A Popular Part of Society

*Intro until the Guitar*

Your majesty,

If that’s really what you wanna be,

Well I’ll tell you how it’s gonna be:

I’m through, of sticking up for you

I even thought your thoughts for you.

I wrote down all you wanted me

And publicized all your fantasies.

You think you know what’s really going on

But you’ve got the whole world wrong!

And though I agree with unrealities,

You won’t get any support from me

Because I no longer believe in these

—These stupid ideas!

You are not a royalty

You aren’t even a kind prince

You really aren’t that dashing 

Because you’re a rake.

And always will be,

You’re the lesser sex,

You keep thinking

How you want

To believe

It’s up to you

I don’t care;

I don’t want to

Hear any more from you.

But me and all my girlies,

Well,

We’ll rule the world.

So,

Don’t try to mess

This

Politic game we’re in.

(Where you’re a pawn)

You have no place

In

The scheme of things.

You’re just a tool

To perpetuate

All of their lusty fantasies.

You’re a piece of rhetoric,

And you’re so terribly ‘motional,

It gets in the way

From having what you want to have.

See, you won’t get any sympathy

From me and all my friends 

No, none at all.

--Quit playing drama queen,

No one cares!

You can’t,

Get away with being mean

You’ll just get hurt,

And a bunch of stares.

Quit picking fights

And holding grudges

Forever.

You bitch.

You wine.

Complain about the times,

And think life’s just that way.

Well,

You’re the one who made decisions

For it to be,

And,

I want no part of it.

Even

if it means

trading

my white dress

for

a black one.

*RESPONSE TO COME, YET*
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The Reality of my Life

 A real poem about me.
I rarely write poems about myself. You may read a poem and think it is about me, but I don't like writing about myself. If my creativity is charged into a work and it accidentally turns out a lot like me, I can't help that, but I never set out with the intention of writing about myself. I like to keep a certain distance between myself and those who read my poetry because I find it disturbing for others to read my work and make analyses of the narrator of the poem, and if that narrator is me, then it becomes more disturbing. Plus, although I am comfortable talking about anything (few things make me awkward), I don't like to talk about myself because I have had a lot of rare experiences that can lead others to feel inadequate around me, or determine me to be too unique for their own tastes. I don't like that. I like when people see me as their equal, and if I have ever done anything, I want them to know that they too can do those things. However, even though my wish would be for people to look at me as no different than they are, it doesn't happen that way... I have a spectrum of followers: from those who worship me as a hero, to those who despise me as a creep and an enemy. If I could only make sense of it...

 In any case, I have a few thoughts sewn into my head right now that I want to unpick, and these thoughts are really about my life... I haven't had the most impactful life, but I have had an exciting one. And by exciting, I mean that my plot has plenty of ups and downs and twists and highs and lows --probably no more than the next guy--but it is at least exciting for me. Yet even with all this excitement, I desire stability. I've changed so much over the last 5. 10. years to where I have become nearly exactly what I wanted to be, yet I look at the past and wonder if I didn't change too fast and if I should have remained what I was. Life is about changing though, nothing stays the same even when we want it to. Equilibrium is probably the hardest thing to accomplish that I am aware of, and the easiest way to obtain it is to constantly spin in a circular motion. . . which implies that you really aren't resting. So in that sense I see my life as quite similar: it's always rotating, never stops, and it goes in and out of perfect balance.


Helping you has no Repercussions
By Kyle Oakeson

My heart broke years ago
knocked out of its resting place
I could never get it to balance again
and the copper wires and magnets
they ceased to keep pumping
so I suppose I lost my ability to love?

On the contrary!
My eyes were opened wide
and the Doctor shined his light
put some mud in them and let them dilate
and then I was healed.

You see,
I learned something about hearts
that you might not care about
but I care about you
and that's how it all works out

When you learn you can't love anyone
and no one gives you love back
and the tears swell in my eyes as I think it
You realize:
There are no repercussions to loving others

So if I love you and all your enemies
and you love or hate me
and at times I feel my tears turn to acid
and holes develop in my stomach
and darkness closes around me

None of that comes from me loving you
or everyone.
and that's not going to change me from loving you
You're my brother
You're my sister
You're my mentor
You're my friend

And I value my family above all else.
I know it's cheap to say that
Because everyone says that
But I'm not sure they really mean it
or understand it like I do

I may not be a prophet
I may not be a martyr
I may not be the greatest
But I try to act the way that He does
and say the things that He does

So next time you're down,
next time your life spins out of control
the planets don't align
and you feel so foolish
I hope you know that I care about you
And I value you more than you might value yourself

And when you need assistance
You're fed up with society
You're in the hands of enemies
You're being chased by wild bees
or You've made a mistake needs fixing

I'm here for you

Because I know what it's like to feel like you have no one
Because I know what it's like to be beat up
Because I know what it's like to be alone
Because I know what failure's like
Because I don't have a heart and it's a blessing:
Helping you has no repercussions

And one day I hope you see it all
One day I hope I've helped you
One day I hope this crusty mud
will help to heal you too

And this is my occupation?

To describe my situation: I'll pretend an Occupation; Take my pen--be a poet practice writing out my full thoughts 'It's so boooring in here!' Can I get a cheer? I'd even take a jeer in my direction--or a glare! --but there is nothing going on and the clock ticks get loooong as I jot down my freestyle to distract me from miles of words; repeating like a drum beat, my head, it's pounding, from the repeat. It's; blah-blah-blah-whatever! Let me out of creative prison! and finally give me some expression!

And this is my occupation?

We Know when you Aren't

           Damn, how’d she       get so pretty?      

           Was it birth or      is it make-up? Hey

         filly, what’s your    name— —Oh, sorry,      

           saw the ring. Are  they just imports,  

           And the ratio’s the same? The world  

            may have them, But so few in this  

              place. You think we don’t know

              But you change when you’re not

              Your skin clears up Your face

               Brightens. Hah, But that is

               not how we tell: Your hips

               get wider And your clothes

               start to rest On your body

              differently –It’s attractive,              

            true But if you don’t have a band

           Then it can repel to know That you

           were unfaithful some  time ago. And

            Now you will         live with that

             Mistake or           pleasure? I Do

                 not                 know

Son of a patriarchy

As soon as I get outta this hollow cave, lady 
I haven't had the time for you, lately
I even wrote this rhyme for you, maybe
but if I had a choice again I'd find you, baby
seek out your hiding place and dive through
separate myself from the crowd and fight too

but I've gotta work on makin' more money
find a way to put bread on the table, honey
you can't just have me in your bed at nights, tool
give me such a fright, fool
your fantasies with me are just a blight, uhhhlll
Prevent you from reachin' what you'd like --so

I'm gonna stay inside
my dungeon where I hide
come up for air sometimes
I hope that you're away
when I decide to try
Cause baby, 

all I care about is what I can get from you tonight.

Intrigue

Intrigue

I stand on the edge of a yellow wood,

Something that every writer eventually would.

My understanding, my voice

It comes down to choice

Do I choose this style?

What makes up a Kyle?

I often feel it is my wit

That sucks out brains with

My muse laboring in intelligent words.

But it could as easily be the words

Themselves insightful and not I

As each line goes bye and by.  

I should say it is my subject that counts

But there is no mathematics or amounts

And none of my subjects are the same

Because to repeat, in my mind, would be lame.

I suppose my style is that of the berserker

Because at times I am quite the jerk

I don’t even make patterns for myself

Because most of these poems sit on my shelf

I never touch them once I write them.

It is my head, while it is in REM

That writes these lines.

My style must be the mine

To the gems that are lodged in my brain. 

Pretend

Pretend

You are a zombie

I got all the harmony

You keep misbelieving

And thieving

Never stopped you from thinkin’

You had figured out, street kin,

Don’t want you to cave in

But you’re miss behavin’

You even doubt your own reasons

"Couldn’t be one of my sons"

I never did nothing but step in

to the scene You were creatin’

Your creatures slippery

And drippy

I never wanted to touch him

But you threw my fists in the dim

Fighting back all my logic

And using up all my magic

You torched and you blazed

Fire-breathing dragon you razed

Your future’s a furnace

And I couldn’t let it between us

So my sword in your heart,

As you clawed me real deep.

I’m fightin’ this.

Never would be there

How’d I even get here?

You fooled me with your charms

And locked away in your arms

I couldn’t hurt you

Or hate you

But I couldn’t escape

Couldn’t put on my cape

Get the hell from your squeeze

All I wanted was to be free