Category: Underground Poetry

Posted on in Author, Creative Writing, Poetry, PTSD, PTSD Awareness, Underground Poetry, Writer

Navigating with a Notepad (Poetry)

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I’m trying to sit in the dark,
Late at night, staring out at the stars,
While sorting out my thoughts to write another poem.
Yeah, it might sound like the same old song,
But the pen and pad are the only things I can depend on.
It’s hard to have family and friends
Who can’t see or understand any of my social problems.
Some days I’m quietly awkward,
Other days I’m rudely obnoxious.
Maybe I’m a good actor,
Or maybe, I just don’t know how to act.
I am sure people think I am just playin’
To get money from the government,
I just want to live peacefully before I’m dead.
If I was faking my problems,
I wouldn’t have prolonged my issues from 2009,
Or even longer, like…

…my whole life…

…I wouldn’t still be walking that fragile line.
People just rather be blind,
To the facts of my short term memory distortion,
My insomnia, and the voices in my conscience,
That transfers through my body, to my fingers,
To the pen to form these words on this notepad.
In my eyes, I don’t see insecurity with my vulnerability.
If that was the case, I wouldn’t have the courage to share my story.
So what if I am a bit sensitive or even a bit pensive,
My depression and anxiety has always been repetitive,
I’ve accepted these anti-socializing traits,
The best of this world’s artists can relate.
I am sure other kids can to, but too scared to navigate,
And get lost deep inside their heart,
Emotions, and words to collate, in return create this art.
So if you’re afraid, just turn to my unique poetic philosophy, Descartes.
I wish people would stop being concern about how the world looks at me,
I’ll be the executive producer of my decisions and consequence,
Revealing the tattoos and scars that live deep down in my heart.
It’s my skin. It’s my ill mind. It’s my life.

So I’ll keep dishing these poems like my pen is a spoon or fork,
Because it seems it’s the only therapy that truly works.
So if you think I am writing to ask for help,
I’m not. By the time this poem ends, I’ll be my better self.
I just want to thank you for reading and listening,
To my rhymes, my provocative conditioning.

2014 ©H.M. Gautsch
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Posted on in Author, Blogger, CCIU, Creative Writing, Love, Poetry, Stylez Creations, Underground Poetry, Writer

Let Me Have The Last Dance (Poetry)

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The day we met.
Instant attraction,
The sparks remain in flight.
I can’t deny you.
I’m your type,
And you’re my kind of guy.
So why do we fear,
Of what’s right in front of us?

Fear of love and our love of fear,
Due to our own battle scars and cuts.
Let us open these wounds,
Be vulnerable together.
Can you imagine?
Any other picture perfect love affair?
Let my confidence speak.
I can be the best you’ve had,
And you for me.
The understanding and communication,
Of our personal demons,
Goes afar across the seas.
And around the world.
Let’s conquer and overcome as one.
Believe me when I tell you who I see,
When I look right through you.
Balance the emotional and sexual healing,
With intellectual revealing.
Game of chance,
Let me have the last dance.
2014©H.M. Gautsch
Posted on in Creative Writing, Inspiration, Life, Poetry, Underground Poetry

Won’t Knock Me Down (Poetry)

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Say anything you want,
Not even sticks and stones can slow me down.
I’ll keep moving forward,
Even with broken bones.
Keep doubting my struggles and my progression.
It’ll only motivate me, fuel me,
Until more opportunities opens the windows and doors.
I haven’t made it to the top yet,
So I got to keep climbing these steps.
One by one, got to keep that in mind.
Until I see the sun shine through me and reveals my golden heart.
Keep the eyes on the prize.
These artificial lights and imprisoned fort,
Will no longer subdue me.
I formed freedom to roam the seven seas with this mentality.
Survival of the fittest is this,
This movement doesn’t include an elevator or an escalator.
If you are expecting a free ride,
You can just jump off,
This movement is a latter, not a slide.
Mama said, “Life won’t always be fair.”
So I got to keep God in my prayers.
You won’t knock me down, for I am David, and hatred is Goliath.
I will conquer, before I drown on strange tides of words.
You won’t knock me down,
I’ve become my own pilot,
Flying above the clouds in the skies, the stars are my compass.
Words spill out of my wounds,
Like a raging white river, the letters flow.
Turning negatives into positives with the pen I have surfaced.
You don’t like what you see?
Not my problem, only your insecurities.
2014 © H.M. Gautsch

Posted on in CCIU, Creative Writing, Eminem, Influence, Poetry, Underground Poetry, Writer

Let’s Get Shady (Poetry)

Lately, I have a lot of words bobbling in my head like a bunch of bobble heads.

I wonder if I can find the words that need to be said.
I wonder how many of my poetic stories are going to go unread.  
Fuck it, because honestly, numbers don’t matter to me when it comes to the chances I take,
I refuse to lie in a bed that I never had an opportunity to make,
So I guess I’ll play some Eminem and keep pushing with this paper and pen.
Let’s spit some fuel on this fire.
Before you throw blame, don’t hate the player, hate the game.
Just because you’ve made it in the fast lane, don’t mean shit to me.
There’s a reason I have my own pace; to prevent something similar to this car chase.
But now we are playing bumper cars through a petty fucking rat race.
Time to find a new route from these circles and dead ends in this overly complex maze. 
I’m tired of it, but restless, because of how I have been wired.
A soldier in the battlefield trying to communicate in cypher,
I am bringing my artillery out. Just to show you that I’m a survivor.
How many of y’all am I preaching to?
Show me how big the choir is by saving these words like a virus.
If you are ready to reach a new level, raise your hands!
If you are ready, let’s get shady.
If you are ready for me to turn up my voice, stand with me,
My generation lost army.

I’d rather burn down a whole house than be a small candle in a dark crowd.

It’s gotten to the extreme with the built up of these rain clouds.
Storms pass, but I am hearing the pounding of thunder and the sight of lightening.
A sign for it’s to get a bit louder with the demons hiding in my stone cold subconscious.
My denial of my alter ego has pissed her off. She’s about to knock the fucking door in, and break herself free from the prison sentence I locked her up in.
Believe it or not, I too have an evil twin I have to fight with to tame down my sins.
I guess with my astrology sign, as a Gemini, it’s common to have a second side.
Unfortunately it just takes a lot for me to transition from Miss Jekyll to Miss Hyde.
But when it hits, it’s like a champagne bottle after shaking and pop, there goes the lid.
But enough of explaining all this shit.
I’ve had enough of allowing myself to become a doormat once again.
It sounds repetitive, again and again and again.
But I am going to keep repeating until you feel my pain!
My heart is permanently scarred and stained!
But I am stepping it up, like the mob and laying down my own laws for my fellow, generation lost.
If you are ready to reach a new level, raise your hands.
If you are ready, let’s get shady.
If you are ready for me to turn up my voice, stand with me,
My generation lost army. 
Ever thought no matter how hard you try,
It just ain’t enough for those critiquing your life?
I am done pleasing others that don’t support me in my joys or support my strife.
For all that just tells me to, “Just get over it.” Y’all can just jump off a bridge if you like.
I’ll do what I have to, to get the fuck out of here, even if it is to become a street bum in New York,
I am not made to work in a factory or a corporation. Whether you like it or not,
I’m made to just live my life and tell about it with a rhythmic, lyrical storm.
I have the charisma; I have the factors needed for my skills and art form.
If you really knew the true motivation of my goals…
Greedy for a better life, maybe, but you would be too if you were raised in “Bum-Fucked Egypt”
In a broken home, where there was nowhere to escape, except the back roads,
Which took you to just another reminder of why your home was so emotionally broke.
From alcohol and drug abuse to blood line confusion and the story goes on and on and on.
No surprise, I’m just one of those kids that felt unwanted throughout my childhood.
I didn’t know it would grow from a small story to an infamous book for all who’s often misunderstood.
2014©H.M. Gautsch