I Will Not Give It Up For The New Year

I've sure given up on giving stuff up        
like all my goodies I'm supposed to quit        
so New Years Resolutions can just get stuffed,        
       
And I'll grow old and fat, stewed in my cups,        
because giving up things can be the pits        
I've sure given up on giving stuff up...        
       
Like scoffing chocs, dribbling beer as I sup,      
or hoarding tat as if I've sticky mits        
so New Years Resolutions can just get stuffed,        
       
Or ranting at the neighbour's cheeky pups,      
cos they, like, forever get on my tits        
I've sure given up on giving stuff up,        
       
Like the dog-track where I always get whupped        
teeth gnashing my winning ticket to bits,        
so New Years Resolutions can just get stuffed        
       
I've quit smoking and for that I'm well chuffed        
And I'm certainly not giving up, it,  
But I've sure given up on giving up        
So New Years Resolutions can, just get stuffed!        
       
       
         
 

 
Why should I care for the new year?  
Another cycle of the same celestial dance  
spiraling through familiar constellations.  
Same faces in the same places,    
their conversations a recitation of a well-worn script.  
 
Why should I care for the new year?  
When the clock's hands circle back  
to touch the same numbers they brushed a moment ago.  
And the calendar's pages, thin and brittle  
fall like leaves from the same tree.  
 
Why should I care for the new year...  
When the same hues paint the dawn  
and twilight pulls the same shades over the world.  
Each season a carousel of repeated scenes.  
Eternal recurrence etched in time’s unwavering hands.  
 
Why should I care for the new year?  
When mistakes, like shadows, follow persistently.  
Relentless echoes of human error  
lining the paths we tread.  
Marking our stumbles with the indifference of stone.  
 
Yet, there is a subtle hope in the repetition,  
A whispered promise in the familiar refrain  
that even in the endless cycle  
there is room for small revolutions.  
Tiny shifts in the fabric of the ordinary.  
 
The new year, a canvas reset,  
offers the brush once more,  
to redefine the strokes of our days.  
Maybe the same people, same colors,  
but the hand that moves, wiser, more deliberate.  
 
The new year is a chance not to erase the past  
but to layer over it a tapestry of growth.  
Stitched with the lessons of mistakes  
and the strength of survival.  
 
In the sameness, there lies potential,  
in the repetition, a rhythm.  
A heartbeat that sustains...  
And in the continuation a promise of perseverance.
 

I will never give up this new year!
I will veer away from a dreadful society
and trek into the wilderness
for the sake of my self preservation.

What sins and decay society is now!
Embrace the peace of nonjudgmental eyes,
or nonexistent eyes in the wilds.
I don’t care how alone I am I want solitude.

I once wrote the forest has eyes and tongues.
This refers to his the psychosis will follow me.
I accept this, however, no one will witness me
responding to these voices out loud!

I’m 37 now and I am exhausted and humiliated.
Society has chewed me up and spit me out.
So, my New Year’s resolution is to venture off
and never give up the fight for survival I will have.

Someday I may walk out…
Someday the writing I will do will be found…
Someday my body will be discovered by hikers…
And someday, my poetry will become known!

Illusion or reality
Sane or insanity
Demons running through my veins
There's nothing I would ever change
 
Network damage - Connection Split
Input - Output - Complete Shit
 
Illusion or reality
Sane or insanity
Harsh stories & poems run through my brain
Inside my body, a madman reigns
 
It's my reality
It's my illusion
It's my burning pain
Never one for a New Years Resolution
 
The one thing I'll never refuse to give up
Is to screw with people's minds
Ya know....Fuck shit up!!
 
 

     
This new year I want to be a better person,      
so I'll do some unattainable shit like      
vow to piss away less time ,    
to run more,      
overthink less,      
drink more water,    
and eschew single-use plastic like it was      
crawling with enviro cooties      
     
and maybe I'll give up      
social media,      
and Taylor Swift,      
and my argument,    
that a taco is a    
motherfucking sandwich      
(you know it is)    
     
maybe I'll give up...      
you    
     
as much as I should      
cut the ties that      
bind our wrists      
in perpetuity    
and allow us to      
dance free in separate fields      
allow us to grow in      
an un-stunted sun      
without the apple cores      
around the tree bases      
     
I just can't.    
     
I can't give you up.      
     
Can't give up the      
feeling of falling      
in your arms      
as we push-pull      
in the front seat      
of your car,      
honking the horn      
until the neighbors      
threaten to call the police      
     
again    
     
and I can't give up      
the way my tummy flexes      
as you write our names      
with your tongue      
across my ribs    
     
in cursive      
     
or the way I curse      
the day you were born      
when you find my      
rib-tickle-spot and      
torment me until      
I'm screaming      
and vowing revenge      
for a thousand generations      
     
then calm me down      
and use your fingers      
in ways that    
make me scream      
your name      
like a vow    
I'll uphold  
for aeons  
     
My friend.      
My heart.      
My lover.      
   
I think of improving      
on my basic humanity package      
and immediately      
flash-back to    
     
Oh, love,    
Your breath in my ear,    
hand on my ass,      
teeth on my skin,      
sweat in my mouth,    
     
god, yes, baby    
your need in my night      
and the way you light      
the day beyond      
technicolor supernovas      
as you take my      
sweet throat      
in your hand and      
pin my body      
to the bed      
     
fuck yes    
knees on my chest      
as your body      
slaps freedom      
in time with      
my cries      
and the musky      
scent of us      
filtering the sheets      
and you plunge      
harder as I push      
back and      
nipples twisted      
hair wet      
slow love words      
and soft caresses      
toes curl    
red nails grasping    
and the way      
you sound      
when I ..      
     
fuck...      
     
baby...      
     
Oh god, yes      
     
please    
     
fuckingshit pleaassse.      
     
Baby, now, I love... I love...    
     
and I could give up      
the feral growl      
in your chest      
as you unleash      
an army in my body      
and you kiss tears      
from my lashes      
     
as easily as      
I could give up      
air or skin or      
ice cream.      
     
Probably better that I give up social media      
to be a better version of myself.      
     
Or shoes.      
     
Because I can't give you      
up this year.      
     
Because I can't face      
days without      
my heart in your hands      
     
Because the    
best version      
of me    
starts      
in your arms.