I am not the sum of my parts.
I am not just limbs, glued together,
with basic motor skills and the ability
to differentiate right from wrong.
I am not just a kid, or a boy, or a man,
or a New Yorker, or a thug, or a poet,
or a consumer, or a statistic,
or an artist, or a worker, or a jock,
or a writer. Nor am I Fotis.
I am whichever way my heart wishes to beat.
I am whichever way my mind wishes to think,
I am however my eyes choose to see and
my hair decides to fall on any given day;
I am the actions I take out of pure anger, rage,
love, or passion and the doubts I have when
I have finally been calmed down.
I am a microcosm of the beauty that surrounds me,
the epitomized entity of all that is good in the world.
Or, better yet, chooses to be good.
Evil is in my blood, which is why I bleed.
Labels are for products.
You cannot itemize my existence.
It was my
Until I took it upon myself
To raise the armrests on
Either side of my seat to
Make it a throne. And now
It is my
iwanto SCREEEAAAAAM athetopofmylungs
but I know that God doesn't want to hear that...
What a joke. (please don't smite me)
I mean, aren't contradictions the bas...
I fell in love, once.
With a broken heart…
It had fallen through the cracks
Of my stone-faced façade,
And managed to find
The bloody, fleshy companion
She had chased...
I heard her say...
and I swallowed my heart.
My mouth was dry, so the delicate skins
grafted against each other.
It still had a beat to it, dull though it was,
as it trekke...
Dear God, it's me, the one you lost,
the boy one step behind.
Dear God, it's me, freezing in frost,
for it seems you have lost my mind.
Dear God, I can hear, all of them,
I love the smell of your hair.
I love the passion with which you call my name.
I love your eyes, whether they are
Loving, or questioning, or patient.
I love the way the wind mol...
I hate you.
I have signed my resignation
from your voluptuous ways.
You have influenced me past repair.
You have taken the expansive horizon
that is ...
got this idea after reading "I Had a Heart Once" by Metaphorest. original idea, just inspired by the monologue. enjoy.
Scene opens with Frank, younger man with eyes that tell us that he ...
He sits alone, his distant frame nothing but a shadow sinking away into the blackness.
The only movement is that of his chest.
Up. Down. Up. Down.
Long, spread out breaths that seem ...