A thought that comes so sudden

Like a stranger unpleasant

Who knocks at your door

and barges in before you say, No

Why was it let in without resistance.

Why were you stupefied by its appearance

What made you so afraid that you watched helplessly while it settled in.

Maybe the intruder was not a stranger but someone you had seen earlier.

Someone you were afraid to encounter

and wished would never come so near.

Helped by your fear, this intruder dictates your behaviour and enslaves you further to become your master.

This intruder is Suspicion and none other.

An undesirable thought when allowed to register will feed on your fear and soon become a doubt that is difficult to clear.

Save yourself from being ruined by this intruder, whom Suspicion we call here.

What does it say
When being happy
Worries me?

What does it say
about me
When being happy leaves me concerned
that the worst is yet to come

The bitter sting of winter's singing howl
Drives me to seek some deep and darkling place
Far from the blizzard's scorn, the wind's embrace,
Far from the beasts who bear its brunt to prowl
In search of prey. I'll clutch close to my cowl
And cloak, beneath which hides a younger face
Than most foresee. The forecast yields no trace
Of hope for safety 'pon the road. No foul,
My fellow traveler, don't fear from me.
I'll lay my knife down well before we meet,
Before we each choke down a share of ***
Or what would pass to warm camaraderie;
I know not where I've passed, to where I've come;
I simply beg a place to warm my feet.

Every day the news screams
"***** VICTIM,
AGE
NAME:    
PLACE_"
Underneath
The description of what happened.

Some people take note,
Others read it out of pity
sometimes concern
very few take action

I am nothing more then a jellyfish
Reading the news every day.
Clicking my tongue in pity.

Pity?
We don't need pity.
We need awareness.
Action.
Movement.

I won't try to poison your ears
Telling you lies
As if I'm a victim of assault
or harassment
I won't tell try to earn sympathy
telling you I know someone
who experienced that
someone close to me
I don't

But I hate that feeling,
walking down the streets
worried about every single person behind me
Terrified they might be a potential attacker.
I hate worrying, about my friends
Who are just outside for a few minutes
And yet have to be careful?

This is
Blasphemy.
Why must we be careful?
Is it due to our genitals?
Is that the ONLY REASON?
It angers me

"You know better!"
I would rage silently at the news
It has no effect,
never will
never does
If I just keep my thoughts

As thoughts.

Total irrational fear, I’m
Haunted by noises and
Interred by the
Rumble belly, *** tightening,
Twitchy eyed, false alarms that
Evolve into conspiracy theories,
Even though I love every single
Nonsensical asinine fear factor…ish

Falling is now a favourite.
Eleven other aversions form a line and
An extra number comes to mind (and with it comes ‘Whoa’)
Reset the clock to zero!
Stride on, wipe your feet, step off.

Suspicions and mistrust
run high

so we hold ourselves tight
dread locked and buy
deadlocks for the doors
and deadlocks for the deadlocks
in case anyone tries to steal those too

then circle the whole thing with a moat
and from inside we burn the bridges.

We watch our backs
our fronts, our wallets
our mothers, but
oh mother, especially
our wallets
because that is how we speak
now.

We speak
not with words but with money
and self expression is a valuable thing
and it’s a crime to keep quiet.

At two in the morning
the police come to knock on your door
to chide you and remind you
that a number value is
very relatable.

You want to be related to,
don’t you?

They go on to tell you just how valuable
it is and was (before inflation)
because
we’ve been tracking it
with google statistics.

You’ll find all the details
in the police report.

I spot the small things
The giraffe balloon
Floating by the window
of my bedroom
Where I brood on the day

I spot the small things
The souped up ride
Tearing past the street
The go faster stripes
breaking my concentration

I spot the small things
The washer of hotels
cleaning the distant windows
along the parallels
As I struggle to work

I spot the small things
The dead pixel on screen
Making the image
slightly unseen
On your update feed

I spot the small things
The name on your message
With a heart on the end
That day was a lesson
Not to blindly trust

I spot the small things
The couple in the corner
Kissing away secretly
I slowly mourn her
You're truly not mine

I spot the small things
The robin on the wall
Serving to remind
To be above it all
and be more than I am