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.

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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.


Coffee Time – Bold Roasted

Sipping upon earth grown fuel,

Attempting to regain some sense of being;

My being alive may not be a mistake,

But I’m damn skilled at making mistakes in my life.

If anyone asked,

I’d say I want to smash windows and really anything I feel is in my way;

But truth be told

I’d rather float down a river of my own tears.

Melodramatic, yes, but here’s a bit of reasoning-

When your emotions feel as though they exist light years away from your life experiences,

At least the appropriate emotions;

You eventually reach a point of confusion mixed with desperation,

Because it seems what you feel doesn’t actually matter.

I’ve reached a rather interesting point of exhaustion,

I’m basically so tired that I’m energized;

Exhausted so far past the point of fatigue,

That I can’t help but need activity.

Stimuli is key,

Rest is both foreign & futile.

Ground me coarsely until there’s little remnants,

Bathe my ashes in the water,

That I may be poured out as a roast stronger than I could ever see myself as.

————————

Nothing to Show

Fractured skulls and broken equilibriums,

Polished shoes & furrowed brows.

Thankless & endless hours of work,

Loud & constant criticism;

Irrelevancy & apathy are spreading.

Desiring to talk things out,

Yet always coming up short on words;

Never actually heard,

Just violated and invaded.

Privacy is nonexistent.

Getting by is something to feel guilty about,

Succeeding is nearly impossible;

Lacking reason is encouraged,

Realism is synonymous with pessimism.

For the minds eye is believed to be sewn shut,

When it has only blinked after being blind for so long.

Mind is frozen. Body is withdrawn. Rest is needed but hard to secure.

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