I feel vibrations on the ground and tires trembling over the earth. With each rotation and gripping of the rubber onto the gravel, my breath subsides. I track the volume and duration of travel. Little bits of hope escaping the stronghold of knowing better and disappointment. Breathe again. Now I hear nothingness. Hope remembers this feeling and falls away fast.
It’s always been a path that has twisted the second I have put my foot upon what was perceived as stable earth. Especially any time I have made any proclamation of change or declarative to myself. Or anyone else for that matter. There was never really a beginning step, nor do I see the paths direction clearly now.
It has an air of taste but not fully indulge, regardless of the all you can eat buffet. It is the holding back children from the desert bar after eating all their dinner. A reminder to the senses that they are only in control of detecting deliciousness but not given the utensils to fulfill the salivation for hope and fulfillment.
Looking into the mirror has been a ritual in compartmentalism and I think I have become the pastor of preaching projection. The imagery that I am seeing in this reflection is of generic body parts and decorations on the anatomy. it’s not a clear picture, it is a bit foggy. And yet it is clearly seen as a component for an opportunity to critique my whole self, none the matter of the bold attempt to witness through another’s observation.
Moments of beauty linger still and wrap their scent stamp of importance. immersing ideas that memory and present agenda can somehow coexist. Breathing in a breath that was taken years already before and freshly adorned with a sound. This envelopment of calming acceptance has been trying to guide an old soul. The urgency of anew has been heeded. Moving into the fog has been the design all along.
I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know what it is with this feeling I don’t want to let go
but I know I’m no longer healing
I can see the happiness congealing
into little pools. …
when I pass by
i see the reflection of only a fool
who keeps trying to jump over the puddle forgetting it’s a river
forcing myself to Drown,
into a sliver of hope
waiting for it to Hold my body
and help me Float
Flow freely, I don’t wanna keep repeating these same mistakes
waiting and hoping for love to grow,
but it won’t,
how could it when I raise the stakes every day.
This is loves game to play,
bounce the heart back-and-forth between what is real
and what is my reality,
what is real to me?
I only shorten that time by the time I spend questioning
the time I spend assuring
that deception is luring and
obscuring the clarity,
the hilarity is the severity
of how disparity takes a hold of me
and I see that I can see
but I’m blind to the outcome,
trying to outrun
the inevitability that this journey is done, drug me down turned me into someone that is no longer some one’s
present and certainly not future…
it’s fear is pure.
Born out of hell for the last two years. And now I can see
how I am responsible for these
about to be tears.. .
All the hypocrisy
coming from my broken mirror.
No wonder it all looks mispieced
and no wonder my perception
is not perceived the way that I can, conceptually
this is a malfunctioning plan
if I expect to somehow reflect
these jagged edges
and expect you to understand
and make them smooth
and cut clean like hedges..
still broken and rebuilt
but preferred to stack my brokenness tidy and esthetically,
brick by brick of emotion
as to predict the pattern accordingly, unfortunately
or a misfortune for me
or perhaps it is all jumbled beautifully, but when you look you see
shattered and shredded stories
staring back at you
from your imagery of truth,
and hear from your preferred tuning
in or tuning out of the details
and the reply is emptily
offering empty hearts,
easily breaking apart ,
what little is left of loves art
I feel alone. I feel like the only one sitting here in this throne. Emptiness for accompaniment. Sadness in this establishment. Housing big servings of feelings that are only mine to digest. Pulling my chair up to an unoccupied table. Feeling like instead of in my kingdom, I am eating from the stables. Being fed bullshit enough to get my belly full. Then I feel uncomfortable. I realize that I am not being fulfilled, this has become illogical. Magical time and show is over. I need to be held onto forever. Or at least when it’s clever to show that the care is as deep as said. More than text messages and weekend dates in bed. More than hey this is what I did today, more like, I need you in my life, how is your heart, baby? Me, I’m crying inside I’m crying outside, Im feeling like it’s the pride that keeps me from dying. Again with the crying. I wish I didn’t feel so alone in my mind. Especially when I share it so openly. I give my thoughts over to help you see me accordingly. See me so that my heart feels your love for me. But I don’t feel that. I feel pushed, slightly. Away is not quite right, but averted from deepening. Lonesome reasoning.
in the land of coincidence this was the most generous description of happenstance. it wasn’t like it was just a casual encounter or a quick side eyed glance. it came across as poignant decision making lacking any evidence of chance.
a change was noticed and the energy fell weak. the exchange of interest softened below the peak. it became directed elsewhere and the loss was not meek. somehow fainting in persistence week by week.
an energy brewing and thickening each day creating suffocation. a knowledge among the stars shining down inappropriate provocation. and an air about it ruminating vanity, causing a personal indignation.
Tangible in the smell of something not quite right in the senses. Any attempt of clarification builds up an unnecessary display of defenses, only confirming the initial questioning of advances.
It’s a cosmic awareness of conversations employed. Communications offering disdain to the committed love joy. This Layering of perspective creating new versions of allowing a secretive ploy.
Encouragement of union and unity is on a wavering foundation. Opportunity presented daily for egoist masturbation gives a slide of hand to genuine and pure intention. castrating genuine and symbiotic connection and affection.
Gripping onto a slippery slope of ideas and projecting. Never ending the questioning with a confirmation or upfront viewing. Only hiding. Only silently replying. Only giving all into something that is mystifying.
My house is so quiet. There is no one here but me. I’m not used to this feeling.
My house is so quiet. My mind is incredibly loud. I’m trying not to be proud.
My house is so quiet. It is close to time for bed. I’m begging for a quieter head.
My house is so quiet. There is ringing in my ears. Maybe that is just the echoing of my fears.
My house is so quiet. It seems so lonely inside. Is it from me or you that I’m trying to hide?
My house is so quiet. I need no lights on to see. No one will notice I wear your shirt to sleep.
My house is so quiet. I wish I could know what is next. I pray for resolution, for the heart, what is best?
My house is so quiet. Maybe I’ll hear the voice of reason. I yearn for the truth and our warmer season.
My house is so quiet. I see that resemblance from us. The next choice needs to be trust.
I can’t stop and it’s twisting up my head. It spills, stains my brain and makes my view full of lead. I see only nothingness as the target in my chest has been washed over as unimpressive, unimportant. It must be an imported goal, complete with unidentifiable instructions leaving a hole where it was intended to be whole. Gaping, kind of oozing from a wound that is nothing short of self abusing as I sit here expecting or even hoping for the perusing of such words I have put out to be read. Most likely taking risks of it being misinterpreted. Although that would be welcomed moreover than any false hope, and following paths that keep my interests broke. The trigger that pulled the gun of loves infliction now has chambered echoes of bottled indignation. Insulting the very beginning of held out foundational building. I keep building. Seeing with a blind intuition and leading myself into clear confusion. Seeing what’s not there, but knowing it is. Giving bits of fresh air but those breaths are short lived when I see the amount of time and space afforded to something stealing away, causing priorital decay, pushing the interests further away. With that, stay. Stay there in that example of complexity, in that world of feeling not quite wrong but rightly denying the subtle intensity. I see. It should be me, maybe too clearly I see. Maybe too clearly i just want to be seen, a scene hard to turn away from. And now, killing me, I play along, willingly. I want the heart, the soul, the brain to be freedom.
I don’t belong. No, not here. I don’t belong, with you my dear. I don’t belong and you have her near.
I don’t belong. No, maybe never did. I don’t belong and my feelings are hid. I don’t belong and you have her bid.
I don’t belong. No, I feel so out of place. I don’t belong and it begins to be erased. I don’t belong and you seek her space.
I don’t belong. No, can I please rewind. I don’t belong and I feel I’m falling behind. I don’t belong and she is your kind.
I don’t belong. No, my words have no value. I don’t belong and it’s your words I hang on to. I don’t belong and you play your game with her days long.
Where am I when I am searching inside? Can anyone still see me or is it a matter of mental seek and hide. I feel faded and not fully alive. I feel jaded like it’s difficult to contrive.
I sink deep into what I don’t want to feel and relinquish my hope. I splash about in the shallow end and desperately request a rope. My hands flail about and my effort is choked. Back to the bottom of the waters, my view comes from a fogged over scope.
In an awkward silence my thoughts begin to escape. They string together in an unnatural fray. I begin screaming inwardly for something important to say and I’m never quite sure if the words come together the right way.
Until it comes I will sit in my wonder. Until it is impressed and permeated I will mentally and verbally flounder. Will I know when it has arrived or will I hold it in front of me and ponder? Will I keep it at arms length or even a distance further and longer?
Why do I feel so out of place? What is it that my brain cannot erase? It holds on too tight to what I cannot say. It’s like a corset too tight at the lace.
Why do I feel so removed from myself? What is it that puts my comfortability so high on a shelf? It makes me reach further into empty wealth. Like I’m without the coin to toss into the well.
Why do I feel less like I am less than I am? What is it that keeps me from the “bigger plan?” It keeps me from deciding to sit or to stand. Like I am reading a book that I don’t understand.
Why do I feel like I could just fade away? What is it that keeps me wanting to stay? It withholds my affirmation and my mind starts to sway. It’s like I am without instruction but expected to play.
Why do I feel like I don’t belong? What is it that keeps me with this yearning so strong. It’s like I want to be right but impressed to be wrong. It is something I’ll keep up but not knowing for how long.