The road

The road

The road whinds down,
Further and further.
While I'm in the car,
My stomach tossing and turning.

The road is never ending,
While the music blasts in my head.
"Locked out of heaven".

The road whinds down,
Further and further.
While I try to fall asleep on the backseat of our car,
It's uncomfortable.

The road is never ending,
While I see the other cars whizzing by us,
Like we are in a NASCAR race.

The road whinds down,
Further and further.
While the rain drizzles on the windows,
Reminds me of the subtle tears forming in my eyes.

The road is never ending,
But now I'm here.


Inspiration: I'm on a road trip right now, and this poem describes exactly how I feel right now :)
-RAP

Comments!

Please feel free to write comments and give positive feedback!! 

I would really appreciate it so I can improve and write about more topics.

 THANKS!!!! :)

Killing us Softly

They say to look desirable but innocent.

Sexy but naïve.

My skin has to look flawless, 24/7.

No exceptions.

I want to be me, but that isn't who I am supposed to sell.

Who is the real me?

It is as if, after being in this imaginary bubble of perfection,

Artificial personalities

And plastered smiles,

You start to

Lose Yourself.

My body slips away.

Size zero and 100 pounds.

Isn't that enough?

What more do they want?

Size -1?

The Media.

Such a small word for such a big network.

They portray me and sell me.

An object, that is who I am to them.

I feel fake.

I shouldn't have to tolerate their manipulations of my body.

If I am at such a horrible place,

Imagine the future generations.

It is already starting.

Toddlers styling logos like “Pimp Squad”

And girls conveyed as sex objects.

The media defines who I am.

They are my boss.

I want to quit this job.

I want to walk out the door and slam it in their faces.

I wish they knew how they're killing me.

Killing me softly.

“I want to be like Cindy Crawford”.

Said Cindy Crawford.

A person shouldn't have to wish they are themselves.

It is utterly demoralizing.

1 photo shoot.

100 shots.

10 airbrushes.

20 polishes.

30 touch-ups.

Millions of magazines.

The damage it causes the viewers.

Countless. 

Inspiration: I wrote about the objectification of women in the media today, and how it affects our everyday lives. It was inspired by a video called, "Killing us Softly". -RAP

Bittersweet Legs

Bittersweet Legs

You are a part of me,

For eternity,

So hopeless I fear,

Is my future

I hate you,

It's nothing but the truth,

Because you've given me more pain,

Then anything

To have these crooked and bent forks,

As support for my body,

Makes me lucky,

But I wish they were reliant

Why couldn't you be like my eyes?

Movable, predictable, and full of color,

No. You had to be monochromatic,

Unfaithful, stationary, annoying

Life was going great,

Why did you have to ruin it?

Every doctor said something different,

So there goes my life, watch it break!

Do what you can, with what you have,

But I can't sense my own problem!

One day I was twirling,

The next, collapsing

They were tall, lean glasses of water,

Flowing smoothly against the tide,

Now they are rapids,

Picking up speed and crashing against the rocks,

Jelly, you are,

Motionless, and lactic,

Pain surging through like a lightning bolt,

I know I won't be walking for long,

So rugged, like a mountain stained,

With the history of a dreadful explosion,

The swelling, the redness,

I have my proof

My walk slowly churned

Into a limp, as I discerned,

Stairs and uphills, my greatest enemy,

Or walking around the corners, my death at every turn

It's bittersweet,

Because no matter how much I hate,

I can only love them more,

Fickle as they are, they are my fate and future

Inspiration: 

I really like writing about my favorite part of my body, my legs!

A Raga in the Talam of Jazz

By

RAP

Measure vs. Cycle

Measures are infinite,

Everlasting bar lines that count time

Accommodating every note,

Six/eight or four/four, doesn't matter, measures count time.

Use measures to sight-read and find your place,

Rarely will you get lost, if you count the measures,

Everything will settle, and the music will flow.

Counting Carnatic style, is different,

You count depending on the talam,

Countless talas, you count with your hands,

Let every beat resonate with the beat of your heart,

Eight-beat Adi, or Seven-beat Misra, counting is a breeze, if you maintain talam

Raga vs. Keys

Revathi, Kalyani and Bilahari are all ragas,

Approximate numbers can't describe the infinity of ragas,

Given a raga, you are gifted with the tune of the song, and what notes are present,

Ambrosia to the ears, ragas are the tune of life.

Keys are the key to any western music,

E minor, or F major, keys are the melody,

You know the tune of the song, if you know the key,

Sweet-sounding euphoria, the keys are the melody of the lives we live

Inspiration:

I am a student learning Indian Carnatic music, and western jazz drumming. Although I have

been learning Indian Classical music for much longer, it is easy to notice some key differences between these two styles of music. They have different counting systems, and different pitches. Overall, they are two types of music that convey similar emotions, and make us feel a certain way. I decided to write a poem about their differences and similarities.

P.S. Arrange the first letter of each phrase in a line for a surprise :)

Pins and Needles through my leg

Stop the pain, I plead and I beg

I was so young, and so healthy,

And how it crept, oh so stealthy,

Into my life, into my mind,

It changed my abilities and now I find,

I find myself, not able to walk,

Those steps of concrete blocks

That I have walked up before so easily,

And now I rest, so weak and weary,


My leg is stabbed, by a needle,

Don't need rehab, who are these people?

To tell me that I have lost,

The thing that keeps my bones crossed,

That thing that wouldn't have let them clash,

Has now wilted away into the ash,

Is what they tell me now and forever,

That I will never be normal, not now, not ever,


I am not able to walk the distance,

That I have walked before,

They say I have too much persistence,

I cannot walk no more,

They have lost hope,

In me and my legs.


Inspiration: My grandmother has had arthritis for a while, and so I dedicated this to her...
-RAP

The blues and purples of dilemma swirl through my mind,

The reds and oranges of melancholy waft through my thoughts

The numbers, of days gone to waste, days gone by, linger in my memory,

The anger, oh the anger, of being in a valley,

Yes, I am in a valley, a valley where there isn't a square inch to grow,

To bloom, to mature, and I am in the valley of no mistakes,

Correct! The flawless valley; it is a shadow so perfect, that I know I cannot fill,

I can't stand in this outline, because I know I can't replace what I have never had,

What do I not possess, you ask? Good grades? Friends?

I say that what I do not possess, is potential.

Potential to do what I please, potential to fill the shoes that are a size too big

It is as if everything is whizzing by me, and I am struggling to keep up,

I fear that I am on a lower pedestal than everyone else,

I am an invisible figure, though no one can see through to me,

No one understands, none give me something to hope for, something to remember

I feel that I am drifting away, inch-by-inch,

The memories of me, that were once vivid and visible,

Are now blurred and edgy, and are straying away from this world,

And even I can't keep up with their speed


Inspiration: I wrote this for a novel in which a character is an amaturely estranged poet. He writes this poem in the novel....
-RAP