(what lives in me before I understand)

It begins in my body
long before my mind arrives.
A surge, a flicker,
a trembling at the root of me
that says:
we are already feeling.

There is no stillness
that does not ripple.
No calm
that doesn’t carry the hum beneath it -
not peace,
but a kind of readiness.
Like lightning waiting just behind the skin.

I used to try to stop it.
To breathe it away.
To silence it
before it unraveled me in front of someone else.

But it only grew sharper in the hiding.
It only screamed louder
the more I tried to be soft.

Now,
I listen.

Not because I’m unafraid,
but because I’m done pretending
this isn’t me.

This intensity -
it isn’t a problem.
It’s a language.
One I’ve been speaking since before I had words.
Maybe even longer.
Maybe it was handed down,
a birthright carved from all the grief
my blood couldn’t name.

It leaves when it wants to.
Returns just as quickly.
There is no asking it to stay gone.
Only learning
not to run
when it comes back.

And so I live
with this current in me.
I build small shelters around it.
I move gently
but not away.

I say:
I hear you.
You don’t have to beg.

So theoretically, if one made mass profiles on individual users via telecommunications data, for instance, using cell towers one could seperate individuals on a spectrum of information. By directing cell traffic to specific servers. Put the angry with the angry. Put the suicidal with the suicidal. Even seperate by tax bracket if one wanted. Control the rate of dissemination of any kind of information. Who sees what. When they see it.
You could even craft a narrative for one to follow.
Because now there is machine learning,
And that makes all of this possible.
Obviously, this would have to be done internally by each respective company.
Unless one had a backdoor or "pass-through."

When my emotions
are out of my control
and are controlling me,
I seek awareness of my emotions
by expressing my emotions
into a voice diary
using the microphone on my computer:
upon expression
the intense-energy of my emotions
dissipates
and my mind is clearer;
then it is easier
to self-regulate my emotions
or at least
discipline my emotions;
then I am ready
to strive
for joy and happiness.

Rules, regulation and form, allows for the greatest accord.
A ruse, my elation, at the shore with the bravest of swords.
Let me explain, poetry should be like a storm, a war of the words.
But Treat every one like a worm: your encouraging your curse.
You can't move forward without inertia at your back.
It's just the set of rules that allow Us to teach that.
So yes, the form and regulations enable the greatest of sets.
But unless you use them you will just be a sadist at best.