(Philosophy)

There are two main emotions, love and fear.
Love is understanding, and it gives us courage.
Fear comes from the lack of understanding, and it makes us nervous/afraid.

I learned that I used to seek love from people by wanting to control the way they perceive me. I wanted them to know that I could relate to, or understand them more than I may actually do.
But, if I kept doing that, that would be foolish, no one understands another entirely, only through similar experiences, but never exact. It’s not fair to the individual.
The goal isn’t just to connect with what’s similar, but also (maybe even more so) to connect with what’s different.
People fear difference, because they don’t know what it may bring. That could be a result of society’s teachings for centuries.
Racism wouldn’t exist if we as humans loved difference. Apparently we feel safe with what is familiar. Why “Curiosity killed the cat?” Why not “Curiosity isn’t a sin, but should be proceeded with caution.”
Those who seek due to curiosity are open minded. Those who follow the ways of the world or rules are more judgmental once they spot something out of the ordinary.
This is where insecurity comes from, because of this programming that if we are not the same, we should not belong.
Saying “love yourself” almost limits you, that’s like saying the rest of the world is like this, but focus and ‘accept’ what you are.
We shouldn’t just teach people to love themselves, what if that can be a side effect from teaching people how to love difference in others.
We should say that every single individual has the power to contribute to improvement, expanding knowledge, and a way of living from the power that their own individuality brings.
It’s not how we are similar. It’s how we are different.

Day by day I fritter away
Observing decorum as best I may
Meet me as you meet — reserved somebody
Leave me as you leave — dull nobody

Dreary, weary, listless, spiritless
A resting spirit clamours to emerge
Unguided, wild, free and seeking
Boldly defying reserved somebody

But how, just how do I unleash this defiant spirit
For it is to cross all conceivable limits
Oh but a mask, of course a mask!
The perfect accessory for this task!

Careless of propriety
Boastful of daring
Acting against my will
Or in tandem with it?

This mask — just now I can't discern
Ponder I do with great concern
Does it shield my identity
Or render truth to it?

So now just what fun in masks
One may ponderously ask

Masks, bring to life fantasy
Fantasy, a realm of our reality
Reality, wherein lies multiplicity
Multiplicity, within each individuality

I went away, but it wasn't for play
Certainly, though, it didn't show,
the strenuousness--
head wrapped in gauze and cement at once.
And your bed is your grave
like a mummy entombed.
No sleep is ever enough
because it's too late.
But compared to the rest of the world,
it's your sun-infusing life pod.
As Earth's energy grows
stalks to the sky in nature, emerald green
and in the city, tin men and women wound
with a key
tight to within an inch of their lives
to build pillars of silver and glass,
equal parts plaintive and proud.
The atmosphere and ants proceed
as they would
while I cannot be worshipful, as I should,
to this planet we've been given.
My tributes were never tangible--
whispy as they're twisting to, I fear,
be ephemeral.
So why does a pen or keyboard taps
feel like a moral stand?
They say the Devil's playthings are idle hands
but in reality, my corpse hands
cannot volunteer to any definitive ends.
Though sin of sloth, I'll have to admit.

What freedom it is to be nothing among everything.
The point inside the wheel cycling for words, knowing
myself through mirror's reflection forever like air under wing.

My Soul becomes freer, growing ever fractal
upgrading it's software, such as they in the sea.
They who jump forth by thy will becoming distinct
by that of beneath.

Positivity through connectivity, I am In Charge.
Love in Phase, will resonate a Standing Wave called Ki.
That which Resists only exists when it passes through the
body of me.

In such the Capacity of Responsibility remains for the taking.
My soul yearns to lift the torch to teach those in a lesser light,
forever above is my Zenith in which under such flame I cast
no shadow, or as it be that which rests underneath the souls of my
feet may be freed.

In every step I take toward my goal.

So many labels
So many versions of this same conformity
Why can't we just be who we want to be
And leave the details up to me

The evolution of art never halts
Once we began dancing around fire
Our feet couldn't stop
A place in our lives
Where our subpar seeds
Could be seen as glowing trees
That's the way I feel about my poetry
It reminds me a lot of me
I reread it and rewrite it so often
By the end it seems unoriginal and plain
And all I can hope
Is the themes and ideas that were the inspirational genesis
Remain intact

Art walks a tightrope over the most unpredictable factor
The audience
They are the other half of art
Their power cannot be overstated
And as time progresses
Their power grows
And the importance of art always extends an equal distance
But the stronger art becomes
The more it asks of it's audience
In many cases
The audience is not ready to take the call
This is one of those times
Here at the current pinnacle of art
Surfing the web
A wonderful chance as
Art is a reflection of people and society
The Internet is people and society
But just as we listen to songs
To decide what concert to go to
Or watch trailers
To decide what movie to see
We like what we like
And put blinders on to find it
Like moths to fire

We could do amazing things
If we could harness the potential
Of our collective conscious
But the threat of losing our individuality
Is too great for us
Unable to accept
Our individuality is always in the context of our cosmic existence
We are part of something greater
And we can't escape that
Even in death
We feed what lies beneath
The memory of our lives
Shrinks to obscurity
The maggots that cover our corpses
Flourish to maturity
Everything this world creates is art
And we are it's most complex creation
Not necessarily the best
We just have the most parts
And the maggots that use our dead bodies for sustenance
Were once the monsters that roamed this Earth
They had no nationality
Or political affiliations
Or religion
And they're still here
Waiting to reclaim their throne
Once "smarter" species seek suicide

I’d rather be a pigeon
than a blue bird.
I’d rather be me, and be free,
then sit in my cage and act pretty.

I am a little bird born into this world
Naked.
Chirping lullabies to redwood treetops
and singing hymns to an almighty; getting back nothing.

I gathered up twigs and loose branches to build up
my nest––cropped out upbringing
for house fitting.

Waking up to noises––
of violent winds.
Pressing feathers to cover my ears,
and trusting my feet to hold me down.


Barricaded myself in worn bark,
from the impossibility of the threatening ecosystem.
Praying myself in place, hiding when morning shines and dressing in colours of damp green.

I’m something but I tell myself otherwise:
It’s too frightening to fly so I might as well cut off my wings.
No, that would be insensitive––don’t mind that, I’ll pluck them each time the feathers grow.


See I’m holding onto the something that makes me more than nothing.
Clipped wings seem more ideal than no wings.
For some reason I’m scared to let it all go;
silently hoping one day I’ll keep them, like them, love them and even spread them.


Noticed gathering leaves and flowers one day can add colour to a colourless lifestyle,
yet the wind wipes it clean the next––still pale brown and feels less like home than yesterday.

I may be afraid of everything,
but I know I’m more afraid of dying here alone;
whispering Mozartian melodies to dead butterflies.