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.

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Someone I’m Not

How is it,

So many people assume an identity upon others

when typically they don’t even have security in who they are?

Why must ones tasks and/or role define them,

As if ones personhood can be summarized in a job description?

For too long now,

I’ve wanted to smash the mirror every time I have to see my face;

Just because of some petty insecurities,

But because I didn’t really know my name.

I was wondering who was the stranger looking at me.

So I finally start living day to day and somewhat aware of my identity,

And then like a flood that turns cars into pebbles;

The assumptions of others bury me like a pile of skulls on a war field.

And as I claw my fingers through blood stained clay and mud,

My body aches but I’m more determined than ever.

I may be exhausted but this isn’t the end.

I’m not looking for apologies or something to mend,

I will cut your box in pieces before you even think about putting me in.

I’m the vigilante who picked the locked even after they threw away the key.

I don’t even necessarily expect justice,

But I’ll welcome it if it comes.

I’m just trying to move on,

But I’m not sure yet about where to go.

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Beloved, Fear

The thumping in my chest,

Reminiscent of my favorite drummers double bass pedal kicks;

Joking suggestions & firm misunderstandings, like glue, stick.

Lethargically & confusingly working,

Wondering if I’m practically doing anything.

The possibility of my desire becoming reality,

The predetermined conclusion that to even suggest a thing is fallacy.

Fear, at times, is like the blanket your grandmother made for you;

It has sentimental value as an heirloom of simpler times & familial love,

But also is a reminder of sleepless nights from it’s allergy irritating materials.

No matter how much you itch and sneeze, you can’t let it go.

But I’m tired of sleep walking,

I’m done settling for comfort based on familiarity & not reality.

The war for tomorrow has started today.

I am awake and will fight,

But wounded & a bit unstable in mind.

Fear is fear, and that is all.

Fear is beloved, the biggest lie of all.

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