A Scattered Series of Morning Thoughts

…A Scattered Series of Morning Thoughts… I, dreamer, choose not to display anything other than who I wish to be, an artist, a fighter, an endless body of work that maps out my queer punk poetry, my series of sorrows, my pleasures, my contemplations, my fuck ups and my strengths to endure, to disturb, to irritate, to make humor of… an arsenal of wordplay to play with along the merry and content, to bring on black storm clouds, to rain down my life into these makeshift words, I don’t know and nor do I care if my sense is made clear in the minds of hipsters who glare back in my direction, converse a thought, an open book, converse a speech only to be heard of by yourself, contemplations, makeshift dreams into reality, wide awake fucked, because making sense is a senseless act of millions of thoughts fighting to be heard, but the ones that remain silent are the ones worth fighting for, worth keeping to yourself. I, dreamer, choose to only be all that I want to be, and never sell myself short for anyone else’s expectations of me, and here as it may be, connect the dots, an endless series of imagery, so sit here, with me, if you will, choose, or ignore all together… Converse, convey, follow whichever dream leads you to whichever foxhole you choose to fall into, some fall deep, some crawl out, some scatter and shatter in reality disbelief, truth is often ugly, even at its best, ugly even when rearranged to look pretty in poetic designs. Because poetry is fight, poetry is spirit, poetry is protest. A revolution for the self and only you can save yourself. Converse another day away, sleep a shiftless sleep, awake at the slightest ruckus of day to day city life, a scattered series of morning thoughts, wide awake, lost in thought, with headphones on and the music blaring through my skull, a scattered series of morning thoughts, cascading into daydreams and vivid imagery, converse a thought, it is for you to do so, to bellow in, wallow in sweet sorrows and delights, a scattered series of morning thoughts, its been awhile since I bled such sweet poetry, its been awhile since I gave a damn to do so, but its worth every moment, to dream this way, all the art I’ve bled and poetry that I’ve written and read, to share these dreams with you, scattered as they may be, is worth the time, the effort, a scattered series of morning thoughts, from me to you, even when truth is ugly, let it share its afterglow, all the cracks, dirt, blood, sweat and all, when making sense is a senseless jumble, give no fucks to complainers and carry on the march, converse another afterthought, make play of your disbeliefs, do what bleeds the best… I, dreamer, choose to carry on, even when things get fucked up, when things pull through, when things fall apart, when new roads are met, with enthusiasm, a sense of dread, a sense of melancholy, a sense of unknown feelings, wherever these roads take me. I, dreamer, choose to only display who I am, who I wish to be, who I am on the inside, and however you make of it, is up to you, up to you…

-Dandy Jon Powder-