Blurred Clarity

Walking streets that seem as familiar as my bedroom,

And somehow feeling like a stranger or unwelcome intruder.

Being assured by strangers that they aren’t trying to beat me up,

And laughing at the fact that they think that’s a good start to a conversation.

I used to feel,

Feel a variety of emotions;

I’m not saying I’ve become numb despite previous attempts,

But the sensation has dulled or seems harder to detect.

I know how to smile for appearances but not sincerely,

I know how to yell and slam my fist but my anger seems convoluted and lost.

I’m fine with the mortal shell I’ve been given,

But is there a way I can disown whatever the hell it is that I’ve known to be “me”?

How can I find someone to be with,

When I don’t know how to feel together on my own?

It not that I want to be anyone else,

And I don’t necessarily desire to not be myself;

What may be the actual question,

Is who am I?


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

 

 

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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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.

—————————————————–

 

 

Too Much is Never Enough

Too fat, too skinny, too tall, too small;

You’re just too much of everything & anything at all!

From the musical scrawl of Hrancia to the literary classic of Eliot,

My mind is more challenged & even more inspired.

From John the Baptist to Jonathan Vigil,

I walk forward with new inspiration.

Less is more,

But that doesn’t mean more is less.

Just as my clothes don’t fit anymore,

My desire to speak at times is gone right out the door.

But too much writing?

Impossible.

Too much criticism & complaining?

Far too accurate.

Mood doesn’t depend solely on how a room is lit,

It’s the vile falling from behind your teeth & out of your mouth that inspires people to quit.

Pardon my train of thought,

It’s excessive changes of speed & occasional lack of direction.

With so much going on,

so little of the time;

I’ve been left to try my luck every now & again at a rhyme.

The end has come, until we meet again.

My brain & pen, from ink to journal’s end.

And my pen still after all this says;

Too much is never enough!

————————————————————————-

Different from what I usually write, but I’m trying to new things. Who knows what is next. Thanks for reading.