Mutable Mutations I remember growing up knowing I have a voice. A voice that counts in votes, not notes. I remember paying for costs not landing posts or making votes. I remember the truth shared with no costs. I remember preachers as teachers not creatures with corruption's features. I remember family and friends being security and roots; not interests and motives. I remember leaders as seekers of change and futures not leeches and killers. Today I have a voice drowned in silence from a silent majority blinded with tragedy deafened with tyranny muted by poverty crippled by authority and erased by money. Life is now a mutable fallacy spewed on social media as reality; a travesty of popularity mutating truth with bigotry crushing minority for a legacy. All I see is ballots flushed down boxes like turd down toilets with footage of murders and criminals going viral in spirals and hashtags and pointless petitions piling above election campaigns selling people's pains for future gains. But who cares? Is there anyone who dares do more than a couple of shares? Likes are now's cares comments are future's scares actions are only for those on chairs searches are internal security affairs. The rest are content with empty stares dying at the bottom of society's stairs waiting for crumbs falling from lion's lairs. We are all mimers in endless fairs. We have been reduced to dregs of the humanity that's been, a reality erased, yet begs what have we become - pegs; hung on lines until bled dry or suffocated like helpless fry? We have erased ourselves from humanity's memory with our mutable mutations. *This is inspired by the erasure concept* Show or Tell Confusion a door to hell opens by words that tell lies with tongues so well covering motives' nutshell. Motives are devils that dwell in disrespect's deepest hell hiding truths that compel eyes not hearts under a spell. Eyes are a guardian angel summoned by reason's bell to see not look with marvel at false appearances' nacelle. Deceptive actions indwell shows to souls parallel with values held noble bidding conscience farewell. Devotion is a caravel of actions that foretell love meant to excel through life's carousel. Love an emotional shrapnel is thrown at a heart's fontanel by a charade of show or tell that can overkill or undersell. *Inspired by e.e. cummings* Pages & Stages We are born with a white sheet we call life to ink our destinies. Some fates are scrambled Others are troubled many are trampled even crumpled and muffled. Most of us write our stories with pens but some etch theirs with chisels I met some who scratched with their nails mishap's walls to write in blood their fates. There are lucky ones who type their lives and others who get a free ride while many just drown in the nothingness. There ain't no shortcut or edits Chances come without a redo Mistakes happen without an undo. Space bars don't work, enters leave marks, co-authoring comes with remarks. Both authors and collaborators in life's pages track changes. Zooming in or out for reviews is just a preview of what ensues. You look for marks, reds and blues but reason in experience leaves no clues. We set margins for boundaries outlines for goals and titles for tributes Along the way some keys we miss others fall off and we lose our way. We try to restore from our last saves only to realize our file extensions are no longer supported or in use. Style and auto correct are there for stereotyping love and care. Prejudice and pride are themes inked in greed's bold or italic fonts Lies' align lives with useless tries to justify motives and capitalize crimes. We fill many pages in stages scrolling through them for ages reading between lines trying not to be clinging vines. We skip other pages jumping between paragraphs and even whole chapters to hide from lovers or haters. We are just pages in a grand book. We watch each other's performances; Listen to them read their lines. Clap for the winners, Crucify losers Comment on failures Condemn liars, Chastise thinkers; Criticize caregivers Curse haters and Cry for lovers, We often forget to read our own pages or listen to our writings to gauge our performances. Many times, we make changes but forget to update our saved files. Other times we overwrite files or delete them thinking we have copies or that better comes with newer versions. Life is a story book where edits are not always what works. Sometimes you need to change books other times you gotta tear pages. In mine, I've closed books, torn pages, and rewrote things all over again so here goes: new pages for new stages! Bio: Pasithea is an impressionist poet who dabbles in art and poetry. She enjoys writing about life and her experiences from different perspectives. She believes in art in poetry as in exploring art to emphasize its role in juicing creativity out of a quill. She enjoys writing poetry in symbolism laced with philosophy and psychology. Combined with varied styles and topics, her motto will always be: poetry is a passionate expression kindled by an impression unlimited by public conviction. To catch more of her work follow her on Instagram @pasitheachan or twitter @pasitheachan and on Ello @ello.co/pasitheaanimalibera where you can find more of her historical fiction and mythological or cultural short stories. New Poems from Pasithea Chan When an Oyster Chokes on its Pearls by Pasithea Chan A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Pasithea Chan
Fevers of the Mind 