Tag Archives: Freedom

The Miseducation of the misunderstood

The Miseducation of the misunderstood

Harbors overwhelming anxiety

Which creates layers underneath the shell

Always home like tortoise, but

I am a nomad in my own body.

The feeling of loneliness sets in every time one of my personalities decide to leave.

I am wandering

Invested in a venture that is company to misery.

I declare communicative bankruptcy.

Do me the service of sending all my messages

This misinterpreted status will be one for the books.

Face it —

Who are we without the royalties in freedom of speech?

Too many unwritten rights you have, that wasn’t taught to me.

Do you know me?

Do I know you?

How valuable is identity to a thief?

The only benefit in this hijacking

Is the doubt that you will actually understand that…

I volunteered, but I never asked.

Never raised my hand in class.

So many questions that still need an answer

So many answers that should be questions.

What will be the solution?

It seems I’m the problem.

I am a weapon – non lethal

A dangerous mind shooting stars

Trynna reach the moon, cause I was told that’s as far as love can go.

I am a victim of time!

Trapped behind the bars in the same cage the bird sung.

Those melodies still linger.

The ink blots begin to show.

I think it’s bleeding through!

I use to dream in cursive until…

Murder she wrote.

Now it’s killing me softly.

The standard is to understand

The extreme is to overstep.

The Miseducation of the misunderstood can’t be taught only felt.

-Leighrick

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Broken Pedestals

Don’t lose sight of the light.
I close both my eyes, but
Leave the third one open-wide.
Absorbing and Transforming,
Life is a canvas already been painted on; which color will you use to highlight the accents?
How many ways can I contrast the madness?
We are often too busy adding structure to the broken pedestals that once seated those you placed highly.
Deceived if depth can’t be seen without views of the horizon.
Still can’t hear me yelling – only seeing me naked.
This one really speaks to me…
Eye can’t teach them to listen.
Splatter paint like emotion wherever I go.
The world is my canvas. I create in the shadows.
Wash that mask, under that mask, beneath the skin.
Peel the flesh back like old pages.
This book is blank just like the canvas.
Invisible ink disguised as experience.
Squeeze the color out my veins, and witness the light ooze through pores.
Decorating the pews they are glued to.
Stained with the truth not illustrated on the glass.
Looking out the window is living in the past.
Breaking that window is living.
I’m breaking my silence how trees uproot sidewalks.
I belong in the street.
Driving myself crazy, playing hide-n-go-seek with self-identity.
Don’t be lazy.
Chasing my tears to the waterfall of my dreams.
Flowing…
Now I’m glowing..
I stay woke.

-Leighrick

The Last Train, Until…

Picture ya life on the subway –
Labeled a runaway.
Always taught to chase dreams, but catching them was never imagined.
On the train til infinity, where every malfunction exceeds a boundary.
The sky ain’t the limit, its the ticket.
What’s the difference?
I can see beyond the colors of the prism.
I have touched many moons.
Floating – weightless –
Patient.
Healing myself, still doctoring the wounds from when they severed the ties to my portal.
The only home I’ve known, now it just seems as if love don’t live here no more…
So I roam.
Telling the streets my secrets.
Leaving tattoos when I spit the words penetrate the skin.
The concrete cracks.
A Rose emerges.
The train door closes before I even look back…
I pricked myself on the thorns, I wail as the horn sounds…I realize
My overstanding reality is under attack.
-Vigilant Leighrick

Broken Open

Still in a room,
A broken mirror reflects flawless smiles of all those that once stared before it.
Gleaming eyes looking for themselves in fragments of light.
I can’t yet see through.

Walking…
My tears and the street lights create stained glass.
Looking at memories abandoned in pictures, and the pain that is sheltered, buried, and concealed in temples.

Implicitly.

Shattered and now broken open.

I pick up the pieces with the roughest edges first.
I cut myself — countless times.

It hurts not to scream!
As a child you are taught that silence is comforting,
Explicitly a fools gold, a dastardly violence.

The blood has been contaminated with secrecy.
Life’s own mystery;
What good is the knowledge of hystori if the truth never gets told?

Exposed.
Undressing wounds
I see myself in rare form….beautiful….
Vulnerable.

This bigger picture envisioned is actually a puzzle;
we are each others pieces.
There are no borders, filters, nor frames….
Regardless not everyone fits, still you are..

Limitless…

-Leighrick

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Coroner on the Corner

This one here is for
The little boy in the corner,
The little boy on the corner,
The little boy in the coroner,

The man in the mirror is
some bodies little boy, somebodies little boy.

Crying shame,
Try Finding strength.
Crying bullets, not in range, but enraged.
No tears at all, because no bodies there to catch them
Nobody is here to listen.

Foreign to intuition.
Imperiled by institutions.

You said you had my back, but them you caught me with a knife.

This one here is for
The little boy in the corner,
The little boy on the corner,
The little boy in the coroner,

The man in the mirror is
some bodies little boy, somebodies little boy.

Idle body.
Absent mind.
Hidden in the darkness.
Played follow the leader and was misguided.

This is for you kid!

All through life you grow up hearing,
“Don’t do anything stupid”
But in every experience you obtain knowledge.

Lend them your soles to walk in, so
They may feel the exhaustion, and
Be aware of the mileage.
Only look back to see how far you’ve come, then
Keep moving forward.

This one here is for
The little boy in the corner,
The little boy on the corner,
The little boy in the coroner,

The man in the mirror is
some bodies little boy, somebodies little boy.

Life seemed so simple, when you use to play with toys
Now some of these toys make a much different noise.
That can take time away in the form of lives.
That cannot be reborn, because this is not a video game.

A spectator let loose in a playas game..

This one here if for
The little boy who needs his mamas kiss,
The little boy who needs his fathers attention.
The little boy who yearns for love and affection.

From the cradle to the grave

Pour out a little liquor, keep swallowing the pain.

this little boy looking in the mirror trying to teach himself to be a man.
How to withstand the loneliness by himself, looking for a shoulder to lean on.
The ridicule of the free man telling him to jump, but he knows
Deep inside he hasn’t felt his wings growin’.

Be in control of emotions.
Retain focus.
Push yourself and you may be able to help someone else,
Keep going.

Life is a test of your patience and gratefulness.

King your time will come.
Build your empire with wisdom
Your heart of gold will make your bloodline rich.

This one here is for
The little boy in the corner,
The little boy on the corner,
The little boy in the coroner,

The man in the mirror is
some bodies little boy, somebodies little boy.

All the tears you accumulated are meant to,
Get you through the hardships.
Establish relationships.
Discover true friendship.
Your battleship is sacred.

This one here is for
The little boy in the corner,
The little boy on the corner,
The little boy in the coroner,

The man in the mirror is
some bodies little boy, somebodies little boy.

Smiling.

til Kingdom-come.

-Leighrick

Break Fast & Read Slow

Break Fast & Read Slow.
This morning I sit contemplating, scrummaging through synonyms and personifications. I take a stab at exercising mediation and writing being in sync.
Once upon a time I believed that communication in relationships [i.e Family, Intimate, Friends ,etc] was farfetched. Telling one person, let alone the world how I feel? Never!That is…until I picked up a pen, maybe it was a pencil, or maybe I was sitting at the computer abusing it with my bead eyes and frolicking fingers.
Since then I have been pursing creative writing. First – I wrote with intentions of beefing up my confidence, but more importantly I found an outlet. The feeling is natural, as I began to simmer down writing became a healthier alternative for expressing myself, and the way I feel.
I have dissected every syllable and ingested every doubt. Collecting memories like recipes, and holding them close like secrets.
No longer do I believe that I am restricted to pain, sadness, tearful joy, trauma, warm love, oppression, heartbreak, etc to produce a gem. The pressure has ceased, and all these ingredients are just that.
As appetizing as it reads – surely it does not define the divine Goddess I am.
So currently I am marinating in this process of enlightenment. Soaking up the pungent frustration and tart effortlessness. I am the author of [my] cookbook; is your mind malnourished? How about some dessert for thought, the sweetest tasting intellect served on a platinum incrusted paper plate.
Thus allowing you to savor every simile, break down every syllable, and extract every nutrient from my light, and let the imagery melt in your hand and mouth, this is what love tastes like.

Bon Appétit !,
Vigilant Leighrick, Poetic Renegade.