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#iampoem
I am barely a real concept, whose perception is occluded by twinkling stardust and rust clung cogs. I wonder of stars in galaxies, distant, growing with an untranslatable lull. I hear my heart beat as a quasar, shifting as predictably as a deer scare. I see three colors, 10 million shades, and only through my eyes. I want what I don’t yet know I do not have; 20 more colors, the sixth sense, the seventh, and the eighth. I am plunged into the vacuum that is utter confusion, are you not? I pretend nothing. Reality is subjective. Unicorns are real. I feel like nothing but millions of atoms of clinging earth and mass, holding in organs and bones, while knowing I amount to much more. I touch other’s lives in a way I will never feel or experience, if only because I have ten eyes and two fingers. I worry to awake from this dream of confused, polluted nature, if only because of my fear that a better may await, and I have been missed while dreaming. I cry to remember some days what I beg to forget most. I am a cheater of nature, a creator, a manipulator, and a murderer of sorts. I understand the upside world that is held in the dew kissed blades of warrior plant life. I say to the world “Be quiet. You’re thinking too loud to hear it.” I dream of real, unaltered acts, people, and emotions drawn from a plethora of real fakes. I try as hard as I can, knowing how little I’ve done, and how much I have not yet considered doing. I hope for the world, as selfish as this may be, that it won’t shudder, quake, and crust over whilst I inhabit it. I am merely the juvenile, bovine animal that will farm the future. No need to worry. Carry on.
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Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 2:55 PM UTC
laurengmichaud
I am
I am barely a real concept, whose perception is occluded by twinkling stardust and rust clung cogs. I wonder of stars in galaxies, distant, growing with an untranslatable lull. I hear my heart beat as a quasar, shifting as predictably as a deer scare. I see three colors, 10 million shades, and only through my eyes. I want what I don’t yet know I do not have; 20 more colors, the sixth sense, the seventh, and the eighth. I am plunged into the vacuum that is utter confusion, are you not? I pretend nothing. Reality is subjective. Unicorns are real. I feel like nothing but millions of atoms of clinging earth and mass, holding in organs and bones, while knowing I amount to much more. I touch other’s lives in a way I will never feel or experience, if only because I have ten eyes and two fingers. I worry to awake from this dream of confused, polluted nature, if only because of my fear that a better may await, and I have been missed while dreaming. I cry to remember some days what I beg to forget most. I am a cheater of nature, a creator, a manipulator, and a murderer of sorts. I understand the upside world that is held in the dew kissed blades of warrior plant life. I say to the world “Be quiet. You’re thinking too loud to hear it.” I dream of real, unaltered acts, people, and emotions drawn from a plethora of real fakes. I try as hard as I can, knowing how little I’ve done, and how much I have not yet considered doing. I hope for the world, as selfish as this may be, that it won’t shudder, quake, and crust over whilst I inhabit it. I am merely the juvenile, bovine animal that will farm the future. No need to worry. Carry on.
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