Years Better Erased than Written

I have enough words to tell you I don’t have anything to say,

Not now and not ever again.

 

What’s the point?

What does it matter?

Does anyone actually value being literate,

Or is it merely a convenience?

 

Buried in megapixels,

Whored out for micro SDs,

If only you had a brain.

 

For the fact that change has occurred,

Life remains the same;

Yet because hardly anything is the same,

It’s only then we recognize there has been any change.

 

D          I         E


 

 

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.

 

 

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.


 

 

 

 

 

 

(in)Human(E)

Languages both native and foreign have long been an interest of mine,

Not just their origins and roots but also their misinterpretations.

Even when two people speak the same language,

Manners and semantics can cause a whole world of trouble.

Honesty guided by youth and emotion,

rather than by practicality and reason,

Can become something you wished was a lie.

Words are spoken and heard,

Carrying more meaning than we may ever know or intend;

As the ear transmits information to the mind of the beholder,

Relational entanglement can be cut to pieces or tightened unlike any other before

in a matter of seconds.

It may seem daft or unstable,

But it seems what we call “togetherness” is often nothing but a delusion.

What is the answer?

How shall we respond or react?

When and why did this start?

Do we actually want it to end?

 

?

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Choices: Arrival & Departure

Words, for close to a year now;

Have been nearly impossible to find.

A paragraph of personal writing seemed to require an act of God,

But considering all existence is an act of God in and of itself;

I guess, it’s not as grand of a challenge as first imagined.

My mortality is the one thing giving me peace at the moment,

A world of difference from the anxiety it has provided historically.

 

Where or what I call home is officially immaterial,

And I’m grateful.

I’ve experienced things I thought always wanted recently,

Under circumstances I would’ve never chosen,

And yet I’m ready to let it all go.

To move on and have it exist merely as a memory.

Timing is still sensitive though,

That will never change.

And I’m grateful for this as well,

For it helps my reason keep on fighting my impulses quite well.

Onto another year of life,

Filled with questions and possibly not many answers

But who says that is anything to be upset about?

Another year, that I will gladly live one day at a time and no more.

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New Versions of Old Ideas

You can only talk to yourself for so long,

No matter what could be the topic burning in your brain;

It’s far more exhausting sometimes just keeping track on your train of thought,

Than even the most awkward of interactions with others.

There is something about it though,

That glare of another persons eyes;

Burning through your back,

A look so familiar & yet unique for every situation.

Sometimes it’s a look of disdain or disgust,

It also could simply be a look of shock or listlessness.

But it sometimes just feels like the no vacancy sign is on worldwide,

And the only room for you is inside;

Inside your own head.

And you’d never think it could,

But it just might;

Now the one who wants to throw you out,

The one who doesn’t want you around is yourself.

Resign or Refine?

It’s all pretty simple.

Although, that’s only in word

where simplicity is found.

Ultimately, it’s a choice only oneself can make.

Just remember, that when you start to think you know;

You don’t.

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