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poetry

God Is Lost

Although I’ve never dealt with writers block, I do occasionally feel uninterested in what I create or creating in general. Creators depression if you will. When each word to land on the page feels empty and foreign. As if it fails to convey the intended message or emotion. Like trying to read a page through fog. Clarity is missing.

It’s times like these where thoughts feel hazy. When it’s least obvious what’s missing from the work is when it’s the most frustrating. The satisfaction of finding a hundred problems each sentence comes with the knowledge that you can jump in and fix it all. This is more like trying to…

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Conflicting Thoughts

Close to the edge
Dragged to battle with reflections
Cattle of thought
Tryin’ to rattle the pot
Turn the heat up, they’re not
Just shadows gettin’ nearer
I’m thinkin’ clearer
Glass sight
It’s been years
Their vision blurs up, they’re sinkin’
Turns up still drinkin’
So high they get stuck
In the middle of blinks
With a knives at a gun fight, they might die
That’s alright, just try to get by
Fire words thinkin’ they’ll hurt
Churn my stomach
Ahh, the burn
They never learn
Squirmy, whiny…

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Keeping

Perfect tan hands glide over the oak colored skin inked with numbers
Dangerous when temptation leads to over-calculation
Each moment matters more than the last with the dance going in circles
Mind games name the bad times with precision
Twisted and malicious, follows with reminders of glory and joy
Just to drag it all away with more darkness from the past
Please Leave, Retched Watch

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Throwing Stones

Some of us struggle more than others in facing our demons.
Jack tells of how he faces his own.
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The Glass is foggy. House is half full. Can’t type ‘cause I’m a little groggy. Need it at night so I drool. Not sure whether lying or right. Caught in the pipe. Dream above the clouds. Asleep to escape the night. Bare and weak I see myself. Bleak, a life, hell, shrieks. Got health. Quite wealthy. Still can’t stand my fucking self
So I bury myself, before I die and just wait out the time. Fade out the lines
Color the pages. No one else can see. But, it is what it is. So it’ll be
Rainbows sparked in flames hope to erase the shame. No. They change only the same flow 

”Don’t fool yourself, foolish self. This hell is your prison cell.
Intoxicated, you ain’t well
This isn’t what you wanted is it?
You brought it. Miss it? Listen
You had it. Dissed it. Dip-ship
Put this outfit on. Cluck like a chicken ‘till you get whats going on
Take these feathers if they’re…

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Slow Sure

It’s important to do the things that give your life purpose.
The rest should take second place importance.
Jack does just that in this poem as he explains why he’s not rapping, yet.

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Willing to spit
But saliva ain’t worth shit
Still alive, I won’t stand, sit
Wasted time get a man hit
Rep Demi, sitting back
Let me crate those thoughts
For the war gods
The pen, a whore
There’s no note not written for
Except of course
One’s behind locked doors
But set a course using force
Upset the order
Rewrite the border
Word hoarder
Obsessed with disordered
Detested ‘cause I murder words
No regrets
Yes, that’s what you heard

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Walkin' the Walk

Fight to overcome and let no one hold you back.
A lesson Jack has learned the hard way over the years.

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I won’t be chained to the tame
Too animal to restrain
Cannibal plottin’ on the next game
Bad like Hannibal
Tiny little bit insane
Just enough to take risks and go nuts
Givin’ no fucks
Givin’ no hugs
Breakin’ road blocks
Get the fuck out my way
If the road’s wrong repave it
Rename it, treat it like it’s one way and take it
And I’m gettin’ hungry
The plate looks clear
As I get more desperate the fear disappears
Yet, takin’ too long to make waves
But earthquakes make great shakes
Don’t Mistake it
All the flavors when heated up taste great
Don’t they?
If it needs to be broken I’m fuckin’ breakin’ it
I’m not jokin’ you 2s are chokin’, fakin’ it
Like…

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Hiding Time

Self-reflective, Jack discusses his fears and motivations for being creative. Leaving a mark.

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I wear a mask to go hard
And I take the lie pretty far
Fake like I’m born with these scars
I don’t bruise, I’m from mars
Way high up in the stars
With red eyes locked like darts
Just ’cause I’m smarter when I gab
That’s why I overstand to rap and spit
Can barely stand hands frosty grip
Around my throat
The grip won’t slip
Hope I don’t choke
I’m rolling throwing blame at frozen shame
Stone cells, prison brain
Shattered the glass house
The crash was mad loud
I’m assed out
No second chance will pass down
Claim sober to be left alone
It’s over
Getting closer for…

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Blind Allegiance

Jack updates us on his current political standing.

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The long line grows. Followers chosen by God herself. To enslave the children. To fight the dark forces. Hostages for a better world. When white robed phantoms spread their word from beyond the grave.
And they begin. “Where is my…” with air quotes, “Money?”

Revive the fallen. Destroying and eradicating the dark forces. Blue suited shiny badges of honor with guns pressed against the backs of the perceived enemy. A strike by the rebellion unable to regain the dwindled numbers of the “home team” reaching to even the odds by reducing the “away.”

Shackles and iron bars for the shades not aligned with the morally gray stars on the flag. Red bloods of white skin on the blue ball owned by green presidents.

Trumpets play as the blue birds chirp overhead. The distraction for those chewing gum silent masturbating to gun violence.

Oh dear, how the toppling towers teeter. No use crying over spilled oil. The dividers keep the…

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Planning for Later

After finishing his 365 Project Jack is eager to see what comes next for him.

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Been restless for days. Fastened safe behind the door of the bunker. Clicking and ticking the word keys. Idea stacking. Format building. Adding shape and structure. Fleshing out the details of the future for the future. Doing it all drained from the won race.

Constructing new tools to face unmet targets. Swords for battle and sticks for stability.

Victory battles don’t predict ended wars. Ended wars still have the aftermath. Recovery is gradual behind the worn inkless pen. Winners decide the history.

A war of infinite battles has no finish. Each finale is but a stepping stone to the next risk.
It was all just chapter 1.

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Desperate Thinking

Many of the major struggles we deal with as adults are internal. And they surround the perpetual identity crisis the “adult experience” turns out to be. Some of our worst demons reveal themselves to be a major part of our identity.

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In the back of my mind the grind stays in line
Shows up on time
Thick sludge slime drips off ass it goes by
Slow drive
No life, it chases faceless cries
Whines stalking hated ties through crooked lies
It takes or it dries
Created illusions for desperate tries
Feeling asleep still hoping to die
Never real, but always alive
Never bad, but always a crime
Chiming the rhymes of evil
Slides off the tongue perceiving
Fires burn the homes
Screeching iron melting down
Reaching into hollow grounds
Spinning, churning, twisting round
Molten lava leaking out
The creaking shack is splintered, brown
No sneaking in without a sound
The bleak still ring it sings resound
Trapped inside with screams and shouts
Rotted corpses stand about
Mules and horses on propaganda routs
Burnt alive behind the eyes
To all the rest I stand here fine

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Faded Patterns

It’s hard to deal with change. But it’s hard to deal with change only because we believe it’s hard to deal with change. Change is impossible..

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Troubled by freedom. The thought of it.

The cage opens and the creature, too scared to leave, quivers at the door.

Long within the bar box. The concept of walking the grass is nauseating.

Overwhelming to not know the other side of the hill.

Perhaps a storm lives there.

Although no phobia for water, there is fear of getting wet.

Never once does it occur to raise the half empty glass to the crying sky.

One of the paintings is crooked and I can’t stop looking.

Jekyll in the lab, but hide when there’s no distraction.

Rhythm was the meditation.

Songs no longer play with open eyes.

Abandoning systems to rise above.

The realization, that which was left was but a fraction of the picture.

Safe outside the cage. Just a bigger box out there.

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And Then Some

Fight through. What’s on the other side is worth the isolation, focus and hard work.
You have to live for your own goals.

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Tic, tick, toc, tock
The gray, oh how grey it is
Peaking while peeking
Was told what the toll was
Armed up I’ve got them with their arms up
Cuz, you’re your cause ‘cause you the jerk always jerking off
Duck the low flying duck
Get blown by some bitch seeking blow
One with a red bow in her hair, she bowed arrow in hand bow in the other
Bearer of hearts barer apart than together
Plan a route to the root of the problem
But banned the band from coming
Weigh what matters and take the rest out of the way
Wonder why’d the wide issue fade

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It Was Said With Love

Let loose, be unfiltered and uncensored. Play with your craft and stop being scared of what others might think.


Jack writes a twisted poem playing with random thoughts in his head.

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Miserable, missable, invisible
Dis the bull get the horns
Get recorded watching porn
Sell the tape in black market
To the underwear gnomes
I know the underworld’s flows
Hang with zombies roasting brain wondering about peculiar things
Wrapped around my hot dog
That hot broad’s buns come hot off the stove
This Hot Rod runs with nowhere to go
Interconnected, my thoughts sense it
Write like I forgot to have breakfast
My behavior all reckless
By the water cooler angry calling…

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Poker Crown in School

Life is filled with ups and downs. Having the bravery and confidence to face all those moments equally will result in a fruitful future filled with learning and accomplishments.
Jack gives his thoughts in this poem.

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Patience is being tested
Straight aces on the table
Royal flush out of multiple choices
Pure crowned blood
Feeling able to take all the chips
4.0 mil stashed in the castle
Freshly dipped and gold plated
Playing the game is not a hassle
Cards in my hands
No class clown telling jokes to jesters now
Passing grade A performance
The brightest of Knights
Strokes of the lance questioned
Ready to fight once mentioned
Giving my…

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Self-Taught

Jack rambles about not believing in writers block and explains why.

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Once in a while I draw blanks when attempting to come up with something new to write. But I don’t quit. I’m well trained. Disciplined enough to know just by writing my thoughts down I’ll get somewhere.

I’ve taught myself to expand on seemingly any amount of writing through nothing but will power. I’ve stopped believing writers block is anything more than a state of mind the inexperienced go through. It’s become too easy to turn nothing into something.

See, one of the main lessons about writing is to understand that what one means when they say ‘being a writer’ what they really mean is being a self-editor. Understanding how to twist and turn your own words into something greater than they were on the first round.

Take the first few sentences of this very aimless rant, for example. I can simply change the perspective to third person and pretend I’m telling you the story of a struggling writer. One who is about to force through his writers block and come to the conclusion that anything is possible with a little effort. But in reality this started as nothing more than a mental exercise. Nothing more than my writing to myself about not knowing what to write. Yet, that turns out…

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The Great Subtraction

Kids in cages.
A Poem.

45 is smaller than 0.

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I’m going to flip the shit if they crack another motherfucking whip
Can’t handle it when I can’t spit
Rambling blazed for days
Holding a fucking clip
Shit stays the same way
It’s making me sick
Staring down barrels drunk
Like we’re outta luck
In stasis sterile faces that won’t quit
Cages mistake small kids
Taken away
They can’t be seen
It seems history repeats it’s scenes
Screams don’t stop the suit’s schemes
We should be ashamed
Turn the cheek and sneak away
Cell phone in hand
Selfies behind screens
Eyes on ‘em like laser beams
Hit record on that cam
Life the video game
It’s our mask while we hide in the dark
We’re Batman
All going insane
Yelling the same phrases night and day
No response
It’s like that
No one listens and things don’t change
Deranged, we keep playing the same way
Won’t fight back
Maybe someone brave will stand and save the day
But every time we call the hero someone ends up shot
It’ll happen until we’re down to zero
The Great Subtraction in action
This extinction event is meant so we can’t repent
When the end comes through
The end meant for those that won’t do
What they want us to do
The way they want us to
That’s just for me and you

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M Face

...to escape from polluted neighbors.
Captured by their force of nature.
Stuck, always facing one direction.
Unable to move how desired.
Unable to shift and see new things.
Weary eyes must always be fixed on those most blue.
Tending.
Balancing, keeping check.
Assuring tides are not too drastic.
Assuring tides are not too tame.
It hurts, but staying is the only option.
And whether or not explained.
Denial is always present when the wise tell of the most unpleasant decent.
Excited, no one heeds warnings.
Ignoring stories, having no worries.
The glory is there was never any stopping this.
It’s nature’s course.
Unavoidably, it inflicts its force.
It all...

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