Compromised Focus

Screaming in basements to avoid being heard,

Typing out thoughts so patience doesn’t have to be tested,

It’s all become so routine;

Figuring out how to make the loudest noise yet remain concealed

In an absent-minded and loud world.

Exhausted at the resonance of criticism,

Flattened by the glare of chosen ignorance,

My disdain for sleep is tested by my stronger desire to avoid people.

While my body will be in far worse pain if I lay down uselessly,

It’s better than the pain of being surrounded by people

whose interactions feel like they’re done out of duty rather than hospitality.

Why believe you’re in a group when the people make you feel lonely?

Why sit next to someone who seems as though they’re deaf to your voice only?

I’m confused as to what relationships are actually supposed to do,

Especially since people seem to favor conversations on screens involving icons and abbreviations,

Rather than human engagement and sound.

Why should I see you in person when I can see you just fine on my phone screen?


Don’t waste your touch You won’t feel anything

 

 

Au revoir, à mon coeur et à mon âme

Walking pathways of death as respectful as one is able,

You find an occasional numb in the midst of being overwhelmed or unknowing of what to do and how to feel.

Faces of those who might know the area as home are illumined and regarded,

Faces of those visiting are studied as well out of curiosity,

And then those who are seeking a new home in this unfamiliar land;

They are the ones who you do your best to assure they have been seen,

While the world may seemingly pass them by.

In a world on edge,

Below ground can be a place to find peace.

When walking caverns that have become hallowed halls of history,

A certain stillness is found even when actively observing your surroundings;

knowing you’ve temporarily escaped the chaos and noise of society above.

In refining one’s self, you find that you also lose pieces of your “self”;

It makes you wonder if it’ll all be worthwhile,

or if it will be just another phase or season.

Something meant for a scrapbook rather than a defining step forward as a human,

Compulsion rather than immersion.

My critical eyes have been poked many times over,

But I believe the time has come to gouge them out.

For I’d rather gain knowledge blindly and objectively,

then have the privilege of sight but also the handicap of unneeded critique.

With bones dislocated, emotions suppressed or dead, and a mind rather empty;

What good would I pose as just another spoon fed oaf?

As I prepare to leave,

I don’t have a final destination.

As the mirror reflects a face that is familiar,

I don’t immediately acknowledge it as my own.

Maybe a shadow of someone I knew,

Or someone I’d rather forget I met.

Just a sketch of someone or something,

From a place no longer existent.

fullsizeoutput_c80

Taped Together

Reacting faster than an Olympic runner,

Spitting out words to form a white flag emblazoned with red blotch;

Is it blood, paint, food coloring?

No one asks, so it doesn’t seem it matters.

Walking away with words muttered that would make any elder cringe in horror,

Attempting to wonder what it’s like to “blend in”.

What it’s like to be more “appealing to others”.

I guess part of my problem has been buying into this whole thing of being special,

What the hell does that even mean?

Why am I living by a greeting card companies overplayed dream?

I’m certainly not the first “rebel” nor will I be the last,

And as for being “in my head” or “private” as those who have determined themselves “respectful” call it,

Do you think anyone ever tries to wonder or ask why I’ve become so quiet?

Sure, the probing questions come like a department store having a liquidation sale.

100 “how are you’s” for the price of 1 on aisle 5, right next to the ipecac.

50 “Are you feeling okay’s” for the price of 1 on aisle 3, which is our sporting good department; this way you can ask someone a petty question, and then the person you asked the question can do exactly what they feel is an appropriate response to your question by having a variety of objects that can inflict pain on the one who spoke.

Creative writing, I miss doing that; I’ve become so accustomed to needing a life story spiel for the next 5 people who couldn’t care less

that my writing has turned into this mess.

The occasional rant here,

An actual attempt at journalism there,

Angry tirades galore,

And the occasional opus of woe.

Feral identity is much easier to acclimate to in a world that seems set on wanting to be everywhere else they aren’t at any given moment.

Wishing things were different, easier, better, faster;

The dreams dreamed solely for the sake of indulgence and some sort of twisted idea of what utopia could be if it were ever possible.

But even the utopia that came in the form of a series of colonies and led to a country had the bottom break right out from under it,

and it was very much the hands that built that lovely utopian dream that broke into unrecognizable pieces of garbage.

Waste isn’t free and neither are these words no matter how scattered they may be.

Thankfully this entry is over, and another is unknown if it will ever exist.

 

 

Kneel & Disconnect

Entranced by familiarity once despised,

Not because anything likeable has been found;

But because your visceral feelings are now faded memories.

Vacant.

Empty and cold.

Only the debris remains.

Damaged Departures,

wishing it could’ve been done secretly.

Arriving while absent,

Overwhelmed by a flood of emotions with more hate than ever before

while remaining too exhausted to care.

My mind and the sky are twins today;

Cloudy, dark, and unwilling to change.

It’s been 3 months now,

And there is no time limit in sight;

However, implications of a grave future are melodramatic at best.

Adjustments are needed,

Continued change is somehow stunted but looking possible to start again;

The way we thought it was “back then”,

When things were “exactly how they should be”.

What a damned, filthy lie that was.

I could say I’m out of options,

But what would that do or say of my character?

I could wait for something “to happen”;

But that languorous state of being has brought me to this present moment.

“Where do I start?”, some might say.

Just start from exactly where you are at this moment,

Keep going,

And don’t stop until you arrive …

Somewhere, as long as it is not here.


 

 

 

 

 

 

Morning Oration

No matter how it is presented,

Or how it is supposedly justified,

Hypocrisy is one of the ugliest human traits.

 

So, what do you do when you’re the hypocrite?

The filth and poison being released into the world,

Is a burden you’re responsible for creating.

I knew most any trust I’d even imagined to possessing had been broken,

But I didn’t intend to forget what trust was altogether.

Unfortunately, I believe it happened because it just made things easier.

 

When the face you hate seeing most is your own,

You look only when required;

And make haste otherwise.

I’ve really done it this time,

And this is the oddity of mistakes.

Whence you’ve recognized you’ve lost your way,

It doesn’t always mean you need to discover a new path.

You may have run out of all resources possible to have and need to rest,

You may backtrack and seemingly digress;

But never, should you ever, give up and surrender.

 

I want to desire to trust others again,

But I believe must learn how to trust myself first.

How and why should I expect to trust people I’m around occasionally,

If I can’t be bothered to trust the person I am and will be for all time?

————————————————————

 

Drain Me

You couldn’t pay me to write as of late,

I’ve been blaming a lack of motivation;

A lack of desire,

and at times a lack of much to write.

But it’s honestly at the point,

Where I know it’s not because of lack.

It’s because of the excess,

The surplus in my day to day;

The excess of work,

The excess of isolating and limiting depression,

The overwhelming loose fingered grip I feel upon myself.

 

I keep crashing,

Only to need to wake up moments after;

Or at least that’s how my weary head sees it in this foggy existence.

———–

Be our Guest, but Please Don’t Put our Patience to the Test

Some may think that “overstaying your welcome” is impossible,

I simply believe they haven’t encountered a bad guest.

For their unwilling ignorance, I both applaud them as much as I’m concerned for when their perspective may be changed.

While I enjoy & unashamedly encourage generosity,

And I won’t lie or imply that I haven’t been taken advantage of.

Unfortunately, I would sometimes receive warnings;

But then I would extend further generosity or kindness as if to prove a point,

To prove that the person or peoples in question were perceived wrongly.

After all, experience isn’t always the best judge.

In our current era of history,

It seems as though societal displacement is that of an epidemic.

Unfortunately, and yet unsurprisingly, it has no bias or specific target.

Whether you’re age 4, 44, or 94;

You may be either knowingly or unknowingly displaced in some degree,

Even worse is the fact that mental displacement is sometimes more severe than physical.

No matter what kind of displacement,

There are lessons to be learned both during and after it;

But it’s very difficult to see that.

I won’t stop giving,

But I tend to wait a little longer before I offer anything.

——————————————————————-