"Does writing change you as a writer?"

"Yes it does, my voice turns into
the words inside your mind."

"But why can't I
remember you well?"

"Maybe you didn't keep the words
in your head."

"Even if I feel you enough?"

"Then you must've kept them
in your heart instead."

I don’t want to die, but I’m indifferent to live.

I don’t want to join this cult.

But, I don’t want to leave.

They say we need purpose

But what if I was chosen not to have one?

What if my purpose is to make others feel better for having one?

At least they’re not me.

I don’t want to die, but living is not fun

It’s just navigating through things without a map, with no solid truth

And every decision affects you, except you don’t know how

And every decision is haunted with a “what if”?

And every decision is plagued with a “I should have…”

The gods won’t save you.

Psychics don’t know.

And the wise haven’t traversed your waters.

None the wiser.

When you lose someone, people say they don't probably deserve you or they are not worth it and stuff,

But deep down you know they were worth selling your soul.

No matter how lame or self-destructive the aspects of love are, we still would choose to feel the pain, the rage, the anger, the love, the kisses, the slightest touch on our waist and cheeks, the endless stare into the eyes filled with love that reflects the depth of an abyssal gorge, the never-ending feeling of wants and being wanted, because what more is there that sets us apart from the non-living elements of this world.

i somehow have
to slice up
these vast expanses
into minute pieces
but time
is running
out.

I live deep inside my own head.
I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever make it out.
Alive.
I don’t know what living is anymore.
I’m never fully present.
There’s always a piece of me off somewhere else.
My mind wonders off...
I don’t even have control of it anymore.
I do it subconsciously.
I’ve been in my own head for so long now.
I don’t know where it all began.
Maybe puberty.
When I was in 5th grade I became a “woman.”
I was also hurt deeply by many people that year.
Friends introduced me to things a little girl should never be exposed to.
Then middle school was tragic.
I was hurt more times than I can count.
Maybe that’s when the day dreaming began.
The real world hurt me so badly that I had to create my own world.
My own reality.
After awhile I stopped knowing the difference.
Reality vs Fantasy
What is there to pursue in this reality?
Motivation left me years ago.
I beg her to come back but she never does.
Why should I pursue dreams in the real world, when I can achieve so much more in my world.
I guess that’s why Motivation left me.
She served no purpose in my life anymore.
I now live for the small things in the real world.
Seeing a new movie. Eating at my favorite restaurant. Hanging out with my best friend.
...
I’ll save the big stuff for my world.

I thought about speaking to the reader.

To the person skimming titles
that might suit their current feelings.

Maybe it's heartbreak, which I say
maybe it's time for a heart - break.

If you ever said you didn't want to do something,
I want to be the person asking you WHY.

Why, do you not want to do it?
Why why why, what else do you have to do?

I don't mean to pressure you into a forced response.
I'm not an abusive parent or spouse, (where talking it out means, verbally beating you into submission).

I only ask why, because I want you to know.
That every action is a decision.
A choice made by you.

I made the choice to
share ****** poetry,
and you made the choice to read it.

If we're both willing
to spend our time
on things like these,
then maybe
we should change
what we choose to do.

Do what is right.
Be passionate,
don't let titles lead you,
and **** heartbreaks.

Studying the wrinkled lines
of elder poems
on the topic of
the Four Directions;

however;
the poetics of
haunting bards
and mossy sage
always
spiral
back
to the
acorn of the heart

In this infinity;
a piney cabin
resides
inside a bamboo
forest

and Wonder,
She
sits cross-legged
below the
river rock hearth;
warming her palms
against the
irregular downbeat
of snapping flames

“North, South, West and East;
Trust the Wise Arrows
Aiming True
from Your Heart's
Quiver.”