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

 

 

Misunderstanding Guaranteed

 

One hand open and the other closed in a fist,

Offensively prepared in order to defend.

Straightened out after almost dying,

But why does it have to be that mortality is the only reason to try and make sense?

 

I’m amazed at what my eyes have seen,

But all the more amazed at how limited I am in perspective and insight.

My trust is much like when I try to hold your hand,

Strained at best; painful and unsure, uneasily making an effort for something desired and also frightening.

Cold winds have become a pleasure in this life with almost constant muscle pain;

While the stiffness is enhanced, it reminds me of the privilege is to be alive.

Humanity is a strange activity more often than not,

The closer you come to dying;

You may end up feeling more alive.

 

Walking a sidewalk is more akin to swimming in a sea of misinterpretation,

Surrounded by floundering intentions and emotions.

Masked attendants stand at corners waiting to cross the street,

When they can’t even understand how to interact with another human being.

Any questions?

Don’t expect an answer.

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Retiring from Performance

I had a most empowering moment of powerlessness today,

As I sat hoping to find calm in a cold Autumn breeze.

For as long as I can remember,

I’ve felt like someone or something “other” than most anyone you could meet,

As if I was some sort of twisted concoction that ended up becoming human.

My otherness hasn’t faded away,

but I don’t see it as anything of significance.

No longer is it a burden nor is it something to be proud of,

It is just part of my existence.

With this, I’ve also found that all wonderment of why I may not be able to connect with people has been spent.

I’m not saying there isn’t a single person I connect with,

And this isn’t a melodramatic cry of woe is me.

But I continue to show kindness to people that I all too often look at in the midst of maybe our fourth or fifth conversation,

And I can see clearly that they’re ready to exit as long as they can do it “politely”.

If they want to be polite,

Don’t waste my damn time.

If I’m just not your “type”,

Please just say from the beginning,

I don’t even care if it’s a pre-judgment that ends up being your tool to judge me;

The quicker you decide there is no need to know my name,

The longer I have of my day to use in a more practical way as opposed to feeding your ego.

It may be called a “first impression” but if you’re waiting for me to impress you,

You might want to sit down and get comfortable.

It’s not that I’m boring,

But I’m sure as hell not a circus monkey.

I’m better at saying goodbye than I am at saying hello,

I’m not withdrawing or refusing to try;

I’ve just never had time to waste and I have places to go.


From an Involuntary Beginning to an Inevitable Ending

Without even trying,

I’m most aware of myself

once another human being has entered the room I’m in.

Call this perpetual anxiety,

Or perpetual lack of privacy;

They don’t even have to notice I exist,

Let alone my presence,

But I’m often unexplainably compelled to leave.

Do we fear death because we don’t understand,

Or is it that we fear life because all we can understand is death?

For it seems fair & honest to say that no human being,

No one alive,

Before birth ever asked about or agreed to being born.

However, many people often ask to die

and some choose to take primary responsibility for it happening.

It’s as if we wish we had a button that could switch our lives on or off,

Much like the machines we revolved our lives around & often live through more actively than our mortal shell.

At least in this current generation,

It’s as if our phones are more alive than a fair amount of our youth;

The people are who supposed to “create our tomorrow”,

When they aren’t even alive today.

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