Blesseur

Jun 2018

Ally Ann

A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
lock yourself in a room,
scream until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your veins and bleed
until you know that your bones
are pure words and sorrow.
Act as if you slit your own throat
and all you can bleed
are your own regrets
and all of the darkness
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
tell her you're leaving
and you won't be back for awhile
Because being a writer is traveling
through all seven layers of Hell
and denying anything is wrong.
Forget loving yourself
when all you have is a pen and paper
fused to your wrist
and Jesus is tapping at your skull
saying turn back now.
Warn the neighbors that if they smell burning
It's just your soul
clawing at the front door trying to get in.
Learn how to be alone.
Learn how to lose everything you have
in order to feel release,
learn how to only feel deceased
from now on.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
don't

#poem #writer #writing #inspiration #poetry #words #life

Blesseur Jun 2018

I’m I free? Are we free?

They say our minds are oppressed.

Is freedom free?

Are we directing our own foot steps? Who are we without the influence of parents, friends, society? Without manipulation? Without the lies?

Who are we!

I’m I really what I want to be,or, do I want to be her to meet their expectations, to check their boxes, to be accepted, to be valued, to be loved ?

What’s the point?
I’m not in control of my own actions. My own mind. My own destiny.
Or I’m I?

Sometimes I feel as though someone else is living my life, as though the decisions I make aren’t really mine.

Blesseur Jun 2018

Is it an illusion?

The optimistic idealist is more often than not saturated with bliss.
Living in her mind, her perfect paradise.

Look, the world is wonderful!
Look, People are perfect!
Isn’t life beautiful!
she sings.

Onlookers stare with curiosity; the source of such joy is alien to them.

You know, the taste of optimism is delightful. But
from time to time, the magnificent, happy, perfect world disappears.

Look People are imperfect.
Look life is unbearable.
Look World peace is impossible.

All illusions decay.
We’re left to face the cruel reality.
We’re left suffering.

How could I have been so naive?

Sometimes everything seems perfect, your spirit is high and happy. Sometimes it’s the opposite, you get exposed to the cruel reality.

Blesseur Jun 2018

The race for the finest

Pressure, upon pressure, upon pressure. It never ends.
You must store up for yourself figures and statistics of your achievements; prove your worth to the community, to society, to the world.

The race will never end.
We look for the next big thing.
Then the biggest.
Why are we never satisfied?

A race that began out side of our control.
We are withered.
We almost quit.
The best things are closer than ever they reassure us.

Stressed.
Angry.
But the race goes on.
It began outside of our control.
It’s not our choice.
We keep running.
Resentment fills up our hearts.
Love and kindness are flushed out by the tears and relentless struggles.
The race goes on.
The race for things.
The best things in life.

We stack our achievements in numbers, figures and statistics.
For what use?
To prove our worth to the community, to society, to the world. Our surnames are tied to the numbers. Ranked with the rest of the world. Then our importance
and the share of respect and the love we have earned is handed to us.
Then the race continues

The modern life is tiring. You must keep increasing your wealth to avoid becoming useless to society. No wealth no worth.

Blesseur Jun 2018

Love?

To be lonely we are afraid
Hunting for love
Begging for love
Losing our peace of mind
But is it...real?
Is it genuine?
Just lust?
Just greed?
A fantasy?
Will we ever know?

#confused