MARCUS DEAN TERRY

SONGS + POETRY + RAMBLINGS

[marcusdeanterry]

The thing with infatuation is It wraps you up so tightly You start to strangle yourself

[marcusdeanterry]

I am still trying to come terms with the reality that, from here on out, I will always be tired.

[marcusdeanterry]

A Different Mark

The spinning worlds that form from a whiskey glass, And all that yearning for reconciliation With people that share my blood but not my composure, My last name, but not desire to be free of sickness/sadness, mistakes made So casually and too often. Dad stumbles around with his drunk friend, and I try to be cordial because I still live here. I'll be going soon though, I promise that this boy fell far from the root that abandoned it's offspring. I bare a different fruit, a different mark. Don't tell anyone you love them with whiskey breath. They won't believe you, and they shouldn't. I'll cloak myself in urgency until morning breaks and brings you to earth.

[marcusdeanterry]

Morality, justice, good, and evil. These are ideas I hardly put stock into now that I am older. I can only hold people to the standards they give themselves, a mirror for moments of hypocrisy. People should know what they believe in, especially when they're dancing around it.

[marcusdeanterry]

All Red Dots

My shadow is a pacifist, but I don't believe in peace. Take the whole world in your palms, and wish it blue; All of everything clean and bright and sterile. Give your humans homes, food, love, and all the little treasures Everybody seems to be after. Give it all to them. Now everything is good, everyone happy and in love. Now paint a speck of red, anywhere really. Watch that color grow with one stubbed toe, one lost wallet, One flat tire, one forgotten birthday, one death in the family, One night stand, one goodbye, one wrong note. All red dots, covering everything so quickly, all so deep red. The world gets so angry at sadness, at failure, at loss, Forgets it was ever happy, and doesn't know how. Would kill to make it stop.

[marcusdeanterry]

Are you angry with me, past lover? Well, I'm still angry with me too. I'm not one to bottle up my rage, so I wonder who's hate is stronger. My transparent and undignified loathing, or your hidden and subdued sickness.

[marcusdeanterry]

What Remains

"Why do you weep, fox?" "I have lost my friends to the sea, They have drowned themselves Out of fear for you, Angel." "And yet you remain here, young fox, Mourning. Do you not also fear me?" "I do not, Angel, for there is no pain You could thrust upon me that is greater Than the loss of those I love." "Then I shall let this be your curse, Living in memory with no one to Share your existence with." "How foolish you have become, Angel. I have always lived in memory, And my existence has been shared." "What will you do then, child? What is left for you here apart from The ones you've loved?" "Myself. I am the memory of those I love. I am a monument of being. Even you can't touch what remains."

[marcusdeanterry]

My lovely followers and friends. I apologize for absence and lack of output as of late. Work has been very draining, and when I get home, I just want to sit down and watch Naruto (A comic I fell in love with as a 12 year old, and am now determined to finish to appease the child within me). I'm dedicating tomorrow to writing, so hopefully I'll be back in the game soon. -Your Friend

[marcusdeanterry]

Breaking Fate

All of my everything is not yet enough, so I will stretch myself. Bend and break the tissue and every joint, grow and swell so far past What any of you believe I can, and not because I need to prove you wrong; I need to prove me right, so in the end I can say I became so much more Than Fate had in store for me.

[marcusdeanterry]

Late night tribute to Gregory. #imthankfulforgregoryalanisakov

[marcusdeanterry]

Happy Birthday Marcus! :)

Thanks, Georgia. :]

[marcusdeanterry]

For What It's Worth

Tomorrow, it will be my birthday, And soon it shall visit again Willing I stay fixed to time that long. Life is shortened that way. The day draws the curtain early, Says, “You already know the ending.” Perhaps I can guess the plot, but I’d like to get my money’s worth. I was made to believe this event Required festive observation, That I should be uniquely happy I have, after all, survived. But the calendar is a sad joke, Just a prediction of when the leaves Might fall and their blood might dry up, When their children might spring forth Only to wither as their parents did An infinitely somber year before. Please be happy, little one, While the day still has meaning And delivers you new treasures. Feel as much as you can And as deeply as possible, Before you’ve felt it all. They will tell you life is a gift, And it certainly is of the sort. But one you did not ask for; One you cannot return Or exchange for something else. So keep it, for what it’s worth.

[marcusdeanterry]

It is now officially my birthday.

[truth--and--beauty-deactivated2]

marcus;

a boy who always keeps a little of the stuff summer nights are made of in his back pockets-the smell of cut grass and dill weeds, 10pm sunsets and bubbly tar roads- because no matter how beautiful the snow there is something terrifying about winter and the cold and the dying and he thinks to hold on to warmer brighter things could save lives, and so he puts steel drums in his songs and sweet tea in his coffee mug to stave off the chill for one more day, one more week, one more month and everything is thawing and his heart feels fresh and raw once more

[marcusdeanterry]

And I wear slippers and take long baths. So very lovely. :]

[marcusdeanterry]

For What It's Worth

Tomorrow, it will be my birthday, And soon it shall visit again Willing I stay fixed to time that long. Life is shortened that way. The day draws the curtain early, Says, "You already know the ending." Perhaps I can guess the plot, but I'd like to get my money's worth. I was made to believe this event Required festive observation, That I should be uniquely happy I have, after all, survived. But the calendar is a sad joke, Just a prediction of when the leaves Might fall and their blood might dry up, When their children might spring forth Only to wither as their parents did An infinitely somber year before. Please be happy, little one, While the day still has meaning And delivers you new treasures. Feel as much as you can And as deeply as possible, Before you've felt it all. They will tell you life is a gift, And it certainly is of the sort. But one you did not ask for; One you cannot return Or exchange for something else. So keep it, for what it's worth.

[marcusdeanterry]

Disclosure (A Small Collection)

So today I finished a small collection of poems called Disclosure. The first 5 are about individuals that had a profound impact on how I view Love/Lust/Romance/Etc. in the present. The sixth poem is a finale or something I suppose. If you feel like reading through all of them, links to each piece are below. Thanks for reading and all your support. :] Disclosure 1 Disclosure 2 Disclosure 3 Disclosure 4 Disclosure 5 Disclosure 6

[marcusdeanterry]

The Artist's intent will never be as important as the Viewer's interpretation. Still, the Artist must be intentional.

Note to Self

[marcusdeanterry]

Disclosure 6

I’m afraid that you might exist out there beyond my knowing And you’re hurting too, but you’re all magic and wonder. There’s little left of those in me to muster up as gifts.

I’ve grown so very tired, my future, so very dark In this war of existing alone and out of reach for too long. I fear I wouldn’t begin to know how to embrace.

Maybe you’ve heard me singing of sorrow and how it Overwhelms the lonesome man that yearns for revival, Yearns but in bitter ways from breaking in the hands of yesterday.

Perhaps you too are waiting for reformation, healing. If somehow we find each other in our gray symphony, I pray it’s not at the final movement, that our song would linger.