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

 

 

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.

 

 

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.

——————————————————————-

Vicious Awareness

In the midst of the storm,

I see the fog very clearly;

But the fog is all I see,

And my sight may as well be as clouded as the world before me.

Evidently my understanding is lacking,

At least personally if not fully;

But I must digress.

I appreciate that the weather can be inconsistent,

It’s one of the few inconsistencies in life that I’ve learned to enjoy.

Assistance unwanted is typically the first offered,

Or that’s what I’ve discovered occurs most often.

I’d rather not display more jadedness,

In the midst of our society that seems to at time thrive on it;

But the charade of being mute has lost its thrill.

————————————————————–

Half a Heart from a Whole Mess

Call it enlightenment or the end of denial,

It doesn’t matter to me;

But I find the mouse on a wheel running in my mind named Overt Analysis,

Is the primary cause of my depression as of late.

Identity;

it’s defined as consisting of many things & very few simultaneously,

It just depends who you ask about it.

In a society where most are more comfortable with truth being based on relativity,

As opposed to any sort of evidence or facts;

What do you expect?

Then again, I’m the one who thought my life would change “magically”

during my adolescence if I changed my name;

Because I had & still have a hard time identifying with or feeling as though I belong in my family of origin.

Biting my own white knuckles,

Suddenly the chokehold is looser;

Breathing is painful,

But only because I often forget to not hold my air in.

Nature thankfully has unsettling ways of reminding you about the importance of order.

I’ve heard people say they’re ready to die,

But I often wonder if it’s only because their afraid to live?

If they think being alive is just too burdensome;

If the grey in their eyes has become too strong a haze for their intrinsic light to break.

Oddly though, we often forget that we have some control & often more than we like to admit over our thoughts.

When you get caught in a dangerous water current,

It’s hard to make it back to shore;

But the irony of a lot of people who don’t make it,

Is that they were often warned before.

I used to chase after people who I thought ran away,

But it turned out;

At least with some,

They just didn’t ever learn how perceive when to go or when to stay.

When to shut up & walk away,

When to speak out.

Is anyone out there?

I used to scream that I didn’t care,

Mainly because it was unfair to admit

that I cared for many I later learned just didn’t want me to.

I don’t limit my caring any less,

For better or worse these days;

I’m just not so quick to voice it,

Or make it known.

After all, voicing cares & concerns to a faithless & careless audience;

Is equivalent in usefulness to yelling for help at a center for the deaf.

—————————————————————————————–

I Won’t be Around

I miss missing you, I used to think distance was a curse; But now I love how far you are from me. The distance you are from me though, Is relative when considering how far out of reality you live. If you aren’t blind, It’s a wonder if you’re eyes even exist. Delusion is your middle name. Illusions are all you seek in relationships, But unfortunately it isn’t all you’re offered. I don’t have time to name you, Just the way you forgot I ever came around; Thankfully I didn’t know how to be present when it all came down. But when it blew up, Like gas to a book of fiery matches, It was both obvious & vague how you wanted things to be. Different than my usual routine, I’m walking forward instead of running away. Some thought I had signed up for a marathon, But I quickly took off my shoes & sat down. My calloused feet are becoming soft again, And the blisters bleeding aren’t even the worst experience with how I feel. I used to beg for people to forget me, Then I found they did it perfectly well on their own. I used to be grateful for this discovery, And then suddenly; As sudden as a change in weather, I started caring & it hurt a bit to swallow this glass shard of a pill. I wish I had more to say, But that’s how it’s been these days. My mind will race with the youthfulness found in a pack of stallions, Charging forward amidst passion & surpassing logic quite often; And then the audience is rendered deficient in attention, And suddenly the wall is proven to be solid when my bloodied mug recovers from the most recent collision. ——————————————————————

Iceburn

In a thick fog of depression & exhaustion,

I feel as though I could go swimming.

But that might only be because I can’t honestly think straight.

The only consistent thought of clarity as of late,

Is the rarity in which I feel able to relate.

I feel comparable to an hourglass;

As though I’m both the falling sand

and the glass it’s contained in.

Trapped only by my own doing.

Or at least, grossly aware of my prison.

It’s fitting though,

Seeing as though I locked myself away:

While it’s not wrong to have feelings,

It’s a mistake let those feelings take control.

If these thoughts would leave, I wouldn’t mind my head being like a hole.

Exit or not,

Sometimes you just aren’t sure.

But once it’s time to leave,

You must act or risk being consumed;

Consumed again in the fog of day,

The same gray that blinded & imprisoned you before.

——————–