The Post Below

Before you even look at it, I want to explain myself on the subject of the post directly below this one. Before I do that though, I want you to scroll over and click on the link that says "Justice?" on the right hand side of the screen. Read that over, and when done, come back here before reading the post below this one

Last week, I was involved in a fight with someone, and the poem two posts below was the end result. I was particularly proud of this poem, and as I am now active on Deviant Art, I posted it there as well.

I found that the poem was well written, straight from the heart, and I thought it flowed well. I was praised by one of the other individuals involved in the fight, and I thought the matter closed.

A few hours ago, another of those involved in the fight saw the poem. They looked at it, and as they told me, got two lines in before they decided that they were under attack.

Now if you followed my instructions, you will have your first impressions of that poem. I have been told by three different readers that they thought that I had gotten into a fight either with a couple, or was involved in a fight with a couple. This was the first impression of three different people. I mention this, because I am challenging the claim that it is obvious who the poem is about.

Next I challenge anyone's right to demand I should remove something because they feel offended by it. One can feel offense all they want, but this is Canada. I have a write to the freedom of my expression in the media that I choose. I choose the written word.

If people have a problem with that, then I would say fine. If people want to be angry, fine. It is when I am threatened with having my accounts hacked, and not for the first time, that I take issue. I will not stand for it, and as a result, I have had to change the passwords on most of my accounts. This has gone too far, and I will not be censored in such a rude and arrogant manner.

I make the following promise to those who would threaten to delete any post of mine. If any post of mine is deliberately deleted in a quest to censor me, I will take the hard copy, and I keep hard copies of just about everything, and I will photocopy it. I will then do whatever it takes to make sure that as many people as possible see it. I will post them to every major internet discussion board, I will post them to telephone poles, I will put copies in envelopes and distribute them myself. I say none of this with the expectation that I will ever have to do it. I trust that those who I say this to, and the one who made the threat knows who he or she is, understands that I mean what I say.

Anyways, returning to my point, I found myself threatened by this person. They perceived my poem as an attack, and immediately demanded the removal of the poem. I refused, and the threat was made that my account would be hacked onto, and the poem erased. My passwords have been subsequently changed, and ultimatums delivered, as seen just one scant paragraph above, in angry spiteful words. I then started typing, and what is seen below is what emerged.

I know that the final results of what lays below seems to be contradicted by this, but I would point out that I am not attempting art with this post. I am making a point. A very important one.

The point is, stop taking my posts to be outright attacks. They are not, unless I say they are. I am not the type of person to attack a person behind their back, I will be upfront, as I am being with this post. I may not tell the person this is aimed at that I've posted this, but they will look at it eventually.

Also, I will write about what happens to me if I want. I will not use names, at least not real ones anyways. However, this does not mean I will not reference those people around me. I will as much as I want.

Finally, then you can go read the post below this one, I notice that I am allowed to write good things about people, but not bad. What is with this self-serving hypocrisy. I will not mention what I am talking about, as it would make who I am talking about obvious, but I will call the person I am talking about a hypocrite.

I was thanked and praised for that one, but the slightest allusion to an event that portrayed the same person in a negative light results in threats of censorship and a hacking of my account. Nice and classy there.

This is not a nice post, but I feel better now.

I am aware people will be angry for this one, but I see no need for a similar post to ever happen again now that I've said all this.

It is necessary that this remain. It is necessary for three reasons. First, the piece below needs an intro. Second, that ultimatum needs to be written down, because I mean it. I want it in writing. Finally, this is how I feel, and if I try to express myself otherwise, I will not sound as sincere or collected.

Until next time...

A Chance at the Truth

My ideas are my own.
I will not be silenced.

My words are my own,
I will spread them to the world.

My medium is the written word
To stop me is to hold me back
To censor me is to hold me down
To impose restrictions on me is to break my spirit and take my freedom away.
The ruled sheet is my canvas onto which my masterpiece will flow.

My masterpiece will be truly mine;
Heartfelt expressions, lyrically phrased,
and brought forward in such a way that nobody,
Not a soul,
Will ever challenge me as to what is mine and what is not.

I shall not see my visions tarnished, I will not hide them from the world.
I can not stop because of anger produced by my veiled allusions.
The words that sting are the true feelings from my heart,
and I have only the choice in how the words sting whom.

The words may stay bottled, hidden from all but me;
The stings forever going inwards.

Words may flow onto the empty page but silenced in fear of offending another,
The feelings that would be seen only shadows of what truly exists.
My feelings would be detached, forgotten and lost.
A part of myself, at some time, scattered forever and a nagging sense of loss all that remains.

My heart could go out though, out for all to take notice.
Feelings expressed and acknowledged, the heartfelt wounds no longer simply mine to bear.
Spread amongst those that should know them, those that would want to see.
A jealous few would hate them, but that would be the price to pay for being free.
Thought for thought, what is there is truly me.


My words are not crafted to be the barbs that they are seen as.
My lines are not made with the intent to hurt.

I choose my words and lay them down,
I share them with the world.
I ask for help, I ask for guidance.

Guidance to heal,
Guidance to teach.

Guidance to find what I am looking for within myself.


This must be understood.

I write for me, and for no one else.
I write to clear my mind,
such that I can know my own self true.
I write to better my craft, to sharpen my mind.
I write so that I know my deepest thoughts,
the ones that do not make themselves known.
I write so that I can try to find balance.

I show my art to the world not in a spirit of vengeance;
not in a spirit of malevolence.
It is so that I can be shown how to express myself.

Express myself better,
More clearly,
More eloquently,
More lyrically.

I show my art to the world not to sting and bruise,
It is so that I can ask how to not feel the stings and bruises myself.

So that I will not bruise,
So that I will not be stung.
So in the future when I am given pause to think again on matters close,
The lessons learned will bring a new resolution.
One beneficial to all.

I write, I share, I listen, I change.
I write again.


As much as I wish to do one thing, I often do another.
Such did my work, to assert my integrity and honour,
become a heartfelt plea for understanding.

It saddens me that through all of it, I will still not receive it.
I will receive scorn,
I will be the subject of derision,
I will have those who I seek to make understand, become enraged.

In the end though, my works will be mine.
If I have to choose between the artificial peace and my dreams,
I pick my dreams.
If the choice to keep my eventual masterpiece,
Causes strife and increases the enmity always felt,
the choice becomes more difficult.

I do not desire it, but I must let what I create be mine.
Not someone elses, tainted by threats and anger.
Not soured by a sugar coating.
Whatever shown must be the truth.

I will show my words.
I will show my heart.
I will show the truth.

As much as it may pain me in the end,
I will not be silenced.


Until next time...

Justice?

Verbally lashed,
Unjustly accused.

The moral high ground is mine.

I did not wrong, I am not to blame.
In the end I am the one in the right.

Verbally lashed,
Vulgarities thrown.

The mediator falls, having tried only to be the voice of reason.

She had tried to keep it civil,
She had tried to stay so fair.
In the end she was betrayed,
By the boy who laid the blame on me.

Betrayed by he that she was fighting for,

Temper lit,
flaring high,
burned her wings,
now she will cry.

Crying for the poisons that he spat at her.
She only tried to help,
Trying to not let the fight flare so high.
Tempers lit,
and now she cries.

She is hurt. What sort of winning is this then?
It is a Pyrrhic victory as my fighting force is gone.
Saddened now knowing that the one who tried to stop the fall,
is the only one who has felt like she has lost.
Saddened that the one who cries,
Was the most blameless one of all.


Until next time...