Ah, Immortal, canst I say no more anything about thee; though I have not to, nor I am allowed to.. For thy heart hath belonged, and shall perhaps belong only, to someone else, forever.. And upon which realisation, still-sadly I am not enabled, by any means, to procure anything; anything t'at ought to be satisfactory to thy love thirsts, and though superficial, hungers.. For I am just, within 'tis bitter reality, that despaired, lost daughter of nature; who, despite my distaste for roses, longest to be one of thine-and thine only, but who shall remainest as the last one-and thus eternal one, forever. Oh, I am cursed, I am cursed, ah-I am cursed too bitterly, my love! As shall I, dishearteningly-and gruesomely, never belongst to any other, any more! I hath been haughtily made redundant by love, and so shall I taste and drink of joy no more; for no marriage joy is not to be dazzling in my hand; and so am never I to be, having a man as more than a calm, soothing friend. Ah, and so not any other one indeed-for the rest of t'is paltry age ahead! And not even thee! But still, that abrupt sweet star is in thy eyes; and what an innocuous, irresistible delight to every pore of my lungs, and the very charms of my senses it is, to my being-yon sweet star which is equal to truth, knowledgeable causations, and delicate forgiveness. Ah, thee, for but to my eyes, thou art the long-sought forgiveness itself; and thy lips and cheeks and tongue makest everything perfect and becoming to the grace; grace-indeed, which is hasty, but mighty-like the thirst, and merriment of its salved undeniable passions. Ah, still-but why, why am I being tortured by these feelings? For I loved thee not, whenst I but streamed my gaze into thee-for the very first time; and for I felt enjoyment not-in our sweet occasional encounters, I felt no shyness, and nor perhaps, any predicaments of curiosity, as I fixed my very sight on thy evaluative eyes! Oh, for my heart but was lazy, unlike it was to thy precursors-and fate danced not at that time, in thy eyes-in those first months, with cold air and flakes of muted snow as rapid as the morning winds that inevitably appeared, after growing out of nowhere-just like a thoughtful apparition-as we sauntered about this morning, and greeted us with its superb, ye' monstrous iciness. Ah, t'is-which is so unfair, indeed! And oh; but why? Why, my sweet? And why is it just now, darling, that I am affectionately faltered, weakened, and turn feeble-at simply making out the notion of these invincible, ye' honourably-infatuated feelings? I, whose cheeks canst now threaten myself-and clumsily boil, 'fore thus turning red-at a very simple, unfearing thought of thee! Ah, unsweet, as itself shall remain ever be! But how I hate-I hate t'is feeling of loving thee-without ever being able to accomplish it. I heart it not-and thy voice, which is elegant with scrutiny, and careful examinations-of my private diligence, as we wandered and twitched and spoke more; for it invites me so, to the grandeur and wealth-of loving thee more and more, and steering myself into this all-too-burdening, though soft-passion; o, thou, who in t'is realness is, though outrageously, is based on every single effectuality of our beings, is worthy of all the forgiveness of presumptuousness, and overflowing emotions of our due spirituality. Ah, thee! Thou, who art the mere persona of my dramatic dreams; and the vitality of my poems; thou art gentler, sweeter, and tenderer than even poetry itself-as well the miracle, ingenious window, and the sole awesomeness which it willfully illustrates. O-love, and then thy soul is duly its obedient flattering mirror, which is forever unmad, sensible, and plentiful-to my questioning soul. Thou art my carved destiny-and the river that permits my blood to flood! Ah, thou art indeed so diligent, provoking, and altogether unbecoming, my sailor! O-And thee! The ever delicate fruit of my heavenly morning; whilst thy fate was-still is, and shall for eternity be treading, and about; o my darling. Thee! Whose fragrant breaths roar with such prettiness, and laughter-so handsome to my eyes, and are a rare, enticing spark of truth when all is but lies. Oh thee! My ever illuminous, equanimious, and on the very whole of thy being-a fulfillingly-delicious star; from whom shan't I be able, for ever and ever and evermore; to stay hidden, nor to stand firmly-though glisteningly, afar.

How to approach something so intangible, with little cellular to describe to my nerves
How to make verbal something so emotional, based on psychology and civil construction
How to perceive myself appropriately despite the eroding drips that pierce progress and old photos I cling to with such immaturity
These questions all are for the same goal, that progression of the self, all those substantial, cerebral, sensual and societal realisations that I yearn for
And yet... I sit, making delusional dreams come true in screens, I sit, making deep intellectual arguments for causes that aren't my own, I sit, researching complicated **** ups and ****** withs the powerful inflict in their attempts to balance a system born broken and biased
Screens are our new ****** it seems, as we reject religion our screens let us forget that the world continues around us, or encourage us not to care
And I come to this self consciousness, this ironic hypocritical reprehension
Because I really enjoy what all these creative minds and years of work and beauteous ideas have given me, but with the same hypocritical tone, despise my compulsion to stare into pixels

As I indulge this self awareness, I know I will continue with the same mental obesity of consumption tomorrow
And there will be no hypocritical self evaluation, just self involved enjoyment
Until the moments come when I am left alone with my mind
Self conscious, reflective, feeling as the time has been lost, but my mind is too tranquilised with pixel and poster representations of reality to notice
This won't change but...

Maybe if I take some time to turn pages rather than press buttons, and stare at sunsets rather than screens
That self evaluative journey I've ignored and returned to sporadically in the reflective yet warm darkness would be less intimidating
And if nothing else, on those days where reality lies next to me filling my cerebral stomach with the undeniably existential
I might feel a bit better about those days lost to other people's stories

Strange that something so accepted should still cause self consciousness before I approach it honestly
The relative anonymity this site gives me is for some reason still not enough to stop that pressure in the back of my mind
Here's me standing between that I guess, a self evaluative expression that deep down I'm okay with who I am

I'm lucky I know that much, living in a social culture of indifference from friends and family
My heart goes out to those prisoners behind abstract bars, walls constructed by opinions, traditions, religions
Who find someone with their own body shape attractive, a subtle reinvention of their minds and eyes
A smile that is just that little bit more reassuring thanks to a comfort in the air you can't quite put into a definitive shape
After one abusive encounter that still makes me ******* teeth biting angry well, I can't imagine that towering over me every day
I've said it before, I'll say it again, I've got a lot to be grateful for

Me well.. people joke that I'm one of the greedy ones, that I can't make my mind up one way or the other
There's a certain truth to it I must admit
The day dream of another as sub consciousness fades in similarity, that person staring back at me with a sheet covering up to a profile
Either seems attractive in that figurative make believe image, something concluded in the struggles of psychology
But forgive me if a certain pessimism surfaces from the prospect of earning that image, showing real social certainty towards whoever it is I'm curious of
But that's beside the point, a daunting prospect for anyone who stares silently into a crowd with a drink in their hand
Those comfortable with it getting a silent smiling ******* for their confidence

Despite all the usual traps and speed bumps, there is a certain ease to it all though
Whoever is eating that pizza with me, on the phone to me, sharing a shower with me
I'm at that point as an adult with a clear mirror
That I know its what I want, I know its okay to want it
And if there is anyone out there, with whatever representation of reality that perceives a problem with it
The ****** can **** my ****

i have given hearing
to deaf ferocious monsters
with well meaning incompetence
i have disturbed the reality
and illusion of human identity
where i am enmeshed
in insoluble confusions of difficulties
where i find strange images
touching on the grotesque
and ask what is myself
what are the guarantees
of my identity
by what right is a name possessed
by what means is my individuality secured
these questions in my mind
have a curiously derivative quality
that pretend to govern themselves
where they collaborate in their own oppression
and make assumptions upon
ethical behaviour and social institutions
which represent fictions rather than fact
function in a world of collapsing distinctions
of artificial precepts
where these now hearing monsters
with vicious energies of hate and ambition
that propel the enactment of intense
exhausting experience of  a mind
spiraling vertiginously
toward an inner chaos that proclaims
I am myself alone without moral constraints
yet register vast predicaments
with the memorability of vivid language
but with an individual rapaciousness
that creates an amalgam of narratives
with the oppressive weight of the past
designed to induce this evaluative vertigo
with such ferocity to produce a turmoil of demons
monsters of evil, whose viciousness is vividly stamped
upon their bodies that declares
their fathomless malice sending my mind
into a cruelly disassembling nature
where i have given hearing
to deaf ferocious monsters

Dark night of the tallest dreams

Whose visions yearn for a willing

Transformation of themselves

And cry pretensions of constraints

And possibilities of ****** intensity

Who emphasize a drama of forced elements

In dark violent and repressive potential

That leaves such visions impoverished

Yes impoverished of an outcome

Unable to shape such matters

Into coherent form

Allows for vicious energies

Of an intense and exhausting experience

Makes vigorous its form of monstrous depiction

That leaves an eternity of lamentation in their making

Inducing that of evaluative vertigo

That flares into a conflagration of the mind

Embalming the senses, allows for a turmoil of demons

Of fathomless malice and grotesque shadows

To be the inauguaration of the tragedy of my night

Assertiveness: standing up
for your own rights;
Don't infringe upon or ignore
anyone else's rights, though

It is not aggressiveness

Start with an "I" statement;
It should be descriptive, not
evaluative or condemnatory

Where, pray tell, are we now?
How far have we progressed?
Have we covered our ears so we can't
Hear the cries of the dispossessed?

Have pages been ripped out of history books
So that the people cannot see
The struggles that many undertook
To help to set all people free?

A nation "indivisible,
With liberty and justice for all"
Can benefit at times from a self-
Evaluative overhaul,

Or maybe from a look in the mirror
To see whether the image displayed
Truly represents the picture
Of freedom meant to be conveyed.

Through irreconcilable differences,
Have we now become divorced
From hopeful ideals that early on
The shapers of our nation endorsed?

Are we sincerely looking within
Our hearts to make a "more perfect" nation,
Or are we more consumed with drawing
Attention to the standing ovation?

Are we shutting the door to the soul
Of America and walling out
The power and strength that forms the basis
Of what this country is all about?

Let us not be blindsided
By rogue forces that hope to succeed
In weakening what makes us strong,
Only to relish watching us bleed.

-by Bob B (6-16-18)