the dictation is super strong even though there are no words, there is no song…. the chords that are not playing overtake the audio and the audience sits applauding, oh the intensity of the spectators felt triple fold the under the pressure of the encores and the lighters waving around and putting it all under the light and all over again, these feelings, having to fight back the emotions but they are always in control so the are just let loose and maybe will present some healing, i am hopeful….. but while the smile on the face of the one tearing it all down walks around flaunts around there is more stone thrown on the ground and it is crushed by the “greater” and “better,” what will never be built …. forced to watch a structure be remade by architectural guilt, in a world that is conditioned by hurt and making sandcastles out of the driest of dirt… foundationally impossible and yet still it is tried, and it is failed.. and it is swept under the rug and declared clean and repaired, fully detailed. on the outside appearance it is fresh and giving young and determined and the crumbling remnants are left to the mouse with nothing, troubling…..how much so little it appears to one, to the other is much, too heavy, the smallest of items to some are checkmarked too large a burden to carry, on the backs and the hands and the hearts of the wounded loved, no matter how high i try to rise above, there is a constant leveling a spiritual unsettling and bringing down of elevations, and there is less of me and more of the jealousy and less understanding and more impractical demandings of my heart to understand and move on and be free, and it still looks down and sees the strings ….
im processing …. and realizing there is a pulsing in the brain that is now abscessing, and simultaneously fracturing the essence of structure, …. breaking down all the zoning and the breakage causes a puncture, the very core of stabilization… the shaking of the foundation created the shattering of the perfect reflection… only seen in the mirror of self preservation…. preserving the perverse and twisted of versions, the self visualized identity, … as the remnants lay at the floor of our souls debris… the destruction occurs naturally…. only chaos comes from the natural being while intentionally, reaching for the metaphysically, observed, and released, for the physical attendee to record visually… purposefully arising from the ashes with intent and poise, silencing the piercing shrieks that explode from internal noise….. with louder and more quiet, with peace and partaking of personal riot, the duality sits in one seat but has a co pilot… flying this aviation device in natures glorious defiance, navigationally pleading for direction or guidance …..while holding out for the results of this test, the years of experience are the only reliance….. relying on the self, based on what was once true, only leaves making the fool make a fool , the fool sets the new standard of what not to do, raises the bar of what to make sure to do, ensure the new place in the opportunists new dormitory, a broken improvisation of “new” in an old story, a horror story, where peace is misplaced and love is brutal and gory, engorged, in self servitude and division of self sustainment…. watching the self try to rebuild within itself is devastating entertainment…. without the leading of the game of blame, it seeks its own demise… falling further into the fiery path no longer disguised, and once again, out of the ashes with a smile, the soul will rise
At a steadfast pace in this existential race, I’m ever wandering on a path that steadily, is being erased.. I jog along trying to keep next to my mate, but that map is quickly being misplaced. It’s in the plan to exacerbate, forget to mediate and just begin to elaborate like my ears are a fresh slate.
I’m needing to medicate and replate this dish thats been served at my table. The one that has a misleading label. It comes with a menu that is written in fables. Words so smoothly ejected that they make your understanding feel disabled.
Without the able.
Locked in a stable and stuffed in a cradle to be kept at bay, while all the nay sayers neigh, and display the inability to articulate the right thing to say. It all comes out in disarray.
Today. Not today. Someday. Some way.
Weighing the past to the future while missing the present, the reality being filtered by resent. The distance growing rapidly by coupled dissent.
I indent my paragraphs to acknowledge priority of speech. I use this avenue to release.
I am incarcerated by your freedom of speech, and the twisted justice has my faith impeached. My body beached. Floundering in the chaos and fleek. Flock, forgoing the family flight. Standing still while watching lies pass me by, reeling from plight or a lack thereof. If there was pride from the guide, there would have been love.
I have to hear what is not being said, I have to see what is not being read.
I have to let go, I have to hold on,
I have to prove to myself I’m the one who is strong.
I have to walk tall, I have to lay low,
I have to stay higher than the wings of a crow.
I yearn to hear what is not being said, I yearn to see what cannot be read
I yearn to be heard, I yearn to be held,
I yearn to be a force to which you’re compelled
To yearn my soul, to yearn my spirit,
To yearn for my presence in your every minute.
Actually what I want is self honesty, truly, I want to just believe me
Trust in myself, doubt on the shelf,
No longer believe the lies that fear tells
Trust in my dreams, doubts will diminish,
Leaping heart first into life’s race’s to finish.
I want to remember all that is real, I want to connect and understand what I feel.
I want to transcend, with my soul make amends,
And experience a love that is without any end.
“We are all a little crazy… it’s just what kind of crazy can you tolerate..”
This was a topic in a conversation I was blessed to have today…
We are all crazy. We all have our issues and baggage and common droppings of batshit that cover our crazies. I guess that is why I write. To eliminate the intensity of the ideas or the insistency of which my brain urges me to operate. Regardless of how much I write or talk or think about the overbearing thoughts in my brain, it still doesn’t relieve me of the moments when I just need to scream or cry or disappear. Those moments are as unpredictable as they are predictable. I have especially learned within the last couple of weeks just how vulnerable I am within the confines of my own cell, trying to break the bars. It feels as though I am reaching through the slats just close enough to make the key chain of freedom dangle, but not quite within full grasp. So as I watch it swaying I become hypnotized envisioning what that freedom looks like.
It looks like this….
The girl who sits behind the veil of her own shade and is welcomed at that nature and not forced to be in the light.
The girl who disappears behind the nightshade of her own shadows now steps into the light and never casts a shadow.
And still that girl will wax and wane and the world will sway with her song and maybe even attempt to hum along to her song.
Just a little bit of what freedom looks like.
“Overall that is the epitome of what it means to be me, or in my company. While I sift through the definitions of what “is” and redefine what it means to “be,” I reflect and am reminded of my vulnerability. What is the tolerance level that equates and vibrates with my personal mental tyranny? ……. “
my head inside, it twitches it glitches
it tosses and turns and it becomes its own snitcher
it tells on me and what not to do
it shows me that i am a fool
proof in my existence in my every day being
that what i do is i walk around and i really am never seeing
i can’t feel i can’t touch i can’t taste i can’t smell
wondering why i am here, is this my own personal hell
everyday strapped with my own set of chains
packing and unpacking
filling and unfilling drains
draining myself as low as i will go
not enough for a siphon
to suck up
so i blow
it all over the world for everyone to “enjoy”
where my life becomes a game like their own personal toy
we watch it and we play with it and we let it unfold
we fold it back up
and we make it our own into our own mold
we become artists
casting ceramic casts
hoping that we come back through the pain of our pasts
and i say that with multiples
and multiple eases
because of all the lives that i have lived
none of them have brought pleasing
andi it’s all thank yous and pleases
and no thank yous and jesus
why did i get to this place where i am at
where my life and my soul has become your welcoming mat
welcome no more
i took the mat out
threw it over the fence, fact
because of the cat with its rat
ripping the head off and throwing it down
for me to walk upon when i come back to town
so metaphorically, it is real what i say
what i tell you right now in this very day
that it is going quite fine
even though i’m quite split
and some days, most, i really feel like shit
there are certain words you just don’t say
there are certain games that you just dont play
but when i say you i mean me
and the insult to injury continues, ensues, all casually
how do you recover from blatant disregard
how do you regain love into a slaughtered heart
will you, i mean,
and when i say you, i mean me,
and the insult to injury continues peruses, subtly
it is crazy to me that this is the belief
it is absurd to me to think this is relief
when i say me i mean me but why not you
and the insult to injury continues, second naturedly
who does that to someone you care about
who thinks that about someone you can’t live without
when i say who i mean me but also you
and the insult to injury stings, opening wounds liberally
most would agree if they saw it all
most might see the story so tall
and by they i mean social society
and the insult to injury stacks opinions digitally
does it all pan out and make sense to you
does it seem just a little bit off from my view
and by you i mean you, the real true you
and the insult to injury projects new avenues
I haven’t slept much.
My mind seems to overindulge in the hyper analytics .
It appears as though I am my own worst critic.
I don’t have any trust.
The image that was first drawn became smudged out by reality.
never before had there been such heart striking fatality.
The future is stuck.
Struck down and held low in despair
Struggling for breath in loves thick and suffering air
Much too deep of a cut.
No bandaids will hold this compounding fracture
no longer can it all save face and straight stature
No longer whatever it was.
I’ve become an advocate of Stoicism for sanity , a binding pressure to create a custom built identity
Crumbling from shock’s touch.
Tremors of half way thoughts and troubling perspectives
Questioning the quest and the pursuit of objectives
Reclamation is a must.
I’m trying not to be intimidated by myself to be me, allowing a freedom that will course its mark eventually.
I have become increasingly numb.