Solitude, no pain more bitter nor sweet,
Clings, through heights adored and sorrows deep,
Forever with me alone and steep
Amongst mountains bright,
Yet black amongst valleys dry of blithe and light.

No fear unknown, no death afar,
Nor smile estranged, lucent as this star,
For I know no further bliss nor despair
As sable and as shines,
But no greater desire than for my
Life to forever mingle with thine.

my stomach has become an hourglass
digesting the sandy grains of time we have before you leave me
i can count the days on my fingers now

but you still whisper sweet forevers in my ear
you still kiss me like we have all the moments in the world
you still hold me like you don't have to let go

and i have to remind myself
that i don't get to keep you in my pockets
that you signed a contract with your future
and my name isn't on it

i have to whisper the bitter "nows" when you're not around
and hold myself together when you let go

I like my coffee black.

But only on weekdays. It starts my day the way I am supposed to act: strong. And bitter. Yeah. You heard me. Bitter is the new ambitious. Why would you want to sugarcoat anything? To make it delicious? Of course it tastes better. Fraud always tastes better.

I’d chug a whole mug of that liquefied energy. You know, ‘cause I’m tough. And it gets me going. If I were able to replace 2 or 3 hours of sleep with just another cup in the morning - I’d do it in a heartbeat - In a **** fast heartbeat - sped up by caffeine. Or placebos. Or whatever it is that makes me dive into this meaningless mess over and over again.

I thought it used to be the sun? Through a cracked open window.
I thought it used to be robins and sparrows? Soft and gentle, as they pursue what God wanted them to pursue: Singing.
Or at least passion, desire, initiative, thirst.
But I’m not thirsty.
If I was thirsty, I’d drink water.
I used to drink water.
Lots of water.

Now I’m having coffee. And I’m having it black. Now I’m floating along with the stream. Right away! Down the river, along with all those wooden rafts. Constructed in a split second. Only built to keep one man afloat. Tops.

Hey Daddy, look, I got a brand new sports-car. Steering a course that’s most likely headed nowhere.
Hey Mommy, look, I’m going nowhere. But I am going twice as fast.

Well what can I say?
I like my mornings rough.
And I like my cars fast.
And I like my days unremarkable.
I like my fingers desperately trying to cling to every tiny bit of freedom, as small as it may be.
And I like my art unrevealed.
I like my poems unread.
I like my voice unheard.

And I like my coffee black. I just like the taste of it.

I

I never saw a mountain move
by the pure grace of love,
But by desire, I saw a continent
dragged to the tip of the sun.

I saw the sea raising its current,
trying to ****** some star,
like the blood in your stream,
while someone else made love to you.

And I lost the will to live,
and the desire to die
chained to your altar.

And the hummingbird
he put on your lips,
it splattered you of freedom,
but in its hum you found a prision

for two pigeons with no course,
for the canary I left in your hand.
and it was not from love, it was of pure desire
that you opened your mouth and closed your fist.

And I lost the desire to die,
and the will to live
Chained to your altar,

As if there was no other God!
That I could worship
As if there was no other God!
To which I could kneel
As if there was no other God!

II

All these men on the pedestal,
and if each one is given a cross,
How many gods will we praise?
How many won't be dead Christs ?
How many won't be stained sheets?
How many, on Easter Sunday
will not even face God? Goodbye.

I opened my mouth and I created you a universe,
I showed you the tiger and the dove,
I planted on your chest an ivy and a rose,
I watered you of morning and sun,
and still, you preferred to go down to hell,
with the loneliness, the bone and the shadow
a snake and a red moon

For his tired eyes,
for his bitter smile,
for his brown hair,
and hands that had never touched you,
and a horseman that won't ride you,
a street on which you never cried before,
and any other meridian time.

For some other Adam
that galloped away
from a paradise he did not find in your summer,
a string of few beads
that is embedded in the ground where I bloomed,
where a tree of blood and prayer grows,
that in each fruit bears my flesh
and the seed of another God.

I wanted to drink until I forgot
your scent lingering on my shirt when you would hug me.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
all your empty promises and bitter words.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
your cold gaze piercing my back when you said to leave.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
those apathetic eyes and self-righteous taunts.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
myself begging you to let me cry in your lap.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
how many times I apologized for my abuser's actions.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
the sound of my own voice.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
the sight of my tear-stained face.
I wanted to drink until I forgot
the scars branding my body with "failure".
I wanted to drink until I forgot
you were my mom once.
I ended up drinking myself to
death.

“Don’t say that,” I said,
for he gave me hope to dream
of a better life

Who am I to judge
what comes from your mind and makes
its way to the page?

Heartbroken hero,
you are worth so much to me
but I turn my head

Inevitably
rejected admiration—
Why do I bother?

I answer myself
quietly, shy, to prevent
embarrassing truths

Speaking in haiku
I am decoding language
to send a message

You are: a poet,
a lover, a dreamer, a
former(?) friend of mine

A broken wing on
the sparrows carrying the
last humility

in this broken world—
You are a fire, lit in black
ink and in tired lines

Your face, a canvas
etched with tragic beauty of
history itself

Your fingers, biceps
trembling with strength, the power
to know and create

Good and goodbyes to
encroached evils of the dark
You know there is more

than storms, depression—
more than this old soul can say
or see or even

Speak, in spite of this
epistolary chain of
senryu, tied with

the hope you once glowed
of, the old flame within you,
the torch to something,

to anything more
that still tastes life in all its
bitter and sweet and

salty and so sour
yourlipspucker with the loved
umami of life

and I am sitting
here, writing this letter to
a man who needs, like

all of us do, to
love and live and laugh and cry
and to feel skin’s warmth

once again. I have hope
for you, even if yours is
hiding under rugs,

swept away in the
midst and mist of foggy lives—
Smoke shall soon clear, and

the right words may not
be found, but these hands you hold
attached to your wrists

I am sure these hands
of yours will find the mirror
and remove the grays

of all your sorrows—
There is light, dear, waiting to
be recognized by

a humble man in
the desert, building machines,
building a new him.

Philosophy Café
Going downstream
Smoking
Its thoughts
Taking short drags

Trash Kant
Forget it all
One’s life upside down
A disappointed
Slow life
Trash Kant

If it’s without a hero
It is not Cicero
No one gives a ****
About any dame
Trash Kant
Yes, we can’t

Socraes would blush
If he heard the dialogues
Nothing would be written
Down a Decalogue
Sade’s sayings
Are insipid to them

Trash Kant
They pay the rent
To live in their
Oh, what a racket!
Pitiful alcohol
A risible sadness

And well they wouldn’t fare
In front of Charles Baudelaire
They only get of *****
The pensum
Trash Kant
No, we can’t






That’s an inspiration
A slow, peaceful
Aspiration
But you can’t get away
Without a sigh
And a bitter spleen


Translated on November 13, 2015
Villeurbanne

The King’s trove, the Queen’s affection.

Or rather, her affectations.

Pretention is the worst kind of beast,

snarling in the corner and snatching out with snipe claws.

It wipes my nose with its shirttail, then pronounces my snot

something of wonder it has created.

It causes such an itch in my throat, ensuing a

gag that threatens to choke the flare within me.

Trust it, and you will be following those signs that declare

Ogres! and

Certain Death!

not far ahead.

You will reach under its nautical waves and

Duped! Done for!

Now say ‘hello’ to your watery hollow.

You won’t find God here, or even

an ounce of hope to take flight.

All that will be left is a bitter taste on your tongue and the sound of

“Why, oh why…”

I'm an investor, and a Fool.
I didn't just lose faith in your love, for I devoted a part of myself to loving you.
I fear this part of me is lost forever,
doomed to always wonder why being everything i could be, was not enough for you.

Instead in my absence, you lusted for others, and decided that what once was golden;
could never be so again.
If only you'd given me a chance! but hindsight only makes the ache worse.
I have infinite patience, but once faith is broken, it cannot be restored.
The instant i looked in your eyes, i knew you'd given up on me.
I honestly tried to make it easy on your conscience, but i never knew that by trying to do so,
I destroyed my own.

I made bitter, what once was understanding,
and I find myself walking the same road, searching for faith,
I've lost too much already, maybe it's time for a Long Walk.

Its hardest every night,
When The absence of you
Is as clear
And noticeable
As The emptiness i see
On The pillow next to mine.
When i roll over, and only feel
Cold sheets
Where your lips should be.
Oh, My darling, i remember
When you promised me
Every day
For The rest of our lives
and every day
After that.
Oh, My Love, warm My bed again
Kiss these lips again
Hold me close again
And dont ever
Ever
Dont ever let go again.
dry My tears by being near
Fill My head with your voice
And My heart with your Love.
Baby all i need is you.
I meant what i said
When i said
"until The day i die"
And i know you did too.
Im preparing myself
For The worst possible outcome
But hoping against hope
For The best.
Hope guides me.
A hope that at The end of The day
and The games that we play
You will see what is already
So clear to me.
Hope is all ive had
These last several weeks
That ive been battling,
And usually succumbing to
The bitter tears of loss,
And pain,
Heartache,
Love.
I pray these weeks dont turn
To months
God forbid you take months
Because even for months,
I will be here waiting,
faithfully,
Lovingly,
Probably not patiently,
But wait, i will.
Because Love makes you forgive,
And look past faults,
And mistakes,
To The beauty of The soul
You want forever intertwined
With yours
Oh and i want it..
Want it so badly
That it consumes every thought
And action
In My wakeful hours.
And even when i sleep,
My dreams are haunted
by your absence.
Visions of Love and lust
And The sweet carresses
Of The young in Love.
Each night, when My eyes finally dry
And i fall prey to sleep,
What a fretful sleep it is.
All The things i yearn for
In The daylight hours
Come to me
In My deepest dreams.
I dream of your kiss,
Your laugh,
The way you hold My hand,
And tell me you Love me..
All The things im denied in The day,
My mind gives me at night
Hoping to ease The pain
Of The heart beneath it. But truly,
It only makes it harder
When i wake,
Not in your arms,
But tangled in blankets,
With The ghost of a dreams kiss
Still warming My lips.

Discombobulation
   Snuffing out my insight
   Stings of uncertainty clouding my mind
   The acidic taste of bitter gasoline rest on my tongue  
The scent of brewed turmoil, The sound of whats? And questions ringing in the smoky air

There is

the bitter taste of the last cigarette

on the roof of my mouth,

a sourness on my tongue

and i try to remember the last time i felt like this.

or rather…

the last time I DIDN’T.

seems like as time goes on, every day becomes a struggle,

and some days more than others.

I want everyone to be my friend,

but i wonder where this inferiority complex comes from?

it paralyzes me and i do not want to speak.

meeting people, seeing my ideas put into words

by other lips and others’ gestures,

and yes I agree,

but ******* you make me so tired.

no, i do not need your hugs,

and no i do not need your validation.

and hell no i do not need your apathetic agreement

because like hell you would understand,

like hell you would know that

you can’t bleach this brown skin of

all the slurs and all the stigma,

that you can’t flat iron out the

ethnic tangles of my afro-something hair,

that you can’t even guess,

cause even i don’t know,

even we don’t know,

if i’m black or native or forcibly half white,

if i’m 10% this or 50% that,

like I have to be broken down

into numbers and percentages

cause I just can’t be whole again,

cause we just can’t be whole again.



They took everything,

they came and took everything

*******,

and yes God ****** us,

your ****** God ****** us,

you came and you traded

our generosity, our good faith, our sustenance,

you took all of that

and gave us biblical ******* about a God,

some overbearing, vengeful Lord

that didn’t even love you,

oh God, and we were the savages?

You came and you stripped us naked,

took off layer after layer of dignity and prosperity,

we gave you firm hugs of solidarity,

and you groped our ******* like they were worthless,

we gave you kisses of peace,

and you rammed your tongues down our throats,

demanding we choked into silence,

and we were supposed to thank you.

You came and you ***** our land,

our mothers, sisters, and daughters

and we were supposed to be compliant.

we were supposed to be quiet,

and we were supposed to be content,

happy to fill our wombs

with children who would later struggle

with the realization that the reason the color of their skin

was neither yours nor mine,

that it was neither milky white nor toasted earth,

was because my people had been ****** by yours,

figuratively, literally but most significantly, forcibly

generation after generation,

subjugation after subjugation

for 400 ******* years.



And here I am.

400 years later and I don’t know who I am.

They say I could be Chicana,

or Mexicana,

I could be Mexico Americana,

I could be Latina,

or even, god-forbid,

Hispana.

I could be but what does that even mean?

what does Mexican mean?

a land where the majority of the people

descend from the great people of indigenous America,

or the great people of Africana roots,

or these chaotically beautiful blends

that result in the sweetest of dark coffee- soft caramel of spectrums,

still say “indio" like an insult,

still say “*****" like an insult,

still say “prieto" like an insult.

still say, “baby girl, get out the sun,

what you tryin to get darker for?"

still say, “hell no we ain’t african!"

like that would be a bad thing.



and ******* it i am ******* tired.

Go I must along my ways
  Though my heart be ragged,
Dripping bitter through the days,
  Festering, and jagged.
Smile I must at every twinge,
  Kiss, to time its throbbing;
He that tears a heart to fringe
  Hates the noise of sobbing.

Weep, my love, till Heaven hears;
  Curse and moan and languish.
While I wash your wound with tears,
  Ease aloud your anguish.
Bellow of the pit in Hell
  Where you're made to linger.
There and there and well and well--
  Did he ***** his finger!

I have searched for you in many things found parts but never the components that existed  within the whole of you.
I have searched for you in others , I have searched for you in the bottle .

I have found emptiness in my efforts broken dreams bitter ends I have found rejection that you never allowed me to see within the dream you cast over are existence .

I knew as I awoke this morning the rains symphony cast upon a tin roof would cause me only to reflect .
I remember you without effort you were my evergreen and those are the worst kind of memories for no others can live up to the delusion of what once was .

Together in those moments we lived more than in these years apart .
I remember it all in spite  of my efforts to erase every single image of you from my dreams .

How I need that delusion when the silence brings nothing but pain.

I have to say goodbye to you now for the poison of what was is killing the moments I have left .

I realize love was are curse and time will remain the burden.

We were the best of are passion nights with you spoken words though few between in a passion cast serenade .
Would remain hours over simple sentences of others.

I wonder do we stand still somewhere in time if so I do not a more beautiful portrait ever could be painted in red sunsets and a oceans farewell.

The hardest thing I have ever done is closed my thoughts to you.

Goodnight sweetheart .

Maybe somewhere in time  we will wake together anew .

Sometimes I think back to when the faint blue vein that runs around my eye like a mask was something I was proud of,
and not a quaint reminder of the walls I’ve built around myself.
I’ve resided in this house all my life,
surrounded by fogging windows and doors that only seem to deepen with each passing day.
It looks like a normal house,
with a flourishing garden and an ivory front door adjacent to modern illuminated panes.
There’s even a charming pond out back,
complete with a well- loved dock made of sturdy oak.
The elegant, circular driveway showcases the aesthetically pleasing symmetrics of the home’s exterior,
and guides inside a plethora of well- dressed civilians that I should probably remember meeting at some point,
for they all seem to know my name.
They tell my that I’ve sure grown up since they’ve last seen me,
and adore what I’ve done with my hair.
But I don’t understand how I could remember each and every face in this endless sea,
for I’ve never been able to escape this house.
The doorknob burns my palm each time I try.
However, I do recognize my aunt as she makes her way towards me,
taking cautious steps in her floor length, ivory gown to hand me a bouquet.
She gently embraces me and whispers a thoughtful, “I’m glad you could make it,”
and I smile into her shoulder, even though I’ve been here all this time.
A dignified man makes a cordial announcement,
followed by a memorable ceremony in a spacious place barely recognizable as a living room.
I cry for no reason,
but pretend it’s because of the newlyweds joining hands before me.
Soft music begins to play,
and drifts effortlessly through my ears and surrounds me,
slowing down time.
I make my way to a table decorated with rustic burlap and candles,
and seat myself next to my cousin.
I feel sick.
Then before I even know it,
I’m mixing champagne in with my 7-up in order to conceal the bitter taste,
in a poor attempt to forget that I’m even drinking at all.
The Bride’s father makes a toast,
but my drink is already gone.
Yet I’ll clink glasses with my cousin anyway
with my feet shaking under the table.
My aunt looks so beautiful in her wedding dress.
I imagine opening the back door without any pain,
and laying face down on the dock outside with my arm hanging limply over the edge;
my fingertips grazing the cool water’s ebony surface.
With the faint glimmer of lights from the house below my hand,
I’ll be forced to catch flickers of my messy curls and pale face
Watching the night swell like a bruise,
reminding me of you
and desperately pleading for something to pull me under.

t.b.

Oh snow, how I love you so.
The lovely way you flow, melting on my window.
Oh snow, it's so pretty you know. Lightens up the night sky, how I love then snow.

Then there's that breeze, I began to freeze.
Teeth chattering against one another, I wish I was under my covers.
With the snow pelting on my face, was so beautiful but it's lost it's grace.
Now all I want is to be home, oh how I wish it hadn't snowed.

Maybe a different country or a different place.
Maybe a different continent, a much warmer place.
Any place other than Canada, here winter's the worst.
Maybe somewhere like Cuba where the weather doesn't make you curse.

But when it is nice, and not below 0 degrees.
When there's snow on the ground and you can't freeze.
That's the place I want to be.
What a beautiful sight snow can be.

Every time I start to cry
I choke away the tears
for fear a dam may open up
thats held firm all these years

So many tears remain unshed
from chapters in my life
called forth by joy and sadness
by pain and bitter strife

One day I know I will let go
and it will all come out
and better i will be for it
of that I have no doubt

So if you see me shed a tear
please hold me while I weep
for chances are the tears will fall
til I cry myself to sleep.

No, I'm not bitter - I just don't have to stick around and tolerate your selfish stupidity.

In a little roadhouse off the beaten tracks is where I did find her.

She was riding with the hells angels till they kicked her out for being to ruff.

And yet at seventeen the way she could down a budweiser and burb hello ******.


Was a site to be held and i thought to myself

as she broke a pool cue over a man's head who played a song she didnt

like I knew i had met the woman of my dreams.


Sure she drank like a fish cussed like a sailor and hit like a frieght train.

But aside from all thoose good qualitys I like in a woman she did have her hang up's.

Its kinda bad when your first date involves knocking over a seven eleven and leading on

the cops on a five state chase.


And Im not bitter she didnt slow down to let me off.

Im mean the road rash wasnt that bad and I needed to drop a couple of pounds

of course it gives a whole new meaning to burning off the pounds.


And when I saw her about two months later I could tell there was something

there as she held a knife to my throat and looked into my blood shot eye's

and said.

Im gonna cut out your tongue out if you dont buy me a beer.


Yes this beer drinking spitfire had me at hey what the ******* lookin at ****** ?

What a true lady indeed.

Yes when i finally came outta a coma after that first night togather i knew.


That i probaly shouldnt drink outta open containers.

Or carry cash or major credit cards.

When going out with a five foot three spifire named Skeeter.

Gypsy faith swirled with wild lebonise tongues touch so close I can make fresh salt water swing into my palms and make orange sunsets fall apart melting and glazing and get close to what I should  have rubbed with my hands I don't know why I never only reached out from where I stood.  I'm close to every person belonging to me.  Not the bitter words slavery I am finally made and maked half the rainy dry baron saharras I distracted with horizon false bare assed view of giant ledggs outside bay glass window widdowers.  Don't count clean eye glasses.  Spect ovals smeared fingers like skyscrapers below unseen explosions of arts fartsy.  Come on expect bird **** people.  A clear window.  A bird cage cubicle.  As Baching  went pecking corn and keyboard.  Don't be a fat fake chicken.  Be a glossy fox.  Be marvelous.

the day before her birthday
she made a wish list:


> a boy to erase
the smudges she’d made
while trying to fix herself

>a pair of faded
jeans that actually fit

>a spiraled notebook
to defend her dreams

>a second chance
to live a life without
the bitter taste of regret


when she blew out the candles
she realized stupidly - she was always so stupid!
that she would never deserve
the former, so she gave herself
the latter
(with a ladder)
and a rope.

I once wished every bad to come your way,
after those lies and untruths you said about me.
Then I learned that the sky's deaf for bad prayers,
and after all these years, I think about forgiveness.

I thought you deserved to sink into the deepest hell
for your betrayal; your heart alone was one sickly well.
Yet as I looked at these tired wrinkled hands, I knew,
this hatred wouldn't last if I had my trust renewed.

How the pain repeatedly told me to avenge you,
after one and another shame you put me through.
But my son’s laughter turned this thought to me;
“Will this bitter enmity become my sole legacy?”

I may not be ready to invite you for a tea,
or to drive you to your daughter's wedding.
I'd rather say, I don't hate you as much as I did,
so don't be a stranger the next time we meet.

I wish you well with whatever good you do.
With a lighter heart, my life will be fine too.

I went down to Lloyd center
Looking for you
But a mouth full of anger
Blocked my view
He took your hand
There in the skating rink
God will give him blood to drink

Saw the two of you leaving
I didn't want to follow behind
But I could see the rest of your evening
Burning in my mind
Sky's black
The moon's pink
God will give him blood to drink

I looked over the railing
The ice was white
On the north-east side
Where I saw you and your boyfriend
On a Friday night
I went mining for gold
I struck pure, fresh zinc
God, God will give him blood to drink

It’s the hour before traffic,
around that time when the paperboys
sniff, all of them rubbing their noses on sleeves.

The smog is fowl,
a stray dog howls
orange explosions of bitter pain
through which the sun battles to make a comeback.

Amber lights
flash
right of way
for
whoever’s driving home from the pub,
whoever’s daft enough to face the day
that way.

The last ******* packs her bag,
stubs out her ***
and zips her **** shut,
‘A fat cow like me can only wait for so long.’

Soon the sky is Usual Blue,
discoloured by security swipes,
fake handshakes,
and Columbia’s finest

coffee-stained
coffee shop waiters
who sell the finest sugar cube coke
to those hardworking folk
who keep our nation ticking,

and tocking –
the digital clock,
my rooster with the fraudulent eyes,
tells me it’s time to let the snooze button go.

Forgive me, I'm broken, so my words will definitely cut you.

Forgive me, I'm bitter, so my thoughts might provoke you.

I'm still just a shell of who I hope to be. I don't meet your high expectations. Forgive me.

Forgive me, I've become numb, so your harsh, barbed, judgemental words don't infiltrate my being.

Forgive me, I'm unconventional, I'm weird, I'm unattractive so I don't get the love I deserve.

Never letting my guard down and keeping my composure tires me and this depresses me even more . Forgive me.

Forgive me, I'm a pathological liar who over-indulges on mediocrity, fear and feelings.

Forgive me because I'm unforgiving, I remember those who wronged me.

Please forgive me, because I'll never be able to forgive you for turning me into the monster that I am.

PER ARDUA AD ASTRA...THROUGH STRUGGLES TO THE STARS.

The worse thing I
did in the war

was...to survive
when others...didn't.

Always the "Why me..?"

Others...better men than I
deserved better.

Every day is bitter.
A life lost.

I breathe the air
that they would never....

for them there was
no tomorrow.

I survived the war.

Find it harder
to survive my self.

The dead crowd 'round me
wanting to taste today's sunlight

with their eyes
that  accuse.

"Macte nova virtute,..."
they mock me with schoolboy Latin

"...sic itur ad astra!
they say and say.

The VIrgil falling
from my hand.

*

Macte nova virtute, sic itur ad astra.

( Blessings on your young courage, boy; that's the way to the stars.)

Virgil - Aeneid  Book 9.

There is a paradox of space for the individual in this sea of voices
An amorphous body of metaphorical sound that we avoid and ignore with our sense of selfishness and superiority
And yet we burn our civility to ashes for the sake of making sure that stranger knows we don't ******* agree with them
Here in this valley of poets, what is trending and popular, what is held dear is similar explorations of pain and adversity
Experiences of love, life, loss
And as I try and to distinguish myself by expressing my own uniqueness
I am a self indulgent hypocrit, who wants the same things as the idiots and disagreeables I try and hold myself superior to

At least here, on this little page away from the flow of superfluous information I can speak to a void of similar voices, where more come to speak than to hear, forgive me for saying

I am here to speak too
I'm no better
My voice may be different or distinct, I try to play with vocabulary and the conceptual
But you probably do the same
And art comes from pain so...
In the end, I'm still a weak ***** who holds onto to old images of love
Wishing the naked ****** friendships that took so long to build in the past will fall out of my phone when I wipe my thumb across it
And hoping the efforts to create something basic and tangible, and the efforts to create an identity worthy of societal admiration
Will deem me worthy to experience love again, part of me feels

But I'm not deluded by that. I've given up looking for something that comes when you aren't looking
The lost keys that turn up when you've looked everywhere and finally give up
Instead I am driven by the craft that I want to define me
And the satisfaction that the work gives me
It makes me happy amongst this mess of information overload and malnourishment I experience socially
By my own fault
Probably

As I let go of the catharsis of self expression now, petering out to a conclusion that has hopefully, a decent punch line
I know that I probably won't be heard, will be skipped over for stories of bitter broken hearts or tangible stories of adversity defeated
Skipped over in greater terms for the latest bag of shallow consumable ***** in the unhealthy social media world that I know you reader, hate as much as I do
The greater ocean of self expression that washes into a noisy murmur, the internet echoing the street

Who knows
You've read this haven't you
Maybe I'll get over my narcissism long enough to hear you too