Drowning in my own self reflection,
How can someone be a stranger to himself,
Am I me or am I what society turned me into.
Looking at the one in the mirror,
Wondering how life changed him when he was supposed to be the one who changes it.
Voices filling up my head telling me how to act and who to be,
Are those my own or someone else’s.
He screamed asking for silence, but the voices got louder and louder till it turned his screams into whispers.
All he ever wanted was to be who he is, but now he is the one in the mirror.

"When we think of “meant to be,” we automatically assume forever. But maybe it isn’t supposed to last forever. Maybe it’s just someone who is in your life to teach you something. Maybe forever is not the person, but what we gain from them."

- excerpt from a diary I don’t own. (Via southernsparkleandshine)

i suppose
that supposing
is assuming
to presume
an estimation.

note for when you're ahead:

no one very much cares about your stupid little poems
your missives to a sickly version of you.

they're disinterested in your allegories
your holy fables about ***** needles and needless dirt.

and god forbid they watch you climb the ladder
unless your foot misses a rung, and you fall a wonderful fall into the welcoming embrace of the concrete below.

oh but i assure you they are crows
perched on a telephone wire, watching the theater of your car-crash life, as a limp arm tumbles out a capsized window, and the children dance in a circle around the fire, singing:

"we're here, we're here
for all that you hold dear
your eyes so dull and lifeless
yet they cry such pretty tears
we hold you out at arms length
but close enough to hear
the warring two, halves of you
as we imbibe your fear

...but no one very much cares about your stupid little poems."

Out of this world I suppose
The thing I wanted
The thing I craved
Is nothing beneath the surface

Should I really be here?
People whispering
People gathering
People hardworking
Just to achieve something they...
Thought they need

Are we really in this world just to play along?
When I was a kid, all I thought was
Everything we step on
The grass, the ground, even the mud outside
Was all part of a big playground
Where we are tested
Looked upon, and judged

Others always ask,
"How can I be truly happy?"
Which is I second the motion
Things, foods, places
People always find the way to achieve that kind of feeling
Even when it takes to let themselves be lost

Can I ask,
How can we truly end this?
All this suffering, sadness, unknowingness
Without getting depressed on how will we do it?

The solution?
Out of this world, I suppose

words are strange things.
they're sounds we give meaning.
and when strung together a certain way,
they suddenly create mind boggling results.
seas of beautiful people suddenly turn sour,
mountains of angry humans turn around and pick flowers.
words are different everywhere you go,
and some words aren't even spoken with a voice
but rather a hand
its nice, i think
that we all give meaning to such sounds
they act as either a leash to pull you in
or a wind to blow you out

I don’t want a sunbeam
give that to Jesus.
Don’t bother me with purity,
don’t let me make shadows
out of you.

I don’t want a butterfly
batting along on the wind.
The wind of my word,
on the gale of my opinion.

I don’t want a pearl,
something that needs to be made.
Made from gritty sand, held close,
and pressurised round and edgeless.

I don’t want a rose
called what I want it to be,
cut where I want it to be,
on my lapel, for when it makes me look best.

I don’t want conversations like schizophrenia.
If you want me to be able to explain you in four lines,
I don’t want you.

It's not quite my fault the world has to be unjust and cruel.  I'm losing interest in it and I'm losing it fast.  I don't know who I am and I don't know who I should be.  I'm tired of looking at the ground instead of the sky and I'm tired of relying on that half gallon of ***** to make me feel better. I want change, I need it.

I love you.

Silence

I suppose I'll take the hint.


F.Z.N