's sons, daughters, men and women. shoot to kill and wait until you see the whites of their eyes, the explosions behind their eyelids on the islands of violence because the war you fight outside is exactly the same as you fight on the inside- guns don't kill people people kill people and people kill themselves, blow their brains to bits on the walls behind them because they can't stand the walls inside them. war is not courageous and it must always be done out of sight or else everyone might see the truth that every gun hides a person dying on the inside and every bullet you fire has been on its way since the moment you were born, the moment you began to survive. you were born to survive and made into existence, a creation of suffering and torment in the way that the only way you can survive is by killing someone else. how do you live with yourself? you don't. too many guns and too many knives, so much pain hidden on the inside. guns were made to kill but please, not you. please, God, not you.

Kill Your Heroes

Did she know what would happen when she let herself feel alive? When she undid the chains that bound her and got rid of her ideals?

Did she know that in order to survive you have to kill everything you ever believed in?

Did she know it would take so much longing, so much destruction. Did she know how.

She cried herself hoarse screaming reaching out for the things she could not describe,

was left speechless to explain. Even if she had a voice she could not have used it. So instead she made a list of indescribable things that could not be translated, and needed only to be known.

Her words were her only reprieve.

Made into something she didn’t want to be by the ideals someone else created, she was trapped inside her own mind.

She broke every window and held onto every inch of ground she gained.

She was not meant 
for a life in a glass cage, 
playing at happiness. 
Children can only be childish 
for so long.

She grew up, and when she did: 
she was strong enough 
to kill her heroes, 
and brave enough 
to become her own.

self-portrait (or, an autobiography in as many words as it takes to give the wrong impression)

for you to read this: there had to have been someone to write it. someone with their eyes closed, head back, waiting for the words to come. those words aren't for free. the cost is their sanity, their livelihood, their mind, their soul- whatever broken beaten down part of them is left. head down, wake up with eyes heavy and lungs drowning in words. these words that get caught inside their chest, worming their way between their bones and into every crack. it's a damn sight to clean up. broken bottles on the floor, painted pages and dreams out the windows with a list of "what did you take this time" that made you think you could fly? there's always someone waiting, someone behind the words, desperate, waiting, watching to see what piece of their soul gets taken next. there is only so much to give.

what kind of person are you?

he said what's wrong? i don't know, i'm just not much of a morning person. it's not the morning, he said gently. oh, well i suppose i'm not much of an afternoon person then either. but you're not a night person, he said. i know that much. well i'm not much of a person in general, i think.

star-spangled noose

that red white and blue don't mean what it used to don't stand for truth, justice and the American way. actually, it might stand for the American way but no one wants to acknowledge what that's become: the American way used to be noble, used to mean coming up from nothing used to mean love and strength and courage used to mean standing up for the little guy used to mean "I'm with ya till the end of the line." now that flag ain't a flag it's a noose and our national anthem is the sound of it creaking 'round the neck of some poor boy, some girl, someone who died overseas, someone who doesn't believe in a God that has the same name, someone who doesn't fit into the idea of what a boy, what a girl should do and feel and the American way means being terrified of what is different and making a living off someone else's pain. stars and stripes don't stand for unity when all they are is just lines keeping us apart, the world made up of borders that aren't even real. it's just lines drawn in the sand we pretend not to cross. that red white and blue ain't so pretty tied around your neck, hanging you from that cross you pretend to bear. we'll all salute you when we walk by.

a list of untranslatable words

schädenfreude iktsuarpok sillage tacenda mono no aware dépit koev halev hi fun kou gai lebensmüde mutterseelenallein natsukashii saudade tante toska weltschmerz xinteng viraag wintercearig zhaghzhagh yuputka luftmensch gumusservi glas wen boketto kummerspeck fernweh komorebi pochemuchka backpfeifegesicht aware waldeinsamkeit gattara mamihlapinatapei won wabi-sabi litost ilunga cafuné torschlusspanik hyggelig l'appel du vide ya'aburnee duende gezelligheid hiraeth lykke setsu nai tan-te forelsket kilig commuovere mokita dépaysement verschlimmbessern flechazo koi no yakan firgun psithirisma yuanfen mo chuisle mo chroí merak onsra aay'han ethi sehirlilestiremediklerimizdensiniz esperar kos la douleur exquise uitwaaien