SoulAgainstSoul

Captain Bruce the Barefoot Pirate Was a swashbuckling anomaly. He was rarely calm or quiet, For he deeply loathed the sea. At every wave, he grumbled, Whether gentle, crude or vicious, And when the sea was humbled Barefoot Bruce remained suspicious. The crew were in constant agony For all day long, he raged against the sea. When the great winds savagely blew, To his cabin Bruce would flee, And keelhauled any crew Who questioned his masculinity. Always ready was his cutlass, As if the ocean might attack. Though one could never call him gutless; When the ocean roared, he roared right back. But every night, he slept uneasy For in his dreams, he

Art is never angry, Though the artist might be. Even my most frustrated feminist poetry, Reflects a worldly beauty. Art is never ugly, Unpracticed though the artist may be. Whether through paper, movement or song, Expressing your soul cannot be wrong.

I hope you understand, This is not an attack On Sherlock fans. This is simply a plea For you to stop erasing My sexuality. Every time you say, Illustrate, or imply Sherlock is gay It makes me cringe. Now I'm not homophobic, And I don't mean to whinge. All I ask of you Is proper representation Where it's due. In case it hasn't yet clicked, Sherlock is asexual. It's canon, you dicks! Now it's not often you see An asexual character, A character like me. So if you want to avoid a lot of anger, A vast amount of lecturing, And blacklisted tags on tumblr, Shut the fuck up with your 'Johnlock'. Take a step back, Give the aces a shot.

I want a musical romance, Something magical and powerful, I want to be courted through song and dance. It’s a naive notion, I know, But the skeptic in me says Fuck reality, I want a show. Where every kiss sparks up a choir, With those long, lingering, loving looks; So much stronger than desire. Would you really rather feel Love so benign, it barely exists, Rather than fantasy that seems real? It’s all just chemistry inside your head, Chemistry that I inherently lack. How can you say that romance is dead When it was never alive to start? I want my life to be a story, Like Ja’far and Sherrezade.

I can feel it, The swirling, spiralling vortex Of new hope. So welcome and yet So dangerous. A new me. A new life. Rising from the ash Of a broken past Like a fabulous Phoenix. Oh please, let this feeling stay. Let the happiness settle, Let my heart humble, Let the sun beam it's All too forgiving warmth On my undeserving soul. The fire that once Sought destruction upon my life, Aiming to number my days And return me to dust, Still burns. But now it is a blaze Of passion. Of motivation. Of self love. For I have broken myself down entirely, Until there was scarcely life left; And from those fragmented pieces built With painful precision and