# Marino: Cleansing of a Corporeal Consciousness



## Marino (Jun 26, 2009)

I used to write all of the time. Pouring my emotions down onto the page greatly helped me get through my suicidal days, but then it became too difficult to handle it all. I stopped crying, I stopped being sensitive, and I tried to hide from my feelings. Needless to say, I cannot handle holding it in either. I need a balance, and I need to find equilibrium somewhere within myself. I will continue to write and continue being creative. I will not shy away from my feelings any longer, and this thread is a first step. I am rather rusty, but I will spontaneously start writing new material and that should allow me to get back into the sensitive mindset. 

Here goes. Keep in mind that I am writing this spontaneously, so it isn't at all polished or remotely decent... I will try. :crazy:


*I Will Try.*
There are times when I want to cry.
I look up to the sky, 
I ask "Why?", "oh why?",
"Why must we say goodbye?"
I let out a sigh and hear no reply.
Then I realize although I may be shy,
and my emotions I do deny, 
all I can do is try to fly
and drink from the remaining water supply.
Though death I will not defy
and bonds to this life will one day untie,
and my bones will one day be dry, 
and the end may indeed be nigh,
I will not go down without a battle cry.
I will try, I will try, I will try.

*Some old ones:*

*Not Enough
*I rip my heart out while it still pumps blood
I slam it down on a slab of coal
I let it crumble, I let it fry.
I let out a sigh, yet I know I must die.
I'm dead now, and where are you?
But all I hear is "Are you ready for round two"?
Didn't I suffer enough?
Isn't my misery proof?
"Not Enough" you say.
"But... I dissected myself for you.
I carved out my heart and placed it down for all to see."
"You were self righteous, you were doing it out of ego"
"Ego? Admitting my faults, poking at my cancer, my tumors,
my fears, my sickness, my downfall, isn't enough?"
"Not enough" you say. "Not enough".

*Mucus Lucus*

A seed is dropped in a frothy soil
A bubble forms as it starts to boil
A mixture made of blood and mucus
Is it a Mary or is it a Lucus?
No surprise, as it starts to rise
But it is protected by its unsoiled shell
All is well, and devoid of lies
One things for sure, it's gonna swell. 
It's gonna rise up to the skies
Its born out of a slimy substance, a murky odor
Propelled by it's flagella, a tiny motor.

It drills through the darkness
It drills through the dust
It must, it must, it must!
A tiny light on a rainy day
A tarnished sun
This rainstorm, buddy, shows you just begun.

The bubble pops
Exposed to the muck
Falls back to its roots
Full of blood and mucus,
It's a Lucas! Rejoice! Rejoice!

The elders sway
The sun shins bright
Another day, another birth
Another life on this crooked Earth.

The seedling buds
The seedling withers through the Winters
It feels the burn of the harsh sun
It gets leaves pulled out
It feels. It lives. It adapts.
It pumps out its daily dose of CO2.
It digs its roots back into the soil
So attached, yet so constricted

When we've lived so long in the sludge, in the seclusion
Can we ever truly merge into one, a seamless fusion?
The seedling is no longer a seedling, for it is a flower

A lilac on a garden floor
It envisions itself: one of many
With separate roots but a common ground
For when a flower falls
and no one hears it
Does it make a sound?

Yes. Yes it does.
It makes a vibration.
It shakes the terrain
Its growth was not in vain
It made a difference
It changed the garden
For there can never be another Lucus
But we are all born from the blood, we rise from the mucus.


*Time.*
You say you need time.
Time.
A Measurement of Change.
The Fourth Dimension.

I cannot give you time.
No one can. You cannot hold time.
Time is an idea. It's not material.
Time passes. Whether you like it or not.
You can wish to undo it.
How much time do you want?
Cuz I got years in my pocket.
How many do you want?
I got minutes.
I got seconds.
I got lifetimes.
Can I have a refund?
Can I have 60 minutes for an hour?
Can I sell some lifetimes to you?

No. I can't.
I cannot give you time.
No one can.
Time passes.
The time is now.
You cannot touch the future, and the future will never come.
All you have is now.
Use it while you have it.
Just like I wish I could undo all of my mistakes.
But wishing accomplishes nothing. Time.

*Peel*
Peel it. Peel it all away.
My skin sheds; leaving nothing to stay.
My bias, my ego, my judgement, my fear
Emotion, disturbance, Now I see clear
My purpose, my false hope, anxiety, my stains
Peel it all off; till only flesh remains
Peel it away now I'm made of pure steel
Peel it away, til I'm no longer real.


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## Nightriser (Nov 8, 2008)

I've always found writing cathartic, but I long since gave up attempting poetry. Personally, I wouldn't recommend "raw" writing, since whenever I reread my own raw writing, it makes me cringe. Then again, perhaps your writing is not intended to be a poetic Van Gogh or perhaps you will succeed where I did not. 

Also, have you tried using music toward the same means? Both listening and playing (and possibly even composing)? I find music (particularly instrumental) excellent for expressing emotion in a different dimension than words. For some things, trying to express something in words seems a bit like drawing a perfectly accurate, proportional 2D map of the globe. Music, in my opinion, provides a more natural space in which to paint the landscape of moods. Of course, that's a matter of personal preference. 

Btw, I am jealous of your rhyming skills! :crazy:


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## PeacePassion (Jun 9, 2009)

thanks for sharing marino, i enjoyed reading your work.


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## Marino (Jun 26, 2009)

Nightriser said:


> I've always found writing cathartic, but I long since gave up attempting poetry. Personally, I wouldn't recommend "raw" writing, since whenever I reread my own raw writing, it makes me cringe. Then again, perhaps your writing is not intended to be a poetic Van Gogh or perhaps you will succeed where I did not.
> 
> Also, have you tried using music toward the same means? Both listening and playing (and possibly even composing)? I find music (particularly instrumental) excellent for expressing emotion in a different dimension than words. For some things, trying to express something in words seems a bit like drawing a perfectly accurate, proportional 2D map of the globe. Music, in my opinion, provides a more natural space in which to paint the landscape of moods. Of course, that's a matter of personal preference.
> 
> Btw, I am jealous of your rhyming skills! :crazy:


I fucking love music and I have always wanted to compose, but I have never tried. Maybe some day. Thanks btw. :happy:


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## Nightriser (Nov 8, 2008)

I wish I had the talent to compose as well. I had a dream once, in which I actually composed a half-decent tune. When I woke up, I tried to write it down, but the tune quickly faded from my memory. 

Sure. :happy:


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## Marino (Jun 26, 2009)

You are a rock on the shore by the sea
I am the waves pounding you into a person
You never wanted to see
All you want to be is free.

As your hardened shell crumbled apart
what I expected to see was your heart
Pulsing, beating quietly inside
There was nothing there at all.

Your feelings I overestimated
You never had anything to hide,
I never knew someone could be so uncomplicated
My wishes for you, much too tall
Nothing to do but watch you fall.


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## skycloud86 (Jul 15, 2009)

Those are beautiful poems, and I'm in awe at how good you are at writing poetry.


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## Dominguez (Oct 16, 2009)

those were great, please post more


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