Clock
A surge of color and mystic air
Like a pop of smoke enter the brain
Tick, tock, tick, tock, thump?
The bulb turns on and lights the way
Idea one, idea two, three and four
Sense and sensibility cannot help you
To wonder and create I will draw you near
Madder than mad we are all here
Chasing rabbits until the bright heart appears
One way out it is definitely clear
Why would you want to? please do not fear
Let your mind free to fly and cheer
We haven’t much time
What will you do before you disappear?
The choice is yours, mine was to warn all who hear
Girl Algorithm
A knob turns, it coils, retracts and contracts, and it is the obstacle between my life and the one I am told I am to have. Numbers are the path for me; numbers dictate the exactitude of my success and failure. Everything in my life is timed, organized, and scheduled. The powder blue walls laugh at me because they are only a façade in comparison to the sky. My life at sixteen has consisted of countless math sessions, Algebra this, Calculus that, they say I am gifted. Last time I checked, gifts are pleasant, award instant gratification, and the work is conducted by the giver not the gifted. As I recall that statement, the image of my mother flashes by; the gift of a few words brought me the best day of my life. The day words became my best friend, my refuge, my life.
Untitled 1
Companion needs solitude To embrace To resolve To fear Solitary tendencies only grow Do not seek Do not join Do not speak The mind whirls in thought To create To imagine To be Escaping solitude impossible In the mind In the heart Invisible
Nightingale Series
A log onto my back, A slap to the face, Why is that baby crying again? A punch rushes through the sheets. Six-year old fantasies Is all I have for me, Reality is too bleak And it is difficult to understand How I came to be? My mother answers all too quick, Your existence is a byproduct You see, all I wanted Was your father at peace. A pseudo mother I am of three Soon there after, another three We will lose one, the lucky one Can't reproach, without them I would not be me.
Like my work, I, EJ Perez, am a work-in-progress. Mostly, I am learning to be exposed; it is difficult to pour out your thoughts into the relentless world of criticism. My inspiration and stories come from my infancy and my mother's upbringing. Now and again, current emotions will surface long enough to be incorporated into one of my works. The end results will always be an attempt to remain truthful to my craft and to myself.
Comments