Bending The Universe Read online

  Bending The Universe

  a collection of original poems

  by Alaskan poet

  Justin Wetch

  ©2016 Justin Wetch

  Respect the work of the artist by not sharing this work illegally or claiming it as your own.

  PREFACE

  Hello, I am Justin Wetch, a poet, writer, musician, and

  photographer from Alaska.

  These are my poems. They are the result of five years of writing my heart out. Please treat them kindly.

  There are five sections in this book, each composed of twenty poems.

  The sections are Society, Love, Life, Personal, and Nature.

  These poems are completely honest. They are 20,000 words in all, and I have given my best effort to make them the best I

  could possibly make them.

  I hope you enjoy them.

  If you’re going to distribute these poems, whether online or

  otherwise, please attribute them to me. Thank you.

  DEDICATION

  Dedicated to my friends and family. Without you, I would have nothing to say.

  Special thanks to Malachi Paulsen, who drew the incredible pencil sketches in this book by hand. His extraordinary talents and perfectionist work ethic have made this book so much better than I could ever have dreamed it could be.

  Art is the breath of life.

  We are born with the knowledge of breathing. Don’t let the world stop you and teach you not to breathe.

  CONTENTS (SECTIONS)

  Society

  Love

  Life

  Personal

  Nature

  section one

  society

  SECTION I: SOCIETY

  CONTENTS:

  Diversity

  The Fire’s Still Burning

  Growing Up

  The Cosmic Soul

  Then & Now

  Femme

  Tinderbox Minds

  Church

  Preaching Tolerance

  The Girl Down The Street

  Love Is Dead

  Rome

  American Justice

  Candles

  How To Tell If Your Rep. Is Owned By a Corporation

  Welcome To America

  And So She Wears Black

  Millennials

  Glass Rectangle

  Patriotic

  There is no change within a society that does not begin within an individual.

  DIVERSITY

  Sunlight shines behind a church steeple,

  The courtyard filled with diverse people.

  But skin color and differences drive us apart,

  Our world is afflicted, and it’s time for a new start.

  Fear of our differences drive us to action,

  We could have peace, but choose overreaction.

  Our differences are as minor as Pepsi versus Coke,

  But they get stronger over time like a piece of oak.

  We’re split up, as if on separate teams,

  Picking winners and losers like cheating at card games.

  We judge and discriminate based on the color of skin,

  We preach love, but treat diversity as a sin.

  Ignorance is a cancer slowly killing our conscience

  Eating away at fading chances of gaining tolerance.

  I envision a utopia where people are free;

  Where nobody is judged based on beliefs or creed.

  A diverse city embracing diversity,

  Mutual respect bringing an end to animosity.

  We may be different, but we have more in common;

  Let Martin Luther King’s dream never be forgotten.

  THE FIRE’S STILL BURNING

  The country’s gone gay and half of ‘em aint happy

  Floods in Texas, drought in Silicon Valley

  We didn’t start the fire but it still burns the youth

  Confederate flag’s now a symbol of hate groups

  Young kids in basements proclaiming they’re savages

  Police brutality has become the accepted average

  Greece is bankrupt, China has all the money

  America’s just one giant entertainment junkie

  Indoctrination, not education, never read between the lines

  The future’s a dead end and we didn’t see the signs

  Russia’s bringing us back to the brink of cold war

  ISIS on the rise, what were the middle east wars for?

  Apple’s making a watch and the NSA watches your life

  130 people bombed in the city of lights

  Yeezy for president and Trump’s in the lead

  140 characters is the most this generation reads

  Children who don’t fit in boxes are put on meds

  Our nation’s youth don’t see a good future ahead

  Ancestors fought for freedom but these kids aint free

  Decades of debt for a piece of paper that says 'degree'

  Bruce Jenner’s now a woman, Rachel Dolezal’s not black

  Old white guys screaming ‘Let’s take our country back!’

  The church is preaching sermons but the pulpit’s rotted

  Persecuting gays but pedophile priests are closeted

  U2 gives out an album and America throws a fit

  Pixar’s in the mind but the whole world is out of it

  Global warming is cooking us but we don’t care

  We didn’t start the fire but it’s our fault it’s still here.

  GROWING UP

  I remember when hands were for comforting

  Before they started going up skirts

  I remember when lips were for compliments

  Before we kissed until being alone didn’t hurt.

  Hugs turned to sex

  Smiles turned to texts

  Candy to cigarettes

  Schoolyard races to lottery bets

  Mountain Dew to mary jane

  Hyper kids pronounced insane

  'Cool kids' to twitter fame

  Asphalt scrapes to mental pain

  Snow angels to angel dust

  Show and tell to nudes and lust

  Growing up is being so rushed

  Hopes and dreams quickly crushed.

  Oh, but that’s the way it goes

  Growing up means growing old

  We change, seasons change,

  Leaves turn to gold

  Call it nostalgia, call it something else

  I just wish for a time less... complicated

  Call it depression, call it needing help

  Life’s a game and I’m… disenchanted.

  Life got hard

  Shackled to a plastic card

  Always on your guard

  Self worth on report cards

  We’re psychologically scarred

  Disgusted with who we are.

  Growing up means living less

  Screwing over means success

  Crumbling under all the stress;

  Expensive outfits just to impress

  Another lost soul in a dress.

  Let’s get real, let me confess

  I’d rather die than live with regret.

  This is what they call growing up in our generation

  You can probably understand my trepidation

  Of age and its relentless acceleration

  It’s a prison with no hope for liberation.

  We can’t spend life chasing new sensations

  Or working behind a desk for some corporation

  We have to work for happiness and toleration

  Because fixing society is our obligation.

  Growing up in a world we didn't ask for

  Growing up with a low ceiling and no floor

&nb
sp; Growing up when dreaming means declaring war

  Maybe if we don't grow up we can learn to live more.

  THE COSMIC SOUL

  People are often uncomfortable

  Seeing the flaws in others;

  Once we fixate on one piece

  Of who another person is

  We want to keep them

  Inside that little box

  On that imaginary pedestal

  Confined to that spotlight.

  Oh, she has a beautiful smile

  And so she is only seen

  As a two-dimensional image

  Like a tabloid cover model;

  But her third dimension

  Remains in the dark;

  No one asks of her soul

  As if she could exist

  As pretty skin

  Covering nothing.

  Having seen someone as flawless

  In a particularly good light

  The illusion crumbles

  Under the harsh weight of reality.

  That’s the problem with beauty;

  Under the surface of a perfect painting

  Remnants of rough drafts

  Rough pencil sketches,

  Flawed structures, wrong colors

  Hold up the facade of perfection

  Before the elements turn them to dust.

  Nothing is ever as it seems

  And we are ill-acquainted

  With the full dimensions

  Of even those closest to us;

  We’re just fans of the reflections

  We pretend others see.

  Saying we truly know someone

  Is like claiming to be able

  To recite a book by memory

  Having only seen the cover.

  We look to the stars and cosmos

  For unsolved mysteries and intrigue

  But there is more inside one human soul

  That has never felt the weight

  Of human footprints

  Than all the territories

  And domains of the infinite.

  THEN & NOW

  I remember the stories an old man used to tell

  Of war, and heroes made in battle,

  They stormed across Germany and fought evil

  Like knights of old attacking a castle.

  He used to say how one good man of ours

  Was worth a dozen or more of the enemy’s;

  Brothers at war who would die for each other

  Living past death in history’s memory.

  Earlier today I saw a flame war on twitter--

  They fought with weapons of misspelled words,

  Their shells were snarky comments, a retweet button,

  And a bag full of voraciously vulgar verbs.

  This great battle of history, fought on the internet

  Is the legacy for that teenage boy's future son

  To follow in his footsteps, to be like his father

  He’ll start his own twitter war and make sure it’s won.

  I remember the romance story of my grandfather

  He pursued his one love year after year

  Won her love and affection with sweet words, kindness,

  And he never let the sun set with her in tears.

  On Facebook I read the screenshotted flirtations

  Of a 25 year old and his current female fling;

  They had no tall tale of loving romance but,

  They hooked up in the back of a Burger King.

  Are all the great stories already lived out?

  Is there nothing left for my generation?

  I pray we may find something better than

  'Hashtag relationship goals' for inspiration.

  FEMME

  I heard a rich white woman say

  The only glass ceilings women have to deal with

  Are the ones they put in their villas.

  Of course, she married rich

  Or, perhaps I should say, divorced rich

  So now she’s more than half a man;

  But I don't think she had it quite right

  Because while I’m enjoying a hearty breakfast

  My friend applies make-up society says she needs

  To be beautiful; how’s that not sexist?

  So much media attention on women’s bodies

  That half of them nearly go anorexic

  Trying to live up to photoshopped ideals

  That are impossible, but still expected.

  Are you comfortable in your own skin?

  The automatic answer should be yes

  But no, we live in a society where

  We force false ideals and wrongly stress

  Ideas that should’ve died decades ago;

  In every way, a woman should be less

  Than men, and the most naked she can be

  Is when she’s getting undressed.

  From television to advertising

  Woman are presented as objects and prizes

  We're so tolerant we don't realize it.

  Sex sells, and it’s cheap but so costly

  We don’t consider the byproducts

  Of this cancer on society.

  The effects are far-reaching and devastating;

  A girl in a room with no self-worth

  With slit wrists, blood on a Bill Nye poster

  Because society told her science was men’s turf;

  A girl crying, tears flowing from her eyes

  Saying her birth gender was a curse

  She would’ve been the world’s best eye doctor

  But now she’ll try to be eye candy, and that’s worse.

  The science guy, Mr. President, Renaissance man

  Embedded in our very words are these thoughts

  Passed down to the next generation without question

  It’s like a massive cultural blind spot

  We give men an education, but women are taught

  To define themselves by men, and not

  To define themselves by themselves;

  Fight for who you are and what you want.

  TINDERBOX MINDS

  Our minds are tinderboxes

  Hungering to be lit aflame

  Our stances are paradoxic

  Preferring cuts to mental pain

  Measured meticulous self destruction

  At least we at last feel something

  We turn to the warmth of self-combustion

  As the burden of life becomes crushing.

  Fire is warm, life is cold

  So we extend our aching hands

  Towards a spark we once sold

  For the price of saying “I can’t”

  Ankles chained to our expectations

  We fall gracelessly on our faces

  Accepting our future anticipation:

  A hangman’s noose, a child’s shoelaces.

  CHURCH

  The music stops and they don't really change,

  Because it's easy to tip the balance when nothing hangs.

  Emotions run high and promises are made,

  Then the rats run quickly from sunlight to shade.

  The pulpit is beautifully furnished and bright

  But it's rotted in places not seen by the light

  Millions suffer from famine and plight

  But corrupt shepherds push that out of their sight.

  The church is a container for performance and stage

  Singers up front who were at last night’s beach rave;

  A social gathering of self-worship and self-praise—

  The widows go hungry but the parking lot’s paved!

  The ‘body of christ’ is now a lifeless corpse

  Preachers plundering pockets without any remorse

  Like a battery disconnected from the source,

  It’ll be lights out without a change of course.

  PREACHING TOLERANCE

  With how far science and technology have advanced

  You’d think we’d have realized our mistakes and re-stanced;<
br />
  Ridden ourselves of prejudice, et cetera and not chanced

  To once again fall prey to judging at a glance.

  So late in history, yet equality still ain’t here,

  Visions of a new Eden have disappeared.

  You see, we’re hard wired to hate what’s different, to mistrust,

  To block all rationale and let compassion rust.

  But we’re better than that, or are we not?

  Consider how we join the hate onslaught.

  With a dark whisper of sensational doubt

  The forces of fear and all their clout

  Are so easily twisted, so easily bent

  To let out dark feelings and hate up-pent.

  Like a blacksmith pounding metal into shape,

  Our collective conscious is malleable as duct tape.

  When we see someone different from ourselves in some way

  Say of a different orientation, maybe lesbian or gay

  Should that really be a cause for disgust?

  As if simple differences are good cause for distrust.

  With the choices someone makes you might not agree,

  But that’s no excuse to trample on their liberty.

  It is an evil thing to judge a person into a box

  And excuse our own shortcomings, a hypocritical paradox.

  If we stopped concentrating on only our differences,

  We would reach different conclusions and different inferences

  About the quality of a person based on one single factor;

  We need a change towards tolerance to avoid disaster.

  THE GIRL DOWN THE STREET

  There’s this girl who everybody knows

  She, as they say, just can’t say no

  And she grows grass she doesn’t mow

  Indoors where the leaky water flows.

  What a whore, what a tramp;

  Society is a vicious rubber stamp,

  Labelling and assigning camps,

  But love is an illuminating lamp.

  Born to broken home without guidance,

  Screaming and yelling was her silence;

  We’ve got judging down to a science,

  Potential liberators become tyrants.

  No one to turn to, nowhere to run,

  Lovers she has many, lovers she has none;

  Looking down the barrel of a handgun,

  She looks at your hatred and decides she’s done.

  Where did this scenario go wrong?

  Let me tell you, it wont take long;

  Of course she sought solace in a bong,