Home » Charts » Poetry » I’d rather read the stories of the contorted then the memoirs of the constrained.

I’d rather read the stories of the contorted then the memoirs of the constrained.

I’d rather read the stories of the contorted then the memoirs of the constrained. Disobey the sentimental bureaucracy that tries to stifle your intuition and follow the white rabbit down as many holes as necessary, law and order used to govern our everyday existence but now we disregard the status quo and have started tearing up our pages, I used to follow the paths that were nothing more than a painted oasis in a desert full of distrust and dissatisfaction, I wasn’t even walking on sand but a beach made entirely of the ashes of the believers that fell foul to the sacred promises of the songs on the radio and the bright lights of the movie screens, Contravene your better judgement and scrap yourself off the pavement sitting outside the door of the apartments of your former flames, wipe the welcome sign off your back and promise me you’ll avoid the run,as you leap head first into the first of the arms that try to signal your return, You’ll never finish last if you never enter the race that was never designed for the likes of us to enter, so let the players partake in their games that make them become the people none of us ever dreamed of and write the words to your own tale in the style of your own choice, I’d rather read the stories of the contorted then the memoirs of the constrained.

One Reply to “I’d rather read the stories of the contorted then the memoirs of the constrained.”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Related entries

Because Angels Are In White…

The poem is on Doctors who were heroes to us in the time of Covid-19

The Book is Being Written

How we observe and how we reflect.

The Dreary Faceless

The observations and reflections of a traveller in a foreign land.

The Model House

The facades of a perfect home.

The Woman Who

This peom is about a woman in my life, who is suppose to be there for me but is not.