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?


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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You’re not Born Insignificant, you Choose to be.

Now the title, is just that;

A title, so leave it alone.

Significance or it’s absence isn’t as simple as a sentence.

Embodying insignificance is made possible,

Through wrong thinking and an ultimately self-destructing way of life.

And believing your significance rather than propagating it,

Isn’t actually any sort of egotism or pride.

It’s simply having the lovely knowledge we’re all rightfully able to possess,

That in being a living and created being who is has breath & a will to live;

We are unique and significant.

That’s where it ends and begins,

Significance being present in a person or being.

That it’s existence is not only in tact,

But reality.

Don’t let your significance be something I convince you of,

A clothing company supposedly sells you, an artist “expresses to you”, or however we might try convince ourselves it can come.

But I encourage you, to let your significance be revealed from both within and out;

In and through yourself, others, and the Creator.

You are Significant, Loved, Unique, Imperfectly Perfect, and important.

Or maybe a little more “hallmark” or film -appropriate “You is smart, you is kind, you is important”

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Here is a more favored, maybe less-often referenced, quote I’d also like to share in relation to these thoughts.

 “Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out;
    you formed me in my mother’s womb.
I thank you, High God—you’re breathtaking!
    Body and soul, I am marvelously made!
    I worship in adoration—what a creation!
You know me inside and out,
    you know every bone in my body;
You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,
    how I was sculpted from nothing into something.
Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth;
    all the stages of my life were spread out before you,
The days of my life all prepared
    before I’d even lived one day.”

(Psalm 139:13-16 in the Message translation above and New American Standard below)

“For You formed my inward parts;
You wove me in my mother’s womb.
14 I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Wonderful are Your works,
And my soul knows it very well.
15 My frame was not hidden from You,
When I was made in secret,
And skillfully wrought in the depths of the earth;
16 Your eyes have seen my unformed substance;
And in Your book were all written
The days that were ordained for me,
When as yet there was not one of them.”