People Are Strange Birds

People are strange little birds.

It’s how I view them at least.

Strange little birds with their ups and downs in life. So determined to spread their wings and fly. So determined to explore that blue expanse of the sky.

Me, I’d consider myself an owl, perhaps crossbred with some sort of raven. A nocturnal creature that is intelligent, yet with that sly cunning of a precious black-feathered creature.

I’ve met all sorts of birds in my life. The innocence and purity of pretty little doves, the parrots that lack a single shred of originality, and the sharp-eyed eagles that stand above the rest.

The connection between human personalities and specimen of birds has always been so clear to me. When meeting a person, the second I can get a feel for who they are, it is as though a great pair of wings sprout from their backs, each individual with a different coloured plumage.

Some would see them as angels. I see them as the graceful, overconfident swans, the blunt yet honest roosters, and the intelligent and animated penguins.

And now the visions are becoming reality, the fantasies are be coming physical.

Soon, those beautiful specimens will breeze free from this cavern, free from their cages.

The resourceful yet flighty sparrows, the successful white, inflexible albatross, and the poised yet nosy hummingbirds.

Soon, those beautiful angels, those avian-human recombinants, will have a chance to spread their wings and experience the air as they were always meant too.

The flashy and colourful peacocks, the aggressive yet solitary cassowaries, and the athletic, unfocused swifts.

My beautiful, colourful creations. Revel in your true forms. Soon, you will see…

Yes, people are strange little birds indeed.

What Am I?

I hold emotion and yet I feel nothing

I offer protection while you are hiding

While I am aging, I am never changing

I alter the soul that I am cloaking

 

I can mold to your resemblance

Be I human, mammal, or separate

 

I could give you vision and leave you unseeing

I can offer air or demolish your very being

 

I give another life while sealing your demise

Forever veiling the truth while never once shy

 

What am I?

 

 

 

The Red Phone

The man was lonely, as often introverts are when they reach their older years. He couldn’t physically do much anymore, and without many people his own age around, he never found much joy in facing the world.

In fact, he found most joy in being in the old garage.

It wasn’t the prettiest thing. The ground was nothing more than dirt, and there were boxes scattered everywhere. The workbench was cluttered and filthy…the only relatively pristine things within the area included an old, ragged blue armchair, a typewriter, and the still shiny, vibrant red phone.

It as a phone that had heard many conversations. From invitations to lunch, to pleasant chats, to dreary calls from relatives, to sorry information that someone dear had passed…Yes, the phone had heard a lot in its time in the garage.

And it was about to hear another.

Continue reading “The Red Phone”

Just A Piece I Appreciate

Not a legit post, just a poem that I appreciate. Found here

Side note; you ever realize that you’re a coward?

 

 

I used to have this manager back when I was a bartender.

One night
She told me:
“I don’t know what it is,
But something about you reminds me of my ex-fiancé”

She kind of looked off,
A twinkle moistened her eye,
And wrinkles hoisted either side
Of her lips

And she said: “He’s such a dick”

Wow.

“Fuck you too”, I thought.

I blew it off.

I acted like it never happened.

But I added those words to the collection of:
“You Always”, “You never”, “Why can’t you”, “I wish you”, “You used to”, “I told you”, “Try harder”, and “How could you’s”,
That I always stow
Below deck,
Hidden away
Like Hannibal Lecter’s prey

Hidden with the collection of words
That hammer nails through wooden skin,
That built a coffin within
My gut

A coffin only I could see,
Only I knew existed.

It was a coffin encasing a collection
Of words,
That hurt.
That sting.
And when there’s no outlet,
Those words fester,
Forming fear,
Foaming up like crashing waves,
Creating an ocean of excuses,
To lash out.

Words,
Are weapons of personal destruction,
We know this as a human race,
We’re taught as children
That sticks and stones break bones
But the hard truth is
That a crooked comment
Can rip guts from stomachs,
Smash esteem
Like ants under a five-year-old’s sneaker,
And callouses
Don’t form as easy as one may think.

Years ago I had a gym teacher who scared everyone.

I hid in back corners near rubber tumbling mats
To ward off lightning bolt remarks.
One day he said,
To the smartest girl in the class –
You know the girl,
The one who always fucked up the grading curve –
One day he said to that girl:

“If only you had as much drive in the gym as you do in math,
I bet you could go far”

That smart girl said nothing.

She just added those words to her own coffin inside.

But her coffin was not thick oak like mine,
It wasn’t designed
To hold the hurt
Or channel it anywhere
Like into a poem.

Today,
That smart girl sits behind cold iron bars.
Those words piled up for years
Until she could no longer cherish herself,
Until her confidence was a cesspool,
Drowning aspirations in anguish.
And so one day when that boyfriend,
The one who ran around behind her back,
Lashed out,
She lashed back.
Her outlet
Was 9 millimeters,
She sunk the swollen words
Of all her verbal beaters
In the form of a bullet
In that cheater’s
Head.

Words,
Are weapons of personal destruction,
We know this as a human race,
We’re taught as children
That sticks and stones break bones
But the hard truth is
That a crooked comment
Can rip guts from stomachs,
Smash esteem
Like ants under a five-year-old’s sneaker,
And callouses don’t form as easy as one may think.

I’m not saying everyone’s made of glass,
But not everyone’s a soldier either,
So think about what you’re gonna say
Before you say it,
Cuz a bully doesn’t always hide in the shell of the biggest kid on the playground

 

Testing Realism

The following images are sketches I completed when I was trying my hand at realism.

From left to right you have Charles Xavier (James McAvoy’s portrayal), Castle (Misha Collins), Khadgar (Ben Schnetzer), and Suzy Berhow from Game Grumps.

These were done quite a while ago, however I admittedly haven’t done much realism since.