When’s have always been reminders of solitude,
Cementing two and half decades of a fact,
That humanity, in its entire multitude,
Seemed to miss the better half of your story’s act.

Thus, you leapt; thus, you lost and learned,
Not once was the game won, not even close,
And you settle with consolation you think you earned;
Proceed with the radical acceptance of aloneness.

For how long, for now I cannot tell,
As it is both within and not in my control,
Here’s to hoping this treaty with oneself goes well,
It could be or perhaps nothing at all.

It's bizarre how you can hear yourself even when you're not speaking,
Amidst the calming breeze of rain and busy rush of the streets.
There are nights when you can choose to color your world and narrate an epic through free hand poetry.
The shape is indefinite but the words flow.
The hues are fading yet they meet halfway.
You throw the why's in your brain even if you know the answers.
Is there a reason for lives that were touched?
"There is," we convince ourselves.
The sense waits.
The song must start anew.

And so the 1059
days
that. ended.
Woke you up
Intertwined,
Kissing your pillow.
Shall it
.
v
...
?

And so it happened.
Yup. Will never be that.
Weird voices.
Familiar yet strange.
This never happened.

Coming home as everything’s through,
With lights going off after the party,
Surrounded with silence; it dawns to you,
After the ecstasy comes the ordinary.

Tomorrow, the normal, the mundane,
Back to the grocery, back to the laundry,
Elevated then pulled back to what’s plain,
After the ecstasy, there will be the ordinary.

We took some chance to feel something,
Knowing we’ll soon retreat to what’s dreary,
With a smile, we accept the feeling,
After the ecstasy, we welcome the ordinary.

The curtain call,
the final cut.
Scripts let go and costume's off.
The bow.
Led to another,
freed.

Am I now allowed to say,
"I'd always wanted to..
From the moment I saw you."

Now the Notes to Self sings,
The Lost Boy who's now Golden,
After traversing the Highway of Fallen Kings
Yells "Please Don't Find Me" no more.

Uncuffed and of no Shame,
The Wild Things Took You To Church knowing
that It Will Come Back.

Every Walk That I've Ever Taken Has Been In Your Direction.

Knowing that Every Teardrop is a Waterfall,
The Wolves Without Teeth,
Finally, 42.

This is how we change the rythm of the world.
No more good, no more bad
Just a more vivid honesty.

Who would have thought the night would end that way?
Two unexpected twists in one narrative.
Maybe I, probably not everyone, was too up there in the sky,
That filters did tire and did leave.
It was an evening of spontaneity,
Everything was just free.
About time to celebrate some liberty,
To all pleasures, no one should feel guilty.
And although I repeatedly said that,
"I really don't know how it works,"
I still have to thank you that bad,
For in that moment you took me to a different world.
I guess I won't know what ****** you,
I guess I shouldn't care,
It was a night that didn't reach past two,
Yet still hours we did share.
While I am guilty of thinking of someone else while we were kissing,
I hope you felt that something was still missing.
But 20 is far from 5,
There's still a lot to do to strive.
"Don't settle," you said,
I think I'd follow.
New wisdom I have to be fed,
No more will I be shallow and hollow.

When we were younger we feared the dark,
We were afraid of the monsters hiding under our bed.
Prayed that nightmares would turn to visions of a playground park,
The next morning, we feel the tears that were shed.

Now that we're older, we have embraced solitude in darkness,
Finding comfort and solace when we're alone.
Yet we still fear our thoughts that cast vivid shadows over the emptiness,
For even waking moments are now nightmares on their own.

How would you look at her in her eyes
And tell her she's not happy?
How does one make her realize,
That her life is a pity party?
Though she'd say she's okay,
That she eventually had a reason,
Will she recognize such a priori?
Or sink in an afterlife of beacon?
God bless her and no one else,
May the angels, "In Excelsis Deo" eternally.
She could've had different shells,
Instead, she'd chosen her voice's echo.
How does one look into someone's life
And show her that she could be,
If only she knot a different tie,
A different world she could've seen.

To some degree, we all feel the same.
Lost, lured, left, (likely) loved.
Dressed differently, curious characters,
In a not-so-new narrative written right before beacons blossomed as boon and/or bane.
Arriving to an understanding that no one's special, the nothingness isn't new, the emptiness is an ecstasy of the endless wormhole where we are winded.
It is all familiar -- the fun, famine, fickleness, fixated on a point of pieces of peace, serene sensations of vivid voids.
We're uncertain if we're guilty of feeling nothing.
We're just here.
Saving and saved.
Listening and listened to.
Cycles of cynicism.
Plethora of paranoia.
Ignorance ignites bliss before our eyes.
Yet wisdom wins spaces surrounding our troubled thoughts.
We dream of destinations far yet fleeting.
We wake up to nightmares needy of the nuisances that nests in our minds.
We're hungry for endings yet we yearn for beginnings.
We live in instances of ironies and presence of paradoxes.
The singularity has consumed us.
The set is empty.
The state of null has been the stability.

To type or not to type?
I don't really care.
Pretty think I'm stuck.
Just a little varied now.

It is a clear sight,
Of the truth and dares,
By any luck,
Treating this a competition, how?

This is the first, oh yeah.
I got to change the role.
From this to that,
How tables turned.

Fan it a million, baby,
But we both know,
To the cup,
The ice I own.

Those nights you try to make your piece fit with someone else's,
Only to emphasize the emptiness and nothingness the following morning.
Short-lived illusions, deceptions and self-induced make-believes.
Comforting you for a while, a momentary smile.
What's your difference from a homeless man?
Wandering with no destination, looking for a place and comes undone?
The sunset shows you silhouette of still objects,
Occasionally waving at you as winds put them in motion.
Always unsure of what is to come, what is to happen, what is to be.
Patiently waiting for something bizarre -- a shooting star landing right in front of you.
Every sound around mixes with the rhythm within -- a playlist for your introspection.
Unless it becomes true, you will remain to be you.
Unless it gives in, the unbearable plot will repeat itself.
For I have never known I was starving 'til I had a taste of you,
Never known I was exhausted 'til I took a break lying next to you.
But you remains to be a concept, an idea still far from reach.
A walk through the world of forms, a reality bound by norms.
And the moon starts to rise, varying hues paint the skies.
A day that has started with ocean's blues shall end with darkness on cue.
With a the beautiful music silence had laid upon,
You search for the star's light that may guide you while you run.
The trees have always stood guarding your holy place,
Not minding, yet waiting, for you to change your pace.
Like this poem with no beat and rhyme at the beginning,
You're hopeful that tomorrow shall provide for a new good song to sing.
For repetitions are boring.
Like four-word lines written.
Variations are direly needed.
Change your rhythm.
Less be more.
Fix it.
Live.

The Civil Wars was on,
And I remembered them heroes.
They danced at the end of love.
Cerulean and crimson circulated.
Excitement; not fear.
Then I saw them bright.
Buildings. Varying.
Length. Everything.
They do know.
For those who understand;
They do understand.
Looked at the moon.
Clouds by passed.
The moon's still there.
Everything is.
You were here.
Even if I haven't met you.

Fear the day fear leaves you,
'Cause when that day comes,
You know you're saved.
A wise man once told me,
"Child, be your own fear."
Now, it made sense,
'Cause that hermit who whispered,
Was a voice from within.

Had they known you'll rush back
at once, would've it changed
something?

Ofcourse.
Everything alters everything.
Try not to fake the now.
Stream of unknowns;
Running constantly.

Seemingly zero direction yet towards all Destinations.

It'll break you,
Now, today, tomorrow.
Different characters,
But always a similar story.
Again.
And again.
Always.
Yet,
Always try to escape.
Done with the necessary first step.
Liquid luck won't always be there.
'Now, you're an ambassador.
Liaison connecting yourself
To the cosmos of happiness out there.

Theoretically, I am drowning in love,
But how come I can’t seem to feel it?
All I see is what others have
Those who seemingly have figured it out.

Each day, a reminder of everyone’s variance,
Acknowledgement of multiple valid paths,
But how can I make it make sense,
That mine’s pretty hard to get at?

I thought I’ve freed up myself
Believed I’ve got no more chains,
Yet seeing other “freedom” I just can’t help,
Question myself, put me under strain.

I know I shouldn’t think I’m broken,
Neither something that needs to be fixed,
But that which is experienced often,
Remains the ones that stick.

How do I reconcile my non-specialty,
With the thought that everyone is deserving?
When the world shows your incapability,
How do you manage your feelings?

I am tired of pity parties,
As the narrative stays the same.
Still searching for realities,
Where life seems to not be lame.

It may be pretty early to tell,
Who we think we were before.
Just due to the time we think was spent well,
Still a thought we know belongs to our core.

It’s odd and introspective to say the least,
Meeting ourselves through others we meet.
We remember how with the times we did feast,
Ending days feeling like nothing but dumb ****.

The “weird” attachment during the first sight,
Is something we think may not be right,
Yet those days when we thought we could fight,
Ideas sounded badass and bright.

The unwillingness of the touch that we give,
Nonchalance and indifference it is.
I say this will help us truly forgive,
What was — to that which felt bliss.

Now we have met who we were,
We learn how the mind of that stranger goes.
As that who was unknown was made clear and bare,
We appreciate that life’s taught by some semblance of loss.

What was is know what is to you,
The role has changed and so did you,
So now we collect and study every clue,
The you that will be complete and true.

Long overdue it may seem,
But it feels like it's gonna make it.
Wanted to write though light's dim,
It's still gonna fit.
I should've known more,
Than to read what musn't be read.
Maybe I was just for those who bore,
I see to it they are fed.
But what I really wanna say,
Is how the wind kissed me back.
While a visit I made to pay,
Invited me to the familiar track.
One thing I have to admit,
What was blurred was now crystal.
Not how you, them or I treat,
Closer and starving, the cold water was too good for it.

I have learned to love life again,
Through friends, through strangers.
They are me and I am them,
In loving the other, I’ve loved I better.

Each year, the highest of highs,
Each year, the lowest of lows,
A lot of hello’s, a number of goodbye’s
Letting Time do its natural flow.

In between death jokes and dark humor,
I found myself being able to write again,
I wake up smiling in front of the mirror,
Thankful, for in him, I made my closest friend.

At peace today, excited for tomorrow,
I will walk deeper, further and farther
No longer will I dread what, in this life, would follow,
I say bring it on - watch me love harder.

You can never be too happy, can you?
Like after finding your way from 1 to 2
Thinking, feeling, knowing,
There's a 3 at the ceiling.

It never stops, the universe.
Cosmic nonsense, in poetic verses.
To which you are a mere subject,
A thing that it can easily eject.

The hands rolled 'that' wise,
What's done will be forever precise.
Etched in fashion that marked,
That none can tear it apart.

Don't be too joyous next time, I say,
Less you wish to see a darker day.
To be quite happy must do fine,
Seek no more and it'll start a rhyme.

There is something fundamentally wrong with John.
He is the type, but for things that matter, he can't be fun.
Listens to stories and shares sentiments,
Yet following oneself is totally out of his element.

There is something fundamentally wrong with John.
When sad, he clings to anyone who shows even the slightest of emotion.
Maybe he thinks he does not deserve the real thing,
As the twisted idea of happiness escapes his whole being.

There is something fundamentally wrong with John.
He creates a world in his mind where endless joy is there to run.
Even it is with someone he had just met,
That is something, from John, we could expect.

There is something fundamentally wrong with John.
He knows, feels, that he will just be shunned.
Which should be okay as such is not out of the ordinary,
But he just feels extra tired and **** weary.

There is something fundamentally wrong with John.
He just wants to be happy but he feels like he is banned.
From his own thoughts and dangerous mind,
He always falls short and is perpetually left behind.

It’s been three moons since I bought some freedom,
With my days starting getting soaked in the sunlight,
Feeling the crawling warmth of a new day’s blossom,
Looking at the Sierra Madre - calmness in sight.

Filling myself with smokes and coffee for breakfast,
Getting ready for the worlds I’ll enter and visit,
Living in fictions of future, present, and past,
Vicariously leading varied characters’ spirit.

Witnessing the world continue when you hit pause,
A sensation that is both humbling and confusing,
While it’s liberating to have no any kind of boss,
I sometimes question if I could still do some thinking.

In the long run I know I’ll surely thank myself,
For allowing this mind and body to breathe for a while,
It is true that within you you’ll find one true help,
Each day’s culminated with a gracious smile.

A practice in solitude despite feelings of being afraid,
I just remind myself of what Seneca once said himself,
“What progress, you ask, have I made?
I have begun to be a better friend to myself.”

I can feel my tooth aching,
Moreover, I can't deny the feeling.
It is round, indeed, it is.
Re-, re-;

How horrible would it be?
Clearly, you choose not to see,
You know he's your fixer,
But he knows he can't fix you.
NV~

Times like this one makes me think of our humanity,
How each and everyone of us are poetries being written.
And though we share some verses, some similarity,
I understand better now our plot's randomly given.

Forgive me for the moments I told you not to be sad,
Just because my mind argued I had things way worse,
Or when I secretly envied the life I imagined you had,
The unhealthy projections, actions that were perverse.

We are our own planets, rotating and revolving,
Carefully treading the universes where we roam.
When the moment comes and we collide, time-willing,
I'll hold your hand, let's agree to walk each other home.

For tonight was about tears and trying,
Yet it shall be the last,
We shall continue dreaming,
Pursue hope not mere lust.
Now we know we hold such character,
What shall be, still unknown,
We'll get there, happier,
Trust in the break of dawn.

The world is a series of Plato's cave,
Where one tries to free thyself every now and then.
Each time thereafter we hope we come out brave,
Battling all lions in the previous den.

Every time we get out, we become different,
Our understanding is broadened,
Definitions aren't always what they meant,
Connotations continuously append.

How many times have we said, "I know better now,"
Just to be slapped with something we thought we knew.
We might have a semblance of the answer to "How?"
Yet iterations immerse us to the world anew.

For today, I say that I see clearer - again,
Only now am I equipped with other nuances.
This knowledge might be obsolete in near time dear friend,
But now I acknowledge to comprehend all the processes.

While it's true that I have seen blue,
I have yet to see cerulean, cyan, and prussian.
And while I know red as I believe I've seen it's hue,
I have yet to discover carnelian, persian, and venetian.

We take stock of what we've experienced,
Build on the foundations that we have made.
Someday, sometime, somehow, it will make sense,
One day, we will be able to identify and act on every shade.

Help me not to lie,
Don't ask the questions.
Within, I will just sigh,
Used up all my limited options.
Hope's a *******, a sham;
-- Please remember thee
I am,
What you want me to be.

And the thought arrived and it demanded to be written,
As if it was some nation’s citizen deserving of life and liberty,
Still we see our fingers working, our thoughts spreading,
Thus we succumb, thus we surrender, thus we write.

The ideal is known as sitting under a tree, running through forest,
Grasping for air yet losing it all on undying laughter,
Was it something I said or is it because this is my first time?
Convincing myself I have stopped thinking about it yet here we are.

These pillows have lived in parallel universes and realities,
Looking far wondering, “Is this how they see us? How they feel?”
With lofi beats as soundtrack of this rainy  and chilly afternoon,
We were reminded yet again of whom we’ve been.

And so thoughts will keep on demanding, will keep on arriving,
It’s for us to stitch them to a larger narrative — not snippets but cores,
This way we will know who we will be because of them good old days,
When you find yourself sitting on a different, yet emotionally familiar place.

You know for yourself that this is nothing new,
That this is just an iteration of the cycle you've been to.
Yet it stings no less than the past encounters,
As this imagined reality cemented another universe.
You understand that misfit puzzles will never match,
It is not for you to decide if you are a rare good catch.

A glass half-filled is that, a glass half-filled,
No matter the thirst, don't settle for no less than fulfilled.
This is not being disparaging as this is for you,
For them, for everyone, for that person, too.
Though be warned as sometimes something is good enough,
Yet we miss on it and to search again is tough.

Never bathe in a potentiality that isn't actualized,
Nor in a dream with possibility that will never be realized.
Let us hope that this shall just pass through,
Be like some past things you outgrew.
We frown for a possibility that will never be,
Yet we smile for a stronger you that we now see.

An affirmation of distance of what is and what needs to be,
No wonder one sees and feels similar sequences.
That which lives privy haven't yet been freed,
The self is pretty far from effectuating further phases.

"It started a new daydream nonetheless,"
An old line proving pragamatic in the contemporary.
Followed by a sudden halt, the endless pause pressed,
Cave in, yield, and wait for things to be once more arbitrary.

We'll wake up and count the sum of the days,
How what was months before was now in full tilt.
Let a new day take over as time surely pays,
As an exhilirative eventuality is bit by bit being built.

I taste of ash -- of something burnt,
Takes me sub-atomic through wrinkles in time.
Perhaps that explains the right shoulder's pain,
Or the blood from the spit flushed down the drain.

You've been drinkin', smokin', well, wastin'
The thought came to fruition.
Good old limbo knocks and gets all comfortable,
Leave -- like how we know are able.

Find a way to shake universe's hand,
Without fire and heat, in enclosed spaces of insecurity,
Be able to find yourself in somewhere new,
A place in your thoughts you've always known to be true.

For the pessimist is never disappointed,
I choose not to be excited about things that could happen.
Better to have thoughts unelevated,
Than a mind lifted only to be misshapen.

At first there was the struggle,
A storm succeeded with perceived freedom.
But now the walls quashed spread a rubble,
Helpless, we feel like we're left to be dumb.

No more downs, but no ups either,
Plateaued in a flatline trapped in time.
Thinking if an examined life is indeed better,
Or if ignorance is just an unexplored yet beautiful paradigm.

We dive back to not feeling a thing,
To guard our fragile, yet strongly projected, existence.
Although uncertain how long we can cling,
To ultimately be presented with the gift of presence.

Proximity tends to mess with the mind,
It brews a concoction dangerous for fleeting times.
Paints a reality that is improbable to find,
Essence searching for where it rhymes.

For I thought you're past pretty boys,
Though I wasn't built to outwit a superior combination,
Maybe this is just one of fate's ploys,
Natural order just being set in motion.

Nonetheless, the feeling was beyond liberating,
As it proved that I can start doing without caring.
Joy is something I understand is worth aiming,
Kinda makes me akin to what they call 'believing.'

Now we live it as it is, as this is matching hypothesis,
We live to dream another day.
I still hope life is worth having in this crisis,
Together we wait for a tomorrow that will be there to stay.

Should it even be written?
Where one shows up and ticks boxes,
Only to sweet talk you,
And never be.

Indeed, another lesson learned,
Processing is more manageable —
Let’s hope at the very least —
We’ll get by and get through sooner.

Now there’s a bit more understanding,
Managed realities, in touch with ‘The’,
Surely it will be yet another phantom limb,
Etched, appreciated, in his own special bed.

A bridge no one crosses becomes a statue of solitude,
A reminder that a form is purposeless sans its essence.
Sudden waves come as a legion, a multitude,
Overwhelming you with matters that yet again seem to make no sense.

Perhaps it was the imagination of the crossing that ruined it,
Or might be the region where it was mistakenly built.
The structure is here now and waiting for its fate,
Will it be a picture of what could be or will it be a realized gate?

Time will pass and it will certainly grow old,
We can maintain it or let rust reach its core.
Whatever happens, stories will be told,
If the thing was a bridge, speculating what it was for.

Often, we learn not to accept,
Rather, how to live with things.
The structures that were left,
Are ruins marking memory of feelings.

Before you, you see what was,
What will never be.
Hoping each day it'll pass,
From pain, one be free.

You wake up and convince yourself,
Drown life with distractions.
Tomorrow, you won't get help,
Letting the autopilot be set in motion.

For whatever its worth,
You survived before.
But just because you've fought,
Absence of sting isn't assured for.

It started a new daydream nonetheless,
Those resting motions welcomed with vibration.
The heat on the back that pressed,
Is a feeling beyond sensation.

Thought the twist was possible,
Yet nope I say so.
It was rational to think it was probable,
No regrets though for putting a go.

Watch me learn I warn,
I hope I don’t get pulled to something nasty,
‘Cause when it’s time to run,
I’ll leap through space and time in ecstasy.

I am happy but I am envious
As it hit me once again who I am
Isn’t at par with the life I wanna live
Should dreaming be actually encouraged
In a society that sets up barriers
Chained with institutionalized cherry picking
Directing someone else’s life

I sleep I will awake — gasping for more time
Safe moments on bed — alone, yes
Defeated by them sneaky dark dogs around
They are silent but they are surely heard
Floods you with thoughts you’d wanna bury
Fighting with words yet immortalizing how it is
With seals weak, only a sec ‘til it barks again

How can you riddle out that which has no logic
Luck and tyranny rules the playing field
Fed with the ****** up and ****** imagery
That makes one appreciate someone less
By looking more than listening, knowing
How have I ended up here on this forsaken time
Will I ever or could I ever build a life of rhyme

Today marked another ‘Day 1’,
Of missing the presence of its absence,
Knowing more of nothing is I want,
Fogging up my mind, muting my senses.

Maybe it is the unwanted clarity,
That makes me fear this sobriety,
The drop, the flow, the gush,
Flooded, I find myself always awash.

I’ve wiped every corner of my space,
Clipped nails of my fidgety fingers,
Out of the windows I’ll always gaze,
Sit back at the sofa and there I’ll linger.

These times are moments to ponder,
Is this a preview of the rest of the days?
Still grateful though that I could still wonder,
Hoping for tomorrow’s much better ways.

We always look for a chill pill,
For the cravings we can never satiate --
So we could get close and feel
How one's sun can radiate.

Bliss is what it brings,
Enslaved by cheap highs,
Despite knowing that it stings,
It escapes us from our sighs.

Now we puzzle in misfit pieces,
Weaving universes in lost time,
We see the future graced with non-existence,
We see rhythm that will never rhyme.

We bid sorry to another probability,
Give up on a possibility we dare not disturb,
Hoping Time can set us free,
Wishing the free spirit not to remain in curb.

We believe we have reached some level of efficiency,
As we are a bit more able in thinking about things,
Or so we believe? Or so we believe.
Now rhythm is less more of a containment.

Yes we saw more and did some things new,
Yet still are left optimistic, idealistic —
Pretty much left under their magic,
Yet needed to be acknowledged is how they unintendedly made you better.

Sadness and inadequacy still incites some inner soul intersection,
With the rest of joy, excitement, thrill, warmth, — that rare air,
A bit more disciplined is what we think we have arrived at,
Waiting to be fired at any moment — to take us to either thinking or nothing at all.

Less we forget to remind ourselves that we are what we’ve been looking for,
Let you be the proof of the fragility and vulnerability, of the strength and the beauty,
Every here on out has been leaps of faith to lives of uncertainty,
Still we smoke and have a laugh, get drunk and **** — live to see and try.

The new normal feels similar but not quite,
It’s a little bit of what was with what might be.
With it being neither wrong nor right,
It’s also full of what is and todays, the self now - me.

Indeed there’s the sensation of nothingness and everything,
Fluctuating yet definitely not flatlining.
The waves are complementing and not cancelling,
With it brings a whole new kind of vibe and ring.

As this is temporary, a trial, some sort of planned practice,
I hope to learn what I need to.
May I find some semblance of real and actual peace,
As, in this hole, I jump and hopes to come through.

Could it be problem sleeping
When sleeping is the problem?
What if the actual dozing
Is the source of the whole mayhem?

After nighttime, sunrises,
Lights up yet fails to beam up one's day,
Instead, probes your supposed places,
A fertile loam where anxiety can play.

I don't know what I'm waiting for,
Still I wait for it anyway.
May I find ways towards humor,
Maybe life and I can meet halfway.

Thank you society for ******* me — us — hard
Indeed, no one dies a ****** with you around
Thank you for the cornucopia of insecurity
For the endless seeds of doubts magnified
For the fragility we have chosen not to guard
Pitting us alikes ‘til you have curated your sound
Pulling us deeper and chains us in self-pity
Knowing that we’ll never be surely makes you satisfied
Then alas you get to blame us for our own shards
Managing to scar us despite being on ground
Turned us into strangers in our own city
Leaving us with nothing — not even being dignified

There's something about this rain.

There's water.
Not any other water.

They come from homes,
rooms, streets, anywhere.

This is what I need for the solitude;
For a man still burning like a church on fire.

Not feeling myself these couple of yesterdays,
As if I don't puzzle in well in my own mold.
Looking for the blur that once was of praise,
Stuck in a form pretending to be wise and old.

I think I need what was for what will be,
Ah; the agony of existing between then and now.
Wondering if this mind will ever be free,
To actually relearn the whys and a few hows.

Why do I seem like a tragedy waiting to happen?
A fire that is continuously being put out?
Half the universe of ideas the mind did sharpen,
Are those of tiny voices shut when want to shout.

"It's all in my head, it's all in my head,"
As I try to breathe and attempt to calm myself up.
Close my eyes and go to the familiarity of the bed,
Just to wake up anticipating that one big drop.

When does age stop being an excuse?
To be dumb and to be fool?
How do we show that this brain was, indeed, did put to use?
For reasons not to just be in nor to just be cool?

Why do I even put thoughts into this?
Not as if it matters or for anything it means?
Is it hope for some improbable bliss?
Do we film would-never be seen scenes?

Perhaps it’s pride that dictate us,
To look sharp and smart as how they branded us,
Yet for a time could they give us a pass?
Allow some growth that isn’t a pity fuss?

For some reasons there’s a need to impress,
As past actions missed a stretch for one’s consideration,
Let me show that I am not a total mess,
That I, too, am a driven addition.

Provide me some chances to show,
That I am better than what you think you know,
I am navigating my way through this world,
Let me be and who I am unfold.

We are aware of time, we are aware of our youth,
But why is it still hard to see some hope?
This is bothersome, that's the truth,
Have you seen us? Improvising life to cope?!

We let minutes pass by knowing it's wasted,
Had a thought, had a plan, but held up,
By that which keeps anxiety sedated,
More, higher, stronger -- never enough.

Getting through the day, impostor,
Beaming both sappy smirks and so-so smiles,
Noting, jotting, moving from door-to-door,
Mixing memories and imagination of miles!

Light shines, light enters, lights, eyes,
The day commences and you convince yourself,
Whether have a breakfast of lies,
Or try, and give onself some good help.