Tag Archives: Freedom

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

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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.

The Giving Tree

The spine is a trunk.
The nerves are vines, draping insides of beings like sound-walls.
Meditation is the freeway to higher learning, of self.
A portal.
This truth is no pyramid scheme;
Judge taste – not people.
Leaves fall resembling coin filled wishes, to the bottom of a pond.
Whose depths are more than seen on surface.
We are all flowers.
The branches of energy are
fruitful, delicate, and sometimes blemished.
Mother’s of the sun birth daughters of stars, with crescent eyes.
Upheld by Orion.
Their voices mocking Little Walter;
Singing blues to the blacks, browns, and all bands of color.
Harmoniously their cries spawn tides, expunging identities.
There is peace lodged in the throats of mutes.
Yoga is poetry in the form sign language.
Exchanging idioms between flexibility and endurance.
This Being –
Firm like a mountain, pose
Still like a tree, yet
a Warrior soul.

-Leighrick

Metaphorical Pen

I think its about that time.

Its safe to grab the pistol.

Im tired of growing, everyday its more stressful.

I hate money.

I hate school.

I think this day can be stamped official.

Im tired of feeling bitter and

Im tired of being stressed.

Im just tired of breathing, it takes all my energy.

Especially when im breathing for dozens of people, and most of them kin to me.

This poem is about me.

For once I just want to lay in the dark.

Stare at the ceiling music blasting till I’ve gone deaf.

I don’t want to hear the bullshit anymore.

All I hear is death.

 I’ll reach under my bed.

Favorite teddy bear pressed against my chest.

And finally put these hands to use.

Afterwards,

I’ll write my name in the liquid.

Shit I dont know how, but I’ll attempt to swim in it.

This is the day to embrace the first time I felt Free

Then everybody had to go an ruin it.

So I’ll leave it up to you to decided if the pistol is just a metaphor for my pen.

-Leighrick

When dreams become reality
When dreams become reality

Devils Food Cake : Opposite Day

I don’t touch that bottle

my father’s finger prints are permanent,

Sometimes he’d mistake my neck for a bottle.

 

They say the Skyy is the limit,

but he didn’t think that was enough.

Blood brothers with Jack,

Intoxicated visions of him being Daniel

In a lions den, I remember vividly

as he got up from his throne, and slammed the door

Lying telling me he’d be right back.

 

Every attempt my mother took to turn her back

He’d whip it.

Repeatedly, Repeatedly, Repeatedly

Cries like a broken record,

Broken heart

Broken ribs

No Protection.

And

he’d leave with a satisfied appetite of affection.

 

We had covered all mirrors in the house,

Bruised pride

Swollen eyes

and a transparent reflection.

 

We were only dependents

with no sense of declaration.

Longing to be rescued,

but cowardly courage was always a distraction.

No ends to support our means.

No knowledge of definitions,

 

Love was pain

and Love was what we longed for,

so our only option was to remain.

 

He was raping our personalities.

We were no longer people,

but soon to be fatalities.

 

And we were.

 

 

On the anniversary of my birth,

he turned the station wagon into a hearse,

and while he was driving,

he was trying to decipher his reality from his wishes

and as the vehicle  was swerving,

I threw up regret, and —

 

 

I woke up.

At last, the truth was revealed

the world was finally upside down,

like I had always thought it’d been.

 

I remember rounds of hollow tips

were fired into the vacancy of my chest,

but in my dream I had mistaken the sound of my mothers screams for bullets.

 

 

On the anniversary of my birth…

My father killed my Mother,

My mother gave birth to my baby Brother,

and God taught him how to fly,

before my father stripped him of his wings.

 

So when I woke up,

My father presented me with an upside down cake,

and with out saying any words,

he looked me deep past my eyelids,

wiped my eyes,

and said ‘Happy Birthday’.

 

 

There is no limit to Skyy,

No better friends than E&J,

No Better Amo than Yeager-bombs,

and

No better Freedom than Death.

 

Leighrick©

Where Do Lost Angels Go?

Flowing water open portals.
whether closed or open, they become free.

Free of feeling, thinking, oblivious to knowledge.
Why am I crying?

Drops of glee, grief, enmity, even when drowsy.

Bottled water preserving them over years.
The pit fall, the pitiful — cork high and bottle deep.

There is so much in the rush, but slow to accumulate.

I am not weak, I am strong !

There has been weeks in years, I’ve held on
When I listen to this song, when I see that face, when I smell the fear, when I taste the salt —I stand tall.

Bursting out into tears like a fire-hydrant.
I’m my own river, cliche, denial.

For crying out loud, don’t be so quiet!!
Say something, at least the most you can say is ‘nothing’..

What’s wrong?
Nothing.

Flowing water opens portals.
whether closed or open, you become free.

-Leighrick