it's the 50th anniversary edition of william burrough's naked lunch, with the original cover, looking at all the annexes is like watching modern history with Russian annexing Crimea, anyway...

indeed the nature of addiction, i chose mine to
cure my insomnia - i *chose mine -
the less nasty less mythical name for it is indeed
metabolism - any hard-craft alcoholic walks into
a bar - drunk ******* and egoistically gluttonous
idiots come out like giraffes - vomiting into
the gutters, more Marilyn Monroe moments
showing off knickers even without the metro gust -
you drink enough and watch people drinking
for the psychoactive ingredient for dis-inhibiting
effects (buttered up talk, smooth there, quasi
Don Juan wannabes) - as Burroughs said: PLAN
YOUR ADDICTION - become addicted if some other
weakness is beating you - amtitriptyline doesn't
work without alcohol to what's desired as the lullaby
effect prior to K.O. - don't measure up to a veteran,
he'll beat you with experience, given it works -
i can imagine why hallucinogenics aren't metabolically
affecting - too much implants concerning the
world beyond, and god, and the secret of the universe -
you can't get addicted to these things - because there's
the bad trip, and you're off the hook - no more spiritual
trips looking for answers - repetition of the everyday
kills it off like flicking off a light switch - but, years
after the Beat movement, the Beats really did underestimate
the addiction of marijuana - they thought it was
the ****** drunk... oddly enough marijuana is linked to
alcohol and ****** addiction, it too is metabolic -
i'm not a medical expert... but i have heard of stoners
and their munchies - anything relating to food,
to metabolism is included, marijuana is the middle-guy
between the standards and Disney -
you heard of being monged, right? marijuana is as addictive
as alcohol - originally a giggly drug, a conversation
starter - marijuana - ends up being
an Jason Segel and Ed Helms film Jeff, who lives at Home,
it's this uncontrollable effect that proper intentions of
marijuana have: supreme thoughtlessness - or
the present vogue concerning "mindfulness" -
Jeff basically overthought himself on the high - he didn't
detach himself from thinking, now he's paying the price -
he's making completely random associations -
and why do stoners always waste their time in front
of t.v. or television - marijuana is a purely auditory drug -
******* to the park, pretend to be a fake Buddha imitation
and create the void in yourself to make your mind
the M25 at 3 a.m. - but this innocence with the Beat
movement associating itself with marijuana is partly
why it was legalised - the government wants rejects and,
to be frank? retards - that's why they legalised it -
they knew with the munchies jokes that marijuana had
the same metabolic addiction components as alcohol and
***** - you're metabolic dude! once addiction sets in
you're no longer in control of brain-freeze - you didn't
think it up on the psychoactive Everest - when the nice
sensation was still there, marijuana realised you zombie much
later - all the in-jokes of stoner culture suddenly passed you,
simulation dementia ensued - i'm way past the psychoactive
asset of alcohol, no slurred speech, no nothing -
but i retain the psychoactive point of metabolising excess
alcohol: if i didn't, i would sleep! i wouldn't sleep!
don't get me wrong, i get the point that i can't really
experience the negatives of reaching the psychoactive purpose
of alcohol and ***** in a street or join the football hooligans -
and surgeons drink to calm the nerves and calm the hand -
but alcohol is more cool headed and less phantasmagorical
than ***** addiction, for one thing your palette improves -
you find the most boring tasks liberating -
but the nights are the real nights, esp. if slumped on the sofa
watching t.v., unless you don't have a backlog of un-watched
Versailles or Billions episodes, you really need to go for
a 4 mile walk and breath the air - then half-sleep for
about an 2 hours (because you have limited money and
sometimes you pass a day without Auburn Whitney) -
you become rigorous - the prime solipsism - no time for
girlfriends, doesn't matter, my genitals weren't mutilated
as a child, no one forced a ****-*******-marriage-ring
on my finger - i can actually enjoy addiction - i end up
eating one meal a day - of course my face looks candyfloss
puffed up - but my soul is partly helium pubescent -
alcohol addiction is not ***** addiction even both
are primes of metabolism takeovers - no hung-overs too,
no blackouts - no fake "i can't remember" stories
when something ****** up happened - and certainly no
innocent look at the fact that marijuana is also a metabolic
addiction - unless of course you limit psychic ingestion
(excluding music, music is great to arrive at thoughtlessness),
but as most stoners (the next alcoholics) prove,
garbage the mind with American Dad and then get hungry -
binge eat - the stomach can drag the brain right down
into the acid pit and fry it - zombies galore - you won't be
able to catch yourself stopping thinking, the stomach
will do that for you, and you'll enter the zombie apocalypse:
just like my neighbour - there's a rat-like ritual involved,
for example, most people get sleepy from marijuana -
so it's not an addiction standing at a bus stop
pretending to be waiting for a bus and smoking?
that's addiction - the metabolic Gargantua has already caught-up,
addiction is primarily a solitary affair - it just depends
what you do with it... i'd be ashamed with my alcoholism
if i didn't write poems - the counter-effect is that i feel
some sort of social-inclusion when the day finishes -
i feed the cats, write invoices for my father (40% of
18 - 35 year olds live with their parents, because all
the foreigners bought all the houses intended as: buy to let -
is my money going down my drain, or is this
a post-Freud Oedipus stigmata killing familial relations
altogether?), cook, clean the house once a week,
cut the cats' nail and brush them - and to counter
what i don't do? can you imagine listening to a symphony
with only violins playing? not so genius hearing that
sort of Hollywood story with only cameo characters speaking.

overcast life not worth the open eyes
i need to rise above these clouds and lies
its overgrown and overdone
this way we go about
with chapels and tradition
rituals and true religion
why do we not fear these things?
tornadoes in the making
tsunami waves breaking
is it ever worth it all
overload

God wouldn't want this
God would'nt want this
God woul'dnt want this
God wou'ldnt want this

hideous mistakes and earthquakes
man has made a mess
blood and broken glass
and crusaders in the rain
overthrow the superficial
revolt yourself from overlords
floods in the making
covenants breaking
why do we not fear these things?
is it ever worth it all
overthought

I Tried! And Tried! I tried my best for you to show you that … I loved you. It wasn't good enough.
My heart wrote you poems for you. My heart wrote poems about you. It wasn’t good enough.
It wasn’t love at first site. But I loved you at your darkest.
The darkness came over you, but I never left you.
You will never know that I would come home and cry in the corner of the room, because of you.
Because of you! I lost my smile.
Because of you! I lost my temper with friends as I would stick up for you.
Because of you! I overthought.
Because of you!
Because of you! Because of ******* you!
Maybe you didn’t mean to rip out the veins of my heart. And yeah maybe you didn’t mean to call out the green eyed monster which sleeps inside of me.
You said you wanted to be with me, so why was you in such a rush to give me away.
I AM NOT A CHARITY CASE! I AM A HUMAN BEING WITH FEELINGS SO PLEASE TREAT ME LIKE ONE!
I can’t get mad at you because this is life.
Life will bring you up to the highest of heights and drop you.
Yes! I will always love you. But I’ll never forget the pain I was suffering in silence.
I’ll never forget the worthless feeling I would get.
I’ll never forget how I felt so unappreciated.
But now it’s time for me to find someone that will appreciate all the things I do for them.
Someone that will laugh at all my jokes, even if their cheesy.
We will look at each other with a smile and tell ourselves “how did we get like this?”
Yeah. I saw a future with you, it was so clear…. But clearly to you that was just a blur.

My anxiety pulls me in my room and locks the door
My anxiety throws out the key that never existed and taunts me
Makes me think I am not loved
Makes me not reflect on my actions that cause pain
Makes me feel crazy even though I am not
Makes me feel like I am the only one in the world that feels this way
My anxiety ruins the good things in my life and turns it around to hurt me
But my anxiety can't hurt me
My anxiety is only in my head
AND because of this I have overthought and painful thoughts about what is going to happen to me so I stay in a state of fear
Torture
Anger
Sadness
I have even thought of how it must feel when I am gone
But once I thought that I realised once I am dead I am dead and who knows if you still feel the pain or not
So I decided to keep on living to get rid of this constant anxiety and live a better life.
SO
But my anxiety does not define me
It does not define my actions
My thoughts
My pain
My happiness
My tears
MY anxiety will not lock me in my own room in a state of fear and sadness
MY anxiety will not take away everthing I have ever loved and will love in the future
I threw my anxiety out the window and made a key to get my self out of this room
And If it comes out
I will throw it out over and over again and find and create new keys with the heart of people and my own
And although my anxiety is an emotion that makes me hate myself
I will continue to love myself and stay the amazing person that I know I am and not change for something that is insignificant and cruel as anxiety
And I will learn to grow, love and learn to never Ever let anxiety define ME
And so should YOU

some days walk past me like shoes in a lost costco
wake up late, it's 9 AM somewhere so it's not like you slept in.

beauty in the backwards dance of corrugated cardboard contact lenses
seeing what I see like I see see see, for Godsakes all I need to do is see.

once.

A man is only half of what he is; always leaning towards the dim
Lacking a flouted need which whorls in the mute within him
A man bigots an ideal and will lark it away at the hold of his routed pith
A smile is not worthwhile if the smile does not have anything to receive or to give

A man is skyless; bound to his back with his dreams fixed on a rapture
He gorges upon tasteless feasts gasping for that sup he hungers to recapture
He does not know nor recall the times that did once befall
Of the lossless suffers and how they ever meant anything at all

He will become the most that he can ever endeavour
Be the creature he needs to be and whichever
Way it may engross him and how it moulds or claims him
It will be still him but leaning not so far in the dim

He would be a whole man who would give himself wholly
Who would be more and only more to her and her solely
His full heart would be tendered for it would not be his own
If it was still partial of the heart that had since budded and grown

A man would be raised and the sky would be without border
A bliss amid clouds where the undiscerning muddle finds order
There would be a sense to the road an approach to the wander
A reason for all a kiss a need to ponder no longer

There would be such rise in his depth and a contest behind bit teeth
To fight for the purposed kiss to hold her and keep her from grief
To offer her all embrace not too tense and not too slack
For her to breathe is to breathe; now half new he would never give it back

To be back upon his back with eyes busy to the sky
His bones broken as her feet glide indifferently by
Over his stare among cloud where she impelled his descent
He’d lay fallen and broken beaten and bent

If Half a man became whole does a whole man not become naught?
If he fights for a dearest never afore dreamt dream then what is left to be fought?
Was it his minds misgivings that would lead to such a trite giving reliving to doubt?
That surfaced more than he knew; the intended whisper instead a floundering shout?

Would it have been his heart that threw him from his felicity?
Could his relish overwhelm and mutate into potent toxicity?
Could it be fact that without thought nor without tact he impelled her?
Either overthought or over loved he would have fallen the hardest and he would not rise
No he would not rise anymore

If there ever was such a man and ever such a she
He would have her for as long as that may be
Her greatest gift is after saying all this to you
Is that after knowing all that you could you would feel the same way too.

The ineffable satisfaction
To say it's all my fault

The sad joy I sense
Dreaming about my vault

I feel so full of thoughts
I let only a few in

If I'm willing to comfort others
I can't appreciate me, myself, my own skin.

Thoughts thoughts thoughts thoughts don't stop they won't stop keep coming unbidden don't stop try to catch one examine exhausting roll it over six sides to a die random molecular structure quarks misfiring

it
is
exhausting

Gotta tell someone gotta tell you big plans for everybody just another bubble rising from the bottom of a Pilsner glass don't wanna over think this but who am I kidding I've already thought it over and decided I've already overthought it the dictionary is my friend Roget is my partner in crime

it
makes
very little sense

...but I won't twist it or turn it, mold it or meld it, sing it or speak it, let it lie let it die let it be let me see...

A general rule of catharsis the recovery process is often difficult the changes it affords take considerable time to assimilate and this is not always a smooth process as one tends to gravitate

Saturday Stings,
And all the lonely memories it brings,

Sundays Sufferings,
Slowly eating me up, expiered enduring,

Monday Moans,
Becoming motionless as silent stones,

Tuesday Tears,
Swept away by a sea of sobs,

Wednesday Worries,
Filling my mind overthought stories,

Thursday Thoughts,
Healing through our rewind past talks,

Friday Flashbacks,
Surviving on those life hacks,

___

Week after Week,
This continuously ongoing cycle,
I endlessly seek,
The day we once again meet.

~A.d | 12 Jan 2015

They say, “It must’ve been Fate”
       how we ended up here
I mean, “What a coincidence”
        we’d both be in this place?

But the more I learn to think,
the more I wish to turn
to turn and demand of them,

“Which is it then?”

Coincidence or Fate?

In a world of grey, this is a strict, straight line.
Orderly pattern
or lonely chance?
Predestined
or free to choose?

It’s a case of polar opposites,
Believe in both,
and you’ll never be able to operate.

So take your pick.
Most of us will.
Choose well, act accordingly, live your life-
move on.

But for those of us who can’t go without the truth,
        who always need the why what's what is what
With a question like that,
       how are we supposed to choose?

It is almost five a.m.
With each thump of the echoing bass,
of the synthetic revenge and heartbreak,
angry percussion wraps me closer than your arms ever could--
tremulous and heavy,
more absolute than the sunset fictions
you contentedly let me cling to.
A venomous chorus drips from my lips,
once-swollen eyes now itchy and dry.

This is the still serenity of the predawn slumber,
the yearning of the yetsummer,
the quiet before the birds begin scavenging
through grass, trash, and recycling.
I protest--
tongue, fingers heels teeth and lungs
restless in spite of themselves.

You have chased me out of bed,
across dew-dampened grass,
over uneven pavement as treacherous as your voice.
You follow me.

Sleep is merely a forlorn memory
peering sadly from a forgotten heap of warm cotton thread,
whimpering futilely against the anxious pulsing
of overworked headphones
and overthought peculiarities.

You introduced me to this time of day.
You summoned it once with impatient chords
and a staccato keystroke melody,
casually ignoring the plaintive honesty
I willingly accompanied you with.

But the sunrise casts a strange glow, I guess--
rosy and well-intentioned,
fickle and fleeting, like your grin
or the capricious depth of the summer sky.

No one remembers that wandering blue
the same color as her eyes;
but it seeps through your pores,
curls into the caverns of your chest,
an aching in azure only because you let it.
You have bathed too long in the sun.
As the scarlet sunrise erupts across your shoulders
the sky settles into your lungs.

But don’t trust that sky,
that constant companion.

That sky is a cannibal
and it will eat you alive.

Rudimentary trifling in creativity
Boiled down, frothy lines
Stumbled, broken relations.
Too much, too open,
Yet nothing is hidden between.
It’s not about the words
Stalky presentations mask what is meant
Overthought, underappreciated.
Expecting the praise, knowing the torment

Embarrassment.

I want the spaces.
**** the lines.
A blank page says more than a thousand full.
No thoughts, shot spark
Tired form, ugly flow.
She has no shame,
Takes no judgment
Jealous gawk,
Rooted fears,
Expression is the enemy
Lack of substance drives the ghost.

I look in the mirror, the subject framed--
A monster-- scarred with decades of conflicts,
But others see a youth perpetually tamed.
The battle fought was all within, only to me explicit.

Strifes with friends all in my mind
Overthought words clog reason. Reserved, but virtuous,
Always expecting the golden rule to apply, though none are kind.
The problem's within me
I am too nice, the other's aren't contemptuous.

I must work to elevate my mind, resent less.
Not my neighbors-- my thought; the catalyst of my growth.
An arduous journey, efforts must remain relentless,
But less rest makes me regress, the ebb and flow,
The didactic struggle of history, in a microcosm so small.

The flight of the mind anchored by the burden of guilt
Each new break through shows a hole in the wall
of yesterday's beliefs towards good,
now a window to a grander one built.

Does every soul struggle with this Hell?
The will to do good not nurtured by nature.
I hope for the best, will good will come? Will time tell?
First my soul must work to mature--
No hatred, love only, for all, no exclusions
For He would do the same, forgive forever.

Each hurtful word said is a soul's laceration.
The ire over, but there's scar tissue--Past's physical identification.

Sounds, spoken of my mind,
   Impulsive,
Yet, still overthought.

I never know what to say,
   But always know just how to say it.

I'm quite skilled,
   In the art of scaring you away,
With the words I didn't know how to say.

Stuck in this space of mind,
   That hides me from the correct answer,
Forced to find the long way around.

For the sake to not make a fool of myself,
   I just have to remember...

I Have the Write to Remain Silent

~Robert van Lingen

Perfectionism's fine dancer
I am no more

That is not what I was put on this earth for

I am not here
to ace every test,
to always get 100,
to always be the best.

I am here to experience
Life's ups and downs
To fall flat on my face
To fall ******* the ground

To make mistakes
But still learn
To discover who I really am
For that I truly yearn

Life is not linear
It should not be overthought
Trying to perfect it
Your brain starts to rot

Depression sinks in
Lose yourself in a fog
Lose joy, lose yourself
in a suffocating smog.

Alas I surrender
I shall fight no more
A world with so much to find
So much more to explore.

“La vérité vaut bien qu'on passe quelques années sans la trouver.”
Truth is more valuable if it takes you a few years to find it.
Renard

If only I could touch
The way your words flow
The way your lips glide
The way December drives my unmoved nose into a crooked mess

When will you place your lovely hands
On the doorknob
Opening you up to a heavenly world
You never knew existed
Seeing it like I do

Why don’t you go outside
Silence
So you can hear the call of the landscape
And the rush of the heavens
Upon you

Quidni, inquit, meminerim
People will always forget what you did
DON’T FORGET ABOUT ME
They will always remember
The feelings you graced them with
Your presence
The overpowering scent
DON’T FORGET ABOUT ME

Time moves slowly
But passes rapidly
The days start to feel like months
Maybe it doesn’t matter if
My life is overthought away
Maybe the wonder of what if
Will make today what is

Are you sure?
Are you sure about that?
My life is as I want it to be
But I-
I don’t understand
Life isn’t always about understanding

Photographs tell the story of my grandfather
In the old country
Before he had to fight with every inch of his body
Just to stay alive
Photographs tell the story of me
With a mind
That didn’t treat me how I wanted to be treated

Just look up at the moon
I see it too
Its glistening radiance
Reflecting back on my sunglasses
DON’T FORGET ABOUT ME

My soup is getting cold
The Anemoi are blowing wind toward you
Tell them to stop
I can’t
Why not
Because Zeus was angry
Casting Typhoeus into Tartaos
And with that the wind was born

Am I really the only person who tastes her soup when it’s too hot?
It just bubbles and boils forever
Yet
It tastes so good
Nice and hot
Like the summer day where the umbrella
High in the sky
Shades us
Like trees in the forrest
Or the buildings that crashed
9/11 came like its planes that flew too fast

In my desperation
for a story that I could tell

I found myself divided into three

the girl out of time
the girl who never slept
the girl made of symbols


one is for the past
when I could see what others could not
and others could not see me

I saw light shadows earth and air
and found my place among them

but assumption and apathy
ignorance and monotony
lured me into false independance

and I simply disappeared
faded to a wisp of self
faded to transparency


one is for the present
when time and dread and overthought
drove me to restless places

I stole my being from moments of calm
and tore it limb from limb

by day I fell ill with stillness of mind
through self-inflicted turmoil and disorder
I found my comfort in the lull of night

I was accustomed to dawn
and the correspondence of birds
insomnia thrived before softly lit grace


one is for the future
when I've found patience and comprehension
long lost in angst and exhaustion

presence and mind in translation
I will live by the stories under my skin

I will become ink, I will become words
I will become the doctrine by which I am governed
I will belong to ideas

I will become a story
I will be forever speaking
however silent

I search and search for something to define this emotion i'm living with.
Type and write to sort out my racing mind,
never to find the answers.
It's frustrating of course,
but also beautiful.
To feel something so unreal it makes you transparent,
vulnerable to the person making you feel this way.
It's love you may say,
but much more than that.
~
The lips that dance with mine,
breathe air into my lungs,
giving me life.
The words that are whispered into my ears,
are fuel to my heart,
making it speed.
The arms wrapped around me,
send me to palces unimaginable.
Lands of being safe and total trust.
Worlds of comfort and warmth.
I finally know why things never worked out with anyone else, because this is the person that takes me to new heights and gets everthing just right.
I guess you can call this love,
love from a poets soul is different
than everyday people.
artistic and twisted, overthought and true.

Objective:
Mostly for fun, partly for curiosity, a little bit to learn how my writing works

Procedure:
1) Count up all likes and divide by number of poems
2) List all poems above this average in order of most to least likes
3) Compare and contrast structure, tone, central idea, likes and trends
4) Take amount of likes, divide by number of views and multiply by 100 for success ratings
5) Compare and contrast favorites based on success ratings, likes ratings and your own personal opinion

Analysis:
1) 35 poems, 5 trended (1 out of 7)
2) Average amount of likes: 4.2
3) 9 above average (5 and up)
4) Of 9, I only really like half of them
5) Out of Top 5 Most Liked, 1st-4th trended
6) 7 out of 9 had an “I” or “you” narration
7) 5 out of 9 had a central image or a frame
8) Most Successful Poem: “Not Meant For This” (9.4% viewers liked)
9) My Top 3 Favorites:  1.“The Ghost Girls”  2.“Not Meant for This”  3.“The Jury v The Girl Who Sees”
10) Likes Top 3:  1.“Chasing Curriculum”  2.“Alphabet Addiction”  3.”The Ghost Girls”
11) Success Top 3:  1.“Not Meant For This”  2. “Procrastinate”  3. “Why We, Overthought”

Conclusion:
1) I center a lot of my poems around a powerful image or emotion and a personal narrator
2) Trends increase number of likes and views, but don’t affect the like to view ratio
3) My favorites tend to be much darker and more emotional than the ones other people like
4) This doesn’t take into account tags, collections, sharing, who the reader is, or what a view actually means
5) **At best 1 out of 10 viewers will like; at worst 1 out of 50

Disdain is developing for these boxes
Where interaction is eased but distanced and disconnected
Losing context and adding overthought
The to and fro becomes unhealthy in its uneven pacing, where our own little bubbles manifest in useless and counterproductive day dreams

This text technology isn't without its merits, if we need someone we can get hold of them quickly, if we need information we are well supplied
But for some, or.. to be frank, for me,  the information overload is deconstructing my confidence and pressurising my sense of self
A battle I fight against with fresh air, exercise and my continued relationship with pleasure
As well as the projects and positions that I pursue, the passions and paychecks, an effort about to hit full force now I'm graduating into the hostile capitalist way of things

I worry what this overdose of gratification does to me, but those that aren't self conscious of themselves under the techno-pressure worry me more
Because they are caught, fulfilled by a mundane medium that the screens provide, some adding the taste of green to exacerbate their passivity
While their lives aren't my problem, I feel for idiots, and count myself among them to whatever extent

Again I am reminded though, as my words spread naturally and find intellectual soil to dig down towards
As confident as I am of my optimism and the direction it describes
I am so very ******* fallable, and these screens and trying to connect with people through them is a process that doesn't quite seem right
That's not to say I won't be surrounded by the deceptive ******* tomorrow, in that mundane medium of 'social' existence
But it'll be the boxes of text that bug my sense of tangibility
and the efforts to shake off the cabin fever that will be most rewarding

These moans culminate in that simple little appreciation of those old norms
That no matter how incredibly interconnected our technology allows us to be
Those piles of text are a poor ******* substitute for the eye contact and the smile
So make sure you go out and find some

The old me is buried deep inside.
The bubbly, hyper, carefree parts of me have faded and disappeared.
Replaced by a demon whispering in my ear.

No longer can I look at food without calculating if it's safe to eat
My mind may tell me to not have it, but I have to accept it's okay to have a treat.
I no longer crave candy, chocolate or chips
The taste of anything too sweet is like poison on my lips.

"Don't think about it"
Excellent advice
If I could turn that voice off
That would be quite nice.

You cannot choose how your mind thinks
How it initially reacts
How in the mirror all I can see
Is layers of never ending fat

How others see the good in me
But I can only perceive my flaws
No matter how well I've done
It just doesn't seem good enough

Each activity I partake in is well overthought
Should I go out tonight? I have to study.
Productivity ties me in a knot.

There's always something I could be doing
Guilt consumes me if I'm not doing it.
But where to draw the line you see
When others have a similar, but not disordered, mindset.

Balance?
What is balance?
Others do it so naturally.
I have to schedule "fun time" and "time for me"

But the monsters of guilt taunt me
Along with Mr. Anxiety
Perfectionism erodes me
Being alive is tough you see.

I fight.
You do not see my battles.
Yet I fight every single day.
Some are better than others,
Some days the voices aren't quite as loud.

I'm never fine
Or truly okay
But I'm learning to accept that.

I can't let these things define my day.
I think I'm learning how to handle them.
So I'm sorry if my perfect exterior has been crumbled.
Or if you feel sorry for me.

But the last thing I want to be is a burden.




The more I learn
The more I can thrive.
So I can feel like I'm truly alive.
For I can't be fixed by a magic pill
Or immediately stop the voices out of pure will.

But I am strong.
I am persevering.
I hope through my struggle
I can help others
Gain vitality

when something that I used to adore
love
like
enjoy
doesn't become those things anymore

what does it become?
good memories?
something else?

everything enjoyable has to be broken into parts and made complex

and overthought

and competitive


and it makes me tense

it's not fun anymore

One.* We started as complete strangers, meeting for the first time. I hadn't met an actual complete stranger for the first time in months.
Two. That night, I told you a story and you listened. A story about not being able to use the school computers because they were all taken. It was the stupidest story I had ever told. You listened anyway.
Three. Nobody ever listens to me anymore.
Four. I'm not done meeting you yet and I love that. We don't know much about each other, but we piece together a little more of the puzzle every day.
Five. My friends adore you this time. I can spend my Friday nights with both you and them. I don't need to choose.
Six. You call me kiddo, just like he did, but yours is different. He was condescending. You treat me like I'm worth just as much as you.
Seven. I'm not worth just as much as you. You're a lot better than me.
Eight. You're unbelievably sweet, even to the girl that nobody else talks to. If they aren't ignoring her, they're mocking her. Even I ignored her.
Nine. I don't have to try for you. Nothing is forced, nothing is overthought, nothing is poised or staged or planned. I could tell you anything in the world and not be worried about how you'd react.
Ten. I've known you for a month. It feels like my whole life.

Where do I start
At the place I fell apart
Amidst a blizzard harboring a frozen heart
Pelted down by rigid rules
And sharp shards of thought
In that stark place, I wished on empty air
That true love would find me,
That just someone would care.

The snow melted
And jolly yellow daffodils emerged from the wet earth
The sun overpowered the sullen clouds of winter
And pushed the wintry season aside
So now with un-fogged eyes
I could see
Every single possibility.

I found what I thought was love
At a young and tender age
We kissed under the oak around the corner from my house
Cars whizzed by but we focused on each other's lips
And shared a cool, crisp kiss
And with starry eyes, we looked up to the sky
And blessed the God who granted us such bliss
The winter we did not think about,
The winter we did not miss,
The winter we had forgotten.

Side by side, hip by hip
Not a second ever a part
Each moment was never missed
We held on close, for fear of losing
The love that healed and warmed our hearts
But the entanglement became increasingly confusing
Less and less amusing
And we bruised each other's innocent hearts.

Tension increased, lies and manipulations through lips were released
Kissing was sparse
And arguments prevailed
Even in his presence I felt all alone again, in the hail
Internally frozen existing within our fiery hell
The closer we got the more we were jailed
By rules and restrictions
In fear, in fear of being left
But all the while,
Our fear was causing the theft
Of our love.

When it all came crumbling down
I never thought it would
It was the only thing I felt was going good
I had no one to turn to but the person I cut off
I fell into a depression
From my bed I could not get up
I existed within a cloud of smoke encircling my head
My heart strongly beat on, but I failed to notice or listen to my heart
I got into the habit of numbing
I didn't think I was fit for happiness
I thought I could attain joy if I overthought the method to attainment
But that just brought me farther away from it.

When I would ride in cars, I would unconsciously scan the streets hoping to see him
To get a peek at the life he led outside of our high school hallways
Once, while walking home, I saw him in the passenger seat of his mother's van
He looked dismal, he looked like he was anticipating happiness
Like he was trying to figure out the mathematical solution to joy
Another time, while in the car with my friend,
I saw him in the night
With his friends, donning a frumpy sweatshirt
He looked happy, he looked drunk
I pressed my face on the cold glass, straining my neck to look longer
My reflection struggled to look onto the barren winter night
That could provide me no consolation.

Today, I wonder if I ever knew him
If the depiction I created of him in my mind's eye was ever accurate
I thought he was so much like me
But when we separated, observing his behaviors, I felt like I couldn't relate to him
And the more I couldn't relate to him, the more I couldn't relate to myself
The farther we grew from each other
The more cold I grew at heart
I wanted him to care
And yet, I just wanted to live my life without his surveillance
I wanted to explore and make mistakes and have fun
Without hurting him
I think all along, that's what he wanted too.

Those cold and barren memories
Especially the harrowing and excruciatingly painful ones
Are hard to grapple with
I wonder sometimes if I have truly sustained all of that trauma
And because I have, I marvel and I am in awe
Of my tenacity and resilience...
And yet to say that the tenacity and resilience is mine sounds foreign
It couldn't have been me who pulled myself through
I feel like I was supplied with that assistance and guided
With a little help from Serendipity
My gratitude is ineffable-- I feel honored and undeserving to have pulled through my trauma
And I feel obligated to share my story with the world
To prove that there is hope, there is life, there is magic, there is love, there is healing, there is beauty, there is restoration, there is joy...
There is everything you want
Residing in your heart
Holding all the secrets to happiness and health and redemption--
Back to the path of your dreams from which you have strayed
Get off the spacious road where the masses lazily and unknowingly stroll to their graves
Awaken from your sleep walk and pursue your dreams
Because you can, and you will.
I struggle sometimes to believe that I will find love again
But in those moments,
I simply forget
That I am a bearer of love
And that I don't have to wait around for others to love me
Because I can love myself and share love with everyone else
I laugh for thinking such a silly thought
And smile, looking inwardly, at the eternal sunshine emanating from my heart.

I overthought my overthinking about all of my thoughts
I thought I would be fine with it, But I guess that I'm not
I'm overthinking my overthought about my overthinking, now
I want to end my overthinking about these overthoughts,
But how?

I stared to think what I'd been doing that was so wrong. Thinking of ways to improve myself to get her attention in order to make me happy.

Trying not to be myself.

What a ******* idiot I was, thinking that myself was incorrect, just because I wasn't  "right" for whom I desired.

I wish I could control what I desire, or change what you desire, but if I had those abilities then I guess I wouldn't be writing this.

I spiraled into a wormhole of overthought and got spat out at the bottom of an ocean. I thought about drowning for a second. My body had to battle my psyche before forcing it grant my legs the power to kick towards the surface.

I don't know exactly how to wrap this up but by having to escape from my thoughts in order to breathe I realized that trying not to be exactly who i  was so i could find happiness was a ******* contradiction, because it distracted me from everything else that made my cheeks touch my eyes before. Content when i was simply just being myself.

Overthink
Overthought
What am I
To get over?
She is the real Durden
Everything that I am not
But an apple turnover,
Spickle and spackle
Listen to the crinkle
And the crackle,
What plays the mind
If the records
No longer spin,
Retreat retreat retreat
On repeat
No baffle
To this wiffle
Waffles in the AM,
Pockets empty
There is nothing to collect
Unemployed dreams
I question the sparkle,
The sweet of the sprinkles
This life long ago wrecked...

APAD16 - 006 © okpoet

Missing you
My focus is upon you
Near or far but always in sight
The feeling of peace cocoons us
Whilst deserts and seas exist between us
Intrigued by this I question and ponder to an overthought place
Soon back to peace with your touch, heart and soul in mind
Engulfed by your vibration
Until the day I'll lay with you
That's where I long to stay
Missing you