Only when you are no longer preoccupied with living
can you begin to comprehend life

I’m broken

The heaviness of expectation,
The overwhelming weight of it,
Has broken me.

The tension,
Pulling me in too many directions -
Tight and unrelenting -
Has broken me.

The rupture is silent,
Like watching a vase fall,
Colliding with a tiled floor -
Shattering -
While you stand outside,
Watching through a window.

Debris flying,
Chaos ensuring,
Yet serene silence.

The type of rupture
You always keep inside.

Because if it is allowed out...

Who will care
For everyone else
Who is broken?

Who will clean up the debris?
Who will pick up the pieces,
And reassemble?

So for now,

The vase remains in pieces,
Placed together -
But not mended.

There is no time.

Except...

A broken vase,
Simply placed back together,
Cannot hold water.

It cannot fulfil
Its purpose.

Eventually,

The pieces will collapse...
The room will flood,
And everyone will drown.

I must mend.
I must repair.
I must become...
Whole,

Again.

Loving you
Is as much an imprisonment
As it is a freedom.

Imprisoned by the thread of deep knowing
And shared experience...

Held captive by a longing heart -
Stuck in the memories of yesterday.

The ache of love is heavy in my chest,
Squeezing at my ribcage
Like a straitjacket.

The more i struggle for freedom,
The further entangled
I become...

For loving you
Is my life sentence.

It is the cage in which i now willingly sit,
Accepting my fate.
As the monk who sits in his cave -
I have made peace with my decree...

To be held,
In this love...

Forever.

What is a choice, anyway -
is it a freedom, or is it a burden?

For me,
it is a paralysis
between what is and what should be.

Who I am,
who I should be...
who I could be.

Choice opens up possibilities -
endless, unfathomable possibilities.

Choice is making a decision
I am not qualified to make.
In a world where manipulation is rewarded,
marginalisation is profited upon,
and freedom of choice is weaponised -

I’m not sure I feel free.

Where your freedom to choose
now carries with it the responsibilities of greedy oil companies,
tech giants,
and toxic product producers.  

It is the irony of being forced into a system
that tells you:
you chose to be here,
It’s your fault!

You drank the highly addictive Kool-Aid  
we forced down your throat,
and that addiction -
is your fault!

We are persuaded into thinking our choices are casual,
while they are anything but.

I relinquish my freedom to choose.

Instead,

I search for the freedom of simplicity -
where a choice becomes personal once again.

What clothing mood am I in today?
What do I feel like eating this morning?
How shall I spend my Sunday afternoon?
What’s my body telling me about this social interaction?

In lieu of...

Whose opinion should I base my personality on?
What can I justify as a “healthy” amount of time spent on social media?
Which chickens had the happiest lives?
What dishwashing liquid is the least toxic?

Yes -

I crave the simplicity of what is,
not what could be.

Often, I envy the unbothered-ness of the breeze -
sometimes going this way,
sometimes going that way.

Completely unconcerned with the junction between directions -
simply following its set course.

I was on my usual morning commute, succumbing to the ease of autopilot, when I happened to glance out my window at a magpie. Our eyes met, just for a second, and in that moment, I dissolved from mindlessness into pure joy.

A smile overtook my face as I felt nothing but this beautiful creature’s gaze upon me. I felt his unbotheredness - huddled against the wind, keeping himself warm without complaint. In that micro-second of silent conversation, I sensed his quiet affinity for life—his gratitude for the earth, which, day after day, provided him with food, and for the sky, which so effortlessly offered him passage. He wastes no time lamenting, only enjoying.

It was with that thought that I realised: we are the same—on a parallel commute. Him, guided by his intuition, and me by mine.

As I ponder, sweetly mused,
your grace against the breeze,

I cower at the frightful task
of earning but a please.

Your humble smile, your giddy laugh,
of which I must appease,

I sink into my sullen soul,
unable to unfreeze.

For with this heart, I cannot pledge
to you your beauty’s ease.

I'm okay,
But I'm not okay with this.

I'm not okay with
the burden of having
a string constantly tied to my mind.

A string twisting and tugging,
showing and comparing,
validating and devaluing.

I'm not okay with
being concerned with the opinions of everyone -
how anyone can decide my worth
with the press of a tiny red heart.

I'm not okay with
playing the game,
being played by the game,
and inevitably losing the game.

I'm not okay with
being a slave -
happily forgoing my wages
for a selfish,
deeply greedy,
abusive,
master.

it's the strangest feeling
not having anything more pressing in life
than life itself...

How do I make you see me?  

How do I step out
From behind the one-way mirror?
You hear me,
But you talk only to yourself through me.

How do I make you see me -
Not my clothes, or hair, or *******.
Not my body, sitting across from you,
Empty.

Drained by the endless hours of offering my elixir,
Hoping that when it is my turn to drink,
You will see my thirst...

Only you don’t.

You can’t.

Because no matter how much
You gulp down -
You are never satiated.

Your vessel is riddled with holes,
Leaking -
With each slurp you take from me.

How do I make you see me...
Crawling after you,
Gasping -
Yearning for us both to bathe in the elixir -
To soak it in,
Together.

The air is fresh
The sky is clear
The birds are singing
The smell is pure