Tag Archives: Art

Minimalistic Pain

A steel box
Stainless for that minimalist touch

In case my blood drops
It’ll be real easy to clean up

A tornado of pretentious words and platitudes
A storm of unspoken emotions and digested traumas

Keep me shackled in this box that has no opening

Inherently luminant
Reflecting off itself

A straight jacket so fashionable
What is a trend but a system of control?

Freedom only in my self-infliction

But you would have to get close to see my pain
Close enough to see these chains

To understand how we are the same

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Mad Alice

I didn’t mean to tumble
I didn’t mean to fall
Down this hole that I abhor

I fell past the jeers of mocking laughter
The years of paintings and sculptures that alluded me
Past the grabbing hands of old lovers
Past the intrusive stare of failed ones

Choking on fumes of marijuana
And being deafened by the music that represents years of trauma
Past my mother’s knowing but silent gaze
And passed all my past foolish mistakes

I fell and I fell
Till I saw the future of my pain if I allowed my life stay the same
The tedium and the regret
The bitterness and the ways I recollect, shards of a dream I broke over and over again

Yet, there’s a little door out of this hole
The albino rabbit knows, that’s why he shoved me down here in hope
To face my fears and fight them and finally admit that I can truly run through the snow
No matter how bitter and cold, I should always know that those fears of the white rabbit’s hole don’t hold all the control

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Modern Ms Baker II

Dance dance dance

You can be like these carefree black girls on tv too

You can break out of the highrises and blocks that suffocate you too


You just gotta dance and prove you’re worth it too

And remember

Don’t complain.

Because if you complain Modern Ms Baker, they’ll say you’re clinically insane and act mundane to your pain


So don’t complain.


Not even when these men fondle your small breasts

Or make asinine requests

Or when they forget to pay you

And shame you for your success


You dance dance dance

Half naked, brazen and for their entertainment

Unashamed and so amazing

Alluring and captivating

The very best

They love to hate you.

They ask “Ms Baker, do you not have any respect”


People at home will shun you

For you are no more different in their eyes from a common sket


But remember to dance, dance, dance

My Modern Ms Baker


Your bed has been made and kept

A grave made by your struggles and success.

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My Heart’s Nerves/7:42am

A systemic disease that starts in the mind and eats away at the soul
Continuously making one search the stars and the earth below for things that can only be found within me

Entering healing waters only to have my scars permanently etched and aching
Pained and broken, I drag myself to the nearest doctor and ask for a physician, a therapist anything to bring me that light again
But then I wonder if the darkness is my light
If this is my road or path in life. To constantly seek the light

When I stumble and when I fall, that is not the be all and end all

I need to take grasp and hold of my sanity
Of the important things; the callous words of others that ring in my ears are nought but society’s ideals
And no ideals are more important than my own, the ones my ancestors chose before me and the ones that have plagued my conscience since I was young

I am tired of the vanity.
Tired of the unrealistic appeal.
I wish to see the ugly before the beautiful
The real essence of a world is not the luxuries it has to offer but the perseverance of a people in hardship

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Dimensions of Perspective

As I turned my young face to the sun

I looked at all God had laid before me

To young to comprehend it all, it seemed a thing of beauty

The smudged red, that grew brown at the edges like God had bled

Diving into the centre of the world, everything being drawn in by a fiery orange glow

A beautiful scene was created within me  and yet I sensed more energy

Brown, red, orange and yellow leaves framed this scene

Falling slowly off their trees, in natural poetry

Everything in my young mind was in perfect harmony

Set before me like a creative feast for my imagination

Stunning me in hindsight, from any true realisation

It was a depiction of the horrors that lie

The death that comes once the world had stolen your beauty and gone

The flame of your spirit that slowly dies every time you are unwise

The loud orange sounds of glee, turned dim and brown

Like a casket’s mahogany

Reminders of what this soon shall be

The remainder of Nature’s warm and loving beauty.

Soon to be swallowed till death is nature’s only beauty.

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What Is Art?

Art doesn’t feel like what it should be.

A feeling of freedom free from this world of social and emotional constraints

There is no freedom of flight in fancy

Or a direction of love and humanity

Or even of fear and wretchedness

Instead I am left facing the skulls of critics

Art critics

Something that was meant to be wholly individual has now become a place to put another intellectual pedestal

When does Art cease to be free from restraints?

Is it when one is depressed and lonely?

Or when they have finally committed that act of suicide

Van Gogh, we failed you

Basquait, I wish we had properly known you

But instead all we did was use you and monetise you

Disregarding the true nature of the pain in your fame

McQueen, though we hail you, we did not know the true meaning of bearing your name

Art is nought but a game to some

Too many a route to fame

But there is nothing to gain once all have wet their lips with your name

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Open Museum

Look at her

So sad and so frail


All of that mental slave work

Making her pale


Rocking and back and forth in a room without a roof

The wind blows

The scales move


Her body twitches

Her mind aches


But does it matter?

From the front,

All looks safe


Her smile is bright

And eyes fake

Florescent lights

You’re the deer


For you may see something painful

That enchants and make you fearful

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