Changes for better and worse

It may be a new time

A new world

A new chance

To build something better.

But what if that new better

Is not going back to something?

What if the new better is

Leaving the people alone

Who do not want to create a new bond

With something old they do not want

In their life?

What if a new better

Is is creating something worse

To sacrifice something

For something else wished for?

Goodness does not come

From goodness alone

The meaning of it is not always

Starting new.

It is constant changing

And redoing does not always

Have to be done. 

Who said it was easy?

When so many want something

They cannot get

And there is the misery again.

Then they suddenly

Receive something else;

A change in life

That is not keeping the flame

Of an old friendship

That is unwanted,

But rather,

It is new in a different way

And a choice of them.

Not others.

Being

It flies across the sea,
across the sky and shall become the stars,
for it likes to do that, and the blood
shall run and expose the once hidden bone inside,
while the tears pray for happiness in life.

It watches over the land as a young girl with a muddy cloak
sits on a stump of a once lively tree,
crying as the thoughts of her loved ones
cross her mind.
It then turns to a boy
who watches the mountains as they seemingly
uproot themselves from the flatland
that are the valleys where the ravens gaze.

THE LIFE

See beyond- the gender poems

wishing they could see beyond

this girl body, the definition of me.

but nay, the bounds are still set--

they will not see.

and we humans think we are intelligent.

when we are only like spreading bacteria,

no different.

and i walk along the street

with silent, sultry stares directed at me.

so i have taken to wearing 'boy' clothes--

whatever those are--

yet they still want the flesh

my damned female flesh that will rot away

as i get older, older, older

and who cares about my stupid soul?

when they can use this flesh

and define me by this flesh?

who cares that i like to be neither male

nor female, when they can just

define me biologically?

who cares about my choices,

my damned choices about my life?

who cares if i do not have children

or do not use my defining womb

that people think is the entire universe?

we think we are the universe

and only spread like bacteria

yet we think we are so intelligent.

so why should i be weeping in this--

this physical female body

when i could be sharing my love for the world

in my genderless soul?


no need to tell me how to act
or who to spend the time with

or what to talk about.  

you would not understand

why i do not go after women

or even men

to use them to my own pleasure.

what if i just wanted to form

a bond with them through my soul?

you would not understand

why i do not want to use my--

my easily misused masculinity.

nor would you understand

why i do not need to find myself a doll--

a woman doll.

you lived with yourself, biologically defined

pressured throughout your life

to be purely male, i get it

so do not try to change my personality

and say my instincts will 'kick in

sooner or later.'

but when they do it is not like

i am not strong or intelligent enough

to keep my true personality.   

Rude

I should be mad right now

For I was once eating my lunch

A mere peanut quite hunched

And when it was stolen, I had a cow.

I only realized until late

That the infamous raven had stolen it

And flown away leaving me to have a fit

So my fingers were all I ate.

Oh, that raven! I thought 

And he flew away cackling.

Loyalty in our Confusion

I know I have written many poems
Said many things to you in vain
Sung indirectly many hymns 
Cried in the presence of the rain.

Therefore you must be confused by now
From all of the fleeting feelings I stress
And you understanding me, I do not know how
I am honored how you overcome my mess.

The same, to you I am loyal still
Keeping your love while sending my own
Equally and oppositely from my soul's will
Neither of us shall be alone.

Keeping each other tied to earth
Our hearts are flames in a hearth. 

Granted

We may think about death
as we live
and as we die
think about life

When we may take life for granted while living
we enjoy it while dying
and the ones we love
seem so longed for now

We may walk into the garden
and hear the music never heard before
and enjoy the wind more than usual
grazing through our hair

Slowly things pass
never to return exactly alike
with its predecessor  
and we wander the small forest trail

So where is the hope
as we step onward on the ragged stones
uncovering sharp obsidian and sweet flowers
and do not know when it will end?