Why are you reading this
Why have you chosen to hand your thoughts and emotions to
Someone putting ink to a paper or letters into code on
The other side of the world
Why do you keep scrolling thinking that at some point
One of these poems will change something
Why do you choose to feel for an anonymous writer which
You have never met
Why be constantly annoyed by the ignorantly creative use of punctuation
Why listen to someone that will never know you heard
Why would you get lost in this gray fog of thought that this brings
Why would you choose to feel when you don't need to
Or not when you can
Why not listen to a song
Why not let your thoughts run wild without the inspiration of
Someone else who has similar feelings
Are you in fact similar?

Why am I writing this
Why can I not let my thoughts sail their natural course without
Writing them down
No one ever sees them anyways, no matter what I do
Why would someone ever choose to care or feel for me
When in fact they've never met me
Maybe we're similar
But why would they choose to take on my own burden when they
Are going through something similar
What is a listening ear if it's never spoken to
Or a speaking mouth without anyone hearing
Maybe this poetry isn't a help
But maybe it's the vast, gray fog of oblivion between the mouth and ear
So if you've come this far
Maybe get lost in the smoke
There is a vaguely numb comfort here

What makes a poem wonderful
Is it the idea that I wrote it in the darkest corner I can find
Or the idea that maybe you can relate but
You don't even know me

Maybe my poem is not even poetic
Maybe I am spilling thoughts to the phone on which
I go to when bored
Maybe I'm in class pretending to take notes on my laptop
Maybe I'm on a plane attempting to impress the person next to me
Or maybe

What can I do to relate to you without even knowing you
Can I tell you that I know you regret because I do too
Maybe I can pour this infinitely vivid imagery of joy
Green grass
Blue skies
Loving families and summer fun
But then I punch you in the gut with the blunt, depressing truth

Is it relatability
Is it imagining a future too good to be true
Is it trying to stretch a finger to the tip of infinite success
Is it conveying pretty thoughts to make you feel good
Then trying to cover up the dimmer reality of life

What am I even writing for
I won't impress you
I have said it before, You don't even know me
But maybe that's it, maybe I want you to know me
Maybe I want to be great so the world will know me
Or maybe I prefer to remain hidden
What makes our thoughts beautiful?
What makes this beautiful?

You know I love you
But you don’t know what that means

You know I care
But you don’t know what that means

You know you make me happy
But you don’t know what else you do to me

After the beginning
Before the end
Somewhere in the middle
Closer to either or
Nothing
Something

Everything of Essence
The essence of everything
Is the meaning to something
But still comes up as nothing
Is the same for all

The Omnipotent and the powerless
Try all the same to find the answer to
A question not asked but by those
Intending to find the answer
For with a question without an answer
There is an answer without a question

So search and make and fail and break
But from what and to what is
A cause to create
So redefine a reason at all
Do over again to find out an answer
That only in turn creates a question
return the meaning

So rupture a noiseless cry where sound cannot be
Paint a vivid portrait filled with color for the blind
Mold a detailed and intricate model that cannot be touched
But only felt by itself
Let it live in itself
And answer no question
But question its answer
So it can be

So it can say where and when and why and how
And who
And is
And am
Where am
What is
Why am
When is
How
Who
Who is
Who are
Who are you
What are you
What am I

Let it be sentient
So that it can all repeat
Round and round again and over and over
Let it try and fail to recreate what it is
Itself
Let it be scared
Let it be unsure
Let it be good
Let it be evil
Let it Be

Design a model with a void
Design it to be destined for life or death
Design it not to confuse itself but let it do so anyways
For if its death is not the end then neither is birth its beginning
Let it strive and let it struggle
Design it to ask a question that cannot be answered
Design it to answer the question that cannot be asked
Design it to be the only thing not impossible to it

Before the Begining
After the end
Somewhere in the middle
Closer to either or
The unknown abyss of oblivion
Leave it be
Let it be
It is nothing with meaning anyways
But let it be something that has the ability to be meaningless
Let it be something so bent on its own success that leads to its own Destruction
Then let it fear the very thing it is creating
Let it dread it
Then will it find meaning to the question with no answer
And the answer with no question

It only takes a conversation to fall
And one more to fall out
What is in the middle is what matters

It only takes trust to be strong
It only takes love to be diligent

Trust without love is fluid
But love without trust is pain

The Reality is
I love much more than I trust