There is a part of me buried within

Waiting for warmth and water

Awareness and sense.

She has remained hidden for some time

Waiting for my acknowledgement.

Others pass by with indifference

Stare all around but not within

Deposit dirt and dust from without.

I’ve found her much harder to see

The her that waits in silence, settled in peace.

When I come to know though, I see

That still, I am still here!

Still here;

In need of warmth and water

Still here;

With more sense and awareness.

And behind the dirt and dust

There lies a seed needing love to bloom.

There lies her needing my own to bloom.

Appeal to their projections

Be a figment of their imagination

Fill the voids they can’t seem to fill in themselves

Fulfill their unconscious unmet needs

Give them the worth they crave from within

All of this, while being physically attractive too —

So attractive in fact, the projections get lost in lust and rationalisations

This tremendous world I have inside of me. How to free myself, and this world, without tearing myself to pieces. And rather tear myself to a thousand pieces than be buried with this world within me.* — Franz Kafka

—

After some time on this earth, we come to be encased in a robotic shell; the same kind our parents were encased in and all who surround us are encased in. There’s a feeling of being trapped, of living a “semi-life”, of simply living yet not existing.

Gradually, you get dropped and dropped by the world. Parts of the shell start to disappear; you see parts of what lie underneath, yet remain encased by what you’ve come to assume. You see some lies, but at the same time, you cannot breathe in all that you see.

You get dropped and dropped some more. Your body reacts in all that has been taught; in hurts. The stabs and contractions scare it out of confrontation. The more you shield yourself, the more the shell seems to cling. You come to resist all that you once felt. And so long as you refuse, the falling will never cease. Till one day you fall so hard into the ground, shell encased, never found.

I came to you with a half-open heart
That you poured yourself into

I let you in with my half-open arms
I opened them up a little just for you

My parents visited again --
In you, with pain and not much more

I feel so many more rocks in my heart --
My family and now you, I know!

---

I walked away from you with a half-closed heart
I walked away with pain and more

Every part that was hurt and cemented
I walked away with more, no few

Every part of my father you supposedly hated
I saw again and again in you

---

Now, I’m left to fill my half-closed heart
In hopes that I never turn into you

Now I’m left to mend myself
Because I never wanted to be neither of you

*Daddy, Mommy...
You *******, I’m finally through.

If you want to find out about someone’s character you ask them how do they gauge truth, or how do they know something is true?

Most will say because so and so said so, some variant of outsourced knowledge. Some "Religion." Some "Scientist." Some "Dr." Some "Guru." Some "Parent." Some "Mother." Some "Father." Some "Thought triggered by someone else." Some “Theory.”

Rare people will say they don’t know, they’re a bit more evolved because they see the conditioning. They see the confusion.

The rarer people will say they know because they’ve observed for themselves, not blindly, but with purity enough to observe correctly.

M_
mnd
maks
mze
ot
o
strigh
lnes

The soul without a home feels so lonely
She wanders around mazes that do not end
And people who never bend
Frozen in time and space
In an inevitable predictability
Again and again
The same phrases and words,
Habits and hopes,
Wishes and whims,
And the self left repressed
...predictably unexpressed
Same old, same old
Both young and then old
Old and reborn…