"parkour" poems
I take a walk into the parkour graveyard,
looking for Polish dealers and cellphone halos.
I heard Thoth resides in sobriety,
but words fail me
whenever you are near.
I let my tongue run in endless stutters,
disguising 'I love you' as some off-hand request.
I could take you to dinner,
I could show you a longing
without the need for ***
This late-night food has lost its flavour.
This ***** call never picked up.
All that is left is to dial these numbers,
and wait by the window
for any car but yours.
Let's take a walk to the railway bridge.
We'll smoke a joint by the open forest.
You'll push your breath into mine,
make me high,
and forget why I ever
felt so low.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 9:21 PM UTC
Ben Kowalewicz (spoken): Hi, my name is Ben Kowalewicz and this is Billy Talent.
Well I tripped, I fell down naked
I drank from a cup of lead
I hugged a skunk, it peed on me
Yesterday I joined Scientology
Steal a Camaro, then **** Jack Sparrow
Try stupid **** try stupid ****
Jump in a dump truck, smell **** and get stuck
I cannot read, I cannot read
**** on computers, then drink some pewter
Die sanity, die sanity
Marry a cheapskate, gain ninety pounds weight
I'm really dumb, I'm really dumb
I'm stupid, it's my fault, so daft
I like to play in the garbage shaft
The best sport is Parkour, **** straight
I arrive at work five hours late
Drink a deep fryer, eat some barbed wire
Try stupid **** try stupid ****
Sleep in a fireplace, burn your entire face
I cannot read, I cannot read
Cinnamon challenge, go on a chalk binge
Die sanity, Die sanity
Bike into traffic, pose pornographic
I'm a ******* I'm a *******
I ate some poo!
I'm stupid, it's my fault
Try
I'm stupid, it's my fault
Lie
This bad song don't make sense
Pie
Get a Prince Albert, snake blood for dessert now?
Drink some Everclear, cut off your own ear now?
Go back in time to, forties as a Jew
Try stupid **** try stupid ****
Do *** and rip off your right knee
I cannot read, I cannot read
Find the KKK, put on some blackface
Die sanity, die sanity
Locate a pervert, then take off your shirt
I am a twit, I am a twit
I am a twit, I am a twit
Try stupid **** try stupid ****
I am a twit, I am a twit
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 6:15 PM UTC
(October 17th, 2013, I think is when I wrote this.)
There aren’t many things
that I’m good at.
I have bad grades.
I’m aware of this, but they
still insist on shouting as if
three letter F’s
determine my worth
as well as my ability.
I’m not athletic,
never been remotely decent
at sports,
picked last for soccer,
football, basketball,
and everything else,
tried to do parkour once-
however,
that hope quickly dissolved
when I discovered
that it was still nerve-wracking
for me to climb a fence.
(One of the many gifts
that comes with a severe
lack of coordination.)
I’m not a quiet person.
I don’t know
how to hold my tongue
most of the time.
So when my father’s paycheck
is cut shorter and shorter,
when he makes little enough as it is,
my stay-at-home mother
fighting her demons of
the severe depression and anxiety
that she passed down to me
as well as her (auditory) hallucinations,
her BPD,
her physical disabilities,
not making a paycheck at all,
and my school supplies
consist of 50-cent notebooks
that fall apart,
and 75-cent pens,
I get a little… “upset”.
I’ve played guitar for three years.
Sometimes, it’s what I’m best at,
playing strings of notes
and minor chords
that come together to form
beautiful harmonies-
but more often than not,
every note is sour…
Another thing I’m not good at.
But I am a writer.
People don’t pay attention
to teenagers, they say
We’re so full of ourselves,
We think we’re so important,
they say
We need to communicate,
but when we try
all they hear
is whining, and complaining.
Teenagers telling their friends
in passing conversation
that they’re suicidal,
that they hurt themselves,
just to see who will notice-
who will listen-
and of course, no one does.
Nobody notices that
teenagers are the voice
of our generation,
and our generation,
as such,
is royally ******
because nobody pays attention.
There aren’t many things
that I’m good at.
But I am a writer.
And I have
a voice,
a pen…
And paper torn
from a 50-cent notebook.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
Here's one for the gamers
dungeon dwellers, competitors and casual players
Whether they're at home or at a friend,
footballers, car racers or dragon slayers
To the world that looks down on us
for those who's hobbies least appeal
Just because they don't understand the reason
or share the passion we feel
Gamers like acheivements
each to their own
Whether its to vanquish the opposition
build, or break their enemies throne
Is that so different
perhaps they spend a lot of time at home
But isn't playing online with their friends
a little better than just sitting alone on ones phone?
The world of gaming has evolved
and adapted so much
It's a common to see a mother aligning fruit
or a child with a flapping duck
And is it such a bad thing
if the players are actually having fun
It may not be making them better
but I can think of many worse things they could have done
They say games encourage violence
but these people are some of the kindest I've ever seen
Theft, ****** and street racing
would it not be better if these things were only done behind a computer screen?
For many, its more than just a game
and can lead to some desperation
But people need to know the limits
and play in moderation
For some
it's to do things they wouldn't normally do or say on a daily basis
A couch potato wanting to explore the world
avoid boredom, keep their mind from stasis
To feel the breeze of a challenge
drive a fast car or
sword-fight,
maybe even do some parkour
Whether they want to skydive
or skate over a hill
To be able to do something dangerous
without having to sign a medical bill
We all have our reasons
some play casually while others play to vent
E-gaming has become so popular
now hosting world tournaments and many gaming event
This is how we are
so please let us be
Our motives are like captured birds
are we are just setting them free
Whether you want to be a princess
or guardian of a banana tree
You can do whatever you want
just follow your dream
People will always be different
this is just another sub-culture; like fans of a band
But we are the gamers
and by this title proudly we stand
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 5:02 AM UTC
We were equally matched
Until a plan was hatched
You became the subtle aggressor
By making appearances lesser
Using your passion aggression
To steer a passive direction
You perform a vanishing act
By canvassing flak
Balancing black
Against a sky so blue
Teaching me that which is true
Is different from what I knew
So my anxiety naturally grew
You launch a resistance
By remaining silent
On this plane of existence
Where you're the pilot
Not taking the right angle
Into the Bermuda Triangle
That is your social sphere
Where you disappear
From committal fear
Of love being near
So I throw a search party
But your presence is tardy
Because you're departing
On the journey you're starting
Without me
Slouching
From my submission
To your anti-admission
Splitting our position
Like nuclear fission
The air has become radioactive
Through light that is refractive
Through ways which are retractive
Living this ugly way to live
Sharpening my shiv
To escape this cell of decay
Where flowers bloom and fray
But can't see the light of day
Not one ray
Stuck in the marked moor
Of this dark war
I use parkour
To avoid aggressor attacks
Never cutting me any slack
Bringing pain back
Until I crack
Lost in your blank expression
I make a grave concession
Enslaved to your impression
Yet afraid of your aggression
Caught between
Taking heed
And fulfilling needs
Born from greed
I'll only impede
You scream aggressively
Like you're ********** me
Just by addressing me
After making a mess of me
With deafening quiet
You attack with a diet
Of a steady riot
And I won't buy it
You left when you were here
But stayed once you weren't near
You switched to a guillotine gear
Based on how you wanted to appear
Striking me from the equation
By utilizing deflation
For a sinister elation
You removed our relation
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 3:23 AM UTC
You help me realize
Why I’m happy to have been given life
In parkour you make me feel free
Like a bird flying over trees
In spelunking you give me
Courage to explore the unknown without the fear of broken bones
yet
You keep me alive
In times of chaos and strife
You allow me to face Thanatos
To make me Abolish Fright
For today is The Day
I Stand and Fight
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC
Freedom is the urge
That breaks out inside of us that makes us want to run.
An unseen Parkour of hands and feet.
Covering the threshold of walls and windows.
An key to an apartment
Of untold potential.
Seen as a window,
A causal gaze.
Things once seen as 3-D now seen 2-D.
Coming to the realization of just who we really are.
The desire of choosing to see things as brand new
A stillness of sorts.
A new brand of simple.
Holding on to a rail debating on whether or not to jump or hold on for a moment longer.
I.
The infinite compliment of the heart.
Choosing instead to run escaping,
The unfortunate pleasure of being chained in schizophrenia.
Gorillaz beating an untamed drum.
A constant pound, hands and feet becoming the ultimate form of expression.
The scuffle of feet over the sound of concrete.
Lost somewhere in the city.
Gorillaz beating an untamed drum.
Holy **** my thumbs are up.
Unpaused ****** expressions, Revealing perhaps way too much.
A cup of cold noodles quietly waiting wholeheartedly.
Next to the gorillaz loudly stating otherwise.
Them.
The painkiller to an over twisted wrist,
Procrastination is a *****
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 9:31 PM UTC
the man behind the curtain
that decided my worth
took his turns deciding whether or not
he felt like pretending to care about me
he oftentimes played the role of god-
and everyone owed him a favour
he wanted the rush
he inhaled from parkour on the week's end
and the kind of romance
he devoured in science fiction novels
i was too afraid to get off of my knees
and to not address him like royalty
but i let him file me down
into a perfect wife
knees on the ground,
my head stayed bowed
obedient like a puppy
scared out of it's wits
eventually i unlocked the door at the top of the cell
just to find him sitting there,
lit cigar (elegant this time)
and a novel
while he watched my mind absorb the smoke
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 11:12 PM UTC
Dear Future Lover of His,
Please listen to my words,
I want him to be safe,
In only a way which I know.
Dear Future Lover of His,
Please lay your heart on his chest,
Every day, twice a day,
And listen to his heart beat,
Make sure it is normal, on pace,
For if it isn't,
Something is wrong.
Dear Future Lover of His,
Buy blue Monster for him,
Before every soccer game,
For the pain and fear of seeing him,
Panting and passed out,
Delirious, is not worth any pain,
On Earth.
Dear Future Lover of His,
Don't pressure him to play guitar,
He will play for you when he truly wants,
And when his memories finally let him.
Dear Future Lover of His,
When he is drunk and sobbing,
Saying it is his fault,
Lay his head on your lap,
Pet his hair gently,
And remind him simply,
It is not.
Dear Future Lover of His,
When his anxiety hits,
Pull his hair for him,
And rub his neck,
Whisper sweet things in his ears,
And do not get upset,
When he doesn't want to be in,
Every one of your photos.
Dear Future Lover of His,
When he asks you what to draw,
Give him an endless list of suggestions,
So that his hands may never rest.
Dear Future Lover of His,
On June 15th,
Take him away from home,
Remind him endlessly how you love him so,
Then take him to the nearest parkour park,
And watch him run for hours.
Dear Future Lover of His,
Let him teach you soccer,
Because watching him play,
And go easy on you,
Is the sweetest thing you'll ever taste.
Dear Future Lover of His,
Never hold the past against him,
And please don't worry,
He hates your worrying the most.
Dear Future Lover of His,
Understand he needs alonetime,
Even if you need his time,
All the time.
Dear Future Lover of His,
Please be gentle, and kind,
Please let him love you for as long as he can,
And maybe you're place will replace mine,
The one where I am supposed to be,
For he needs someone to be there,
A rock, a constant,
And all I want is for him to be,
Happy.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 1:26 AM UTC
of slight stature
your shoulders are beautiful in the sunlight
you couldn’t not know that
your eyes are dull as gold is dull
and green reflected by the grass
if you are tired as I am tired
of vampires and che guevara and parkour and girls
in going out skirts, of movies you forget the plot of
and new architecture, of streets with sidewalks on
only one side
if you are tired as I am tired
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 11:17 PM UTC
Between the long plain that reaches over to London eye,
and over again to the ornaments that lay under the sky-
the city opens up its zero chorus of blackness within light flys;
I’ll never be up here again-
on another night where the staleness seems to have been flashed
away;
- I lay back and accept the clean wounds of space between wind pulse;
the campus sits as a passed morning meaning that I can stay up
here until I need to go, migrants of vehicle sound beaten by
a flock passing below the polluted white clouds- I’d welcome
security to find me; I’d give them the most genuine
‘hands up’ at this point;
I’ve taken enough neon in to know that it was worth it. The ache
in my body is night breeze, any losses are about 100m down,
lung and heart happy to stare- I doubt there’ll
be a hoo har- my mind licks over the clear void of the campus
and rests back; it seems worth it just to sleep,
just here, but I’ve gotta climb back down too
and even that thought,
is sent back-germinated
from the stars
as if the symbols of their light,
are more warnings,
to accept their open room
as my own;
without question,
less I quit,
and dive now
too.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
What is your happiness?
Mine is
A hot day
Forever
Shared with my love
Games to play
Without any price
But not illegal
Parkour
To my heart's content
With very little risk
Anime to watch
With all the time to finish them
And all the seasons to come
I could go on
But tell me
What is your happiness?
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC
Blades of shadows,
Eyes of Ocean blue.
Parkour to the rooftops,
No fear to death.
Now my training begins,
To achieve agility.
And Balance.
With my new blade,
I will defend those I love.
Instead of cowering.
I will defend my love,
My family.
The future of my life,
Is encrypted inside Arros.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 8:35 AM UTC
You are the devil in the face of my broken watch- your eyes reveal a shear glint of the moon's light. Your tear ducts make mine heavy. It's been 7 years since I felt you. You feel wonderful. I kept my promise. To you I keep all my promises. I fought the demons you protected me from, but I had to fight them on my own terms. Talk about rotten boyfriend material. I wish I could have been able to move to you, into you, closer to you, maybe even do some of that weird parkour jumping dancing Magic Mike Jordan twisting dancing type things. You after all are our Pieta.
You are the brilliant amulets of mirth and unbroken pathways. I feel the fur of your carpet between my toes. And I still haven't reapplied your nose. Please don't drown without me.
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
My son goes to prison in 5 days... everyone sees the man who steals and uses ****** I see the sweet, gentle, loving boy I raised. When I visit him in jail, behind the glass is not that man you see. To me it's that 10 year old boy who sang "beautiful" by eminem to me when I was having a bad day. I see the 5 year old who started climbing cliffs on camping trips while I held my breath, I see the 12 year old who loved to bmx and was an amazing parkour, I see the 9 year old who was filled with excitement when he got to meet mike row from ***** jobs and be behind the scenes. I see the 7 year old sledding down the hill with a huge grin whose picture was on the front page of the steamboat pilot. I see the teenager who tried so hard to help me and his brother survive on the streets and find food in dumpsters. I see the 15 year old who came and took his brother from me off the streets to give him a better life. I see my beautiful newborn as he is being placed in my arms for the first time. I see Brandon Scott Mustagog one of the most amazing talented human beings I have ever met. I see my son whom I love with everything in me. I know you can not see these things. I know you only see ****** and crime. But please when you speak of my son keep all of these things in mind.
L. Mack
2/2/19
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 8:48 AM UTC
We clamor for the answers
On why Poetry always takes a back-step to everything else
We've lost all the components of the belt
It's still beautiful and heartfelt
But it fails to implement welts
Inside the barriers
That refuse to be our carriers
For any more to be in public print
You better have the green eqivalent
To enter this contest
That you might not even win
No wonder why we're so vulnerable to throwing our work into the trash bin
Why should I lose money I worked so hard for
To be circulated in the financial parkour?
I'm not trashing them
No disrespect
But after a hefty inspect
I think we can do better
I'm so used to rejection letters
I'm just not opulent or sophisticated enough
I don't have a yacht like Billy Collins to splurge about
I write purely what gives me an urge about
Don't care for the money and the clout
It won't make me pout
I can tell you what Poetry is about
No need for the textbook explanation
That's not your destination
It's about who you are
How you feel
How these thoughts reel
What happened in your tri-optics
And how we can solve it
The world has churned out a campaign to ignore and omit it
And they're almost successful
Almost is as useful as a horseshoe against hand grenades
Let me drink my Lemonade
Writing line after line
I know I'm not Elitist enough
The edges of these words are kind of rough
Or as the Poetry Foundation says vague
Then explain why these poems almost always become trending?
I guess I'll buy my seventy-nine cent pen and express myself
Sit down and be laughed at the ones with their prestigious titles
Looked at as another wannabe
Even though I have the spirit like Ken Wantanabe
I guess what will be, will be
I'm just another bee in the Harvest
Trying to be Independent
Another lost soul in the forest
I take pride in my work but I'm considered the poorest
By the highest of the contempoaries
With their personal Secretaries
Thank you for your submission
But it puts you into the Obiutary
That they'll forget about
I'll make my own way
Starting today
Or was it many years ago?
It's hard to truly decipher.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 11:04 PM UTC
They will never finish the building
It would stay in its skeletal form
forever
because the government is
corrupt
but then
they all are
so it wasn’t the grandest
tragedy of the world
It was a fun place for
the kids
A place where they pretended to be
monkeys and did parkour
and whatnot
A place where tight friendships
and love were to
be discovered
and kept hidden in the various
incomplete rooms
and under unfinished stairs
The unfinished building was the
wonderland of a truly magical childhood
And it was still unfinished by
the time childhood ended
It’s been twenty years
and her girlfriends kept asking
her why she wasn’t
dating or starting a family
She just shrugged. Said she didn’t
want to hurt any men
It was enough those twenty years
ago when she
told a boy that he had to
walk across the high ledge if he wanted her kiss
Poor kid was too dumb and love-struck
for his own good,
but his fall and death took her out of the
tomboy phase.
She no longer sought adventure
and thrill
twenty years…
And the building was
still unfinished
Oct 18, 2021
Oct 18, 2021 at 5:29 PM UTC
i open my arms to the wind
and find it uncomfortably still
there is something eerie
about the way you
can be submerged
in something
(or someone)
but feel nothing
i wave my hands
back and forth
like a cab-call
to feel it on my skin
the first time
a boy kissed me
i asked him
not to.
he held me tight
while no one was around
told me he would not
let go until i did.
i called it love.
now i write poems.
and maybe i shouldn't write poems
for men that i have only looked at from across a room
and maybe i shouldn't tattoo his name
in hearts on my arms
and go on honeymoons before the wedding
but if i'm being honest
i have so much to give
that the fantasy of you and me
makes me think that maybe
up is down and down is up
and that for once, maybe
falling might not be so bad
when you teach me parkour
you tell me there are softer ways to land
tuck, roll, spin out, land gently on your toes
falling is not the worst thing if you do it right
but it takes time to learn
and if i am honest
i am writing love poems before
i've learned to rhyme or reason
recite to you my flat lines
trying to turn the snaps into
a CPR jumpstart for love
plug into you
a broken battery,
just trying to recharge
all of my rusty parts
that I, lay before you
as if getting *******
would fix the gaping
hole in my chest
thats been out of
commission for years now
when you tell me i am _
and introduce me to your best friends
i feel the walls fall down
like piles of clothing around us
like makeup washing down a drain
like scrubbing rust off an old pan
i stand here raw and real, and still
you tell me i can stay over
for the first time in a long time
i say "id like that"
press two lips to a forehead
and two hands to a chest
take a moment to take in
the man that is
lying so beautifully next to me
lying so beautifully next to me
lying so beautifully to me
my body hits pavement
Nov 27, 2019
Nov 27, 2019 at 11:03 AM UTC
Quit acting like
the centuries afterward will praise you.
right now you held up a clerk with a pocket knife
And will be another useless cog in the system.
That's if your lucky.
If you outrun the five-oh
and brushed up on your parkour enough to jump 10 feet to the next building roof.
That's if the shingles don't crumble under you once your weight impacts the roof.
That's if your bandana doesn't fall off and the five-oh identifies you because you and your dad were pulled over by them yesterday because he was speeding.
That's if your significant other isn't dumped by you because you know she's ******* that Black guy for his money and clothes.
That's if you can go through another semester scraping by.
That's if your not reported for bullying because you made fun of the kid who didn't wear name brand clothes but looked like a rich Jew anyway.
That's if your trap EP gets plenty of playbacks on Soundcloud. In reality it's just you moaning into the great void as it is drenched in auto-tune.
(ahh yaaaah yuhh yuh yuh yuh yuuuu yuuu tuuu get the strap oooOooOOoO)
That's if your codeine doesn't run out and you go into brain-damaging withdrawal.
That's if you don't engrave your fist into someone's skull because he noticed you limping to class after that cramp you had.
That's if you just seek affection from yourself when this ******** world ***** itself as you are caught in it's way.
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 11:22 PM UTC
We never really did ask for you,
Souped up cars and ****** up avenues.
Shivers down your spine, over fined for the damage done.
Pay up. The greater good needs your wallet son.
******** parkour, running in the streets off,
The roundabout where a couple broke each others lease on,
Life. There ain't no harder calmer man who's fighting.
The parents he believed in, smoked out the lighting.
How could there ever live a guy who's fighting for the personal right to call himself his family that's split across the world.
Divided, the house cannot stand.
Invited to the worldwide plan to forget, integrate and live inside a computer world.
Nevermore to care, the raven leaves the planet earth to find a people who can feel for something other than themselves.
Singing little nightingale, posted in a video warns users, but his language of the heart doesn't sell.
Candid, Sanded and machined to a polish.
Words spread like a bacteria.
Myriad.
Your dearly sad.
I couldn't help but notice the monster I created. Monster see, Monster do. Promise you a monster too.
Snowy hills and lonely peaks, to 7 every day of the week.
It's cold to you. It's hard to you.
**** a little animal too relieve yourself.
Believe yourself, it should evolve to defend itself.
Softer hearts grow distant.
My parents wonder where I am?
I'm well enough, without a friend.
Better to observe than pretend. To be anything but what I am.
Confused about where I am.
You couldn't see beyond the brush.
Merry-go-around-the-bush-with-him-you-found-on-Tinder.
Forget that we ever said I love you.
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 6:33 AM UTC
Keep quite. Listen to the sounds
of unquietable silence, restless air
around you, a million frantic
particles you inhale, heed them as they
penetrate deep inside you.
Follow their course as they enter nasal
cavities to conquer a pass
through your pharynx, caressing
vocal chords, your larynx violins,
gliding to destination through abysses
of trachea plunging, straight into your lungs.
Follow their way back to exhale then focus
beyond. Trail the million frantic particles
their complex parkour as they spread,
within you. Notice the unsilenceable
beat of the mighty ****** pump, tune in
to its rhythm as it releases red
lymph flowing though fragile conduits,
veins, nurturing vital organs, muscles,
bones, flesh. Master the composition
of body fluids playing the sounds
of unquietable silence. Feel
the recurring vibration in your ears
as you swallow, the transparent lubricant
incessantly inundating your mouth.
The bubbly clicks of saliva as it struggles
to prevent your teeth from decaying,
creating enzymes to digest, sustenance
slithering through an open palatine veil
falling down the oesophagus to reach
your stomach. Not in your heart, not in
your brain but there, precisely there
if you concentrate just a little more
will you hear the comeliest voice of all.
It does not speak into your ear, it sings
from within, you perceive it the most
in times of intense happiness or pain, though
it is always there, suave, sublime, divine,
relentlessly murmuring words of wisdom
to the totality of your essence.
The only one who truly loves you, the one
you hear the less, the one trying to tell you,
you are beautiful and perfect as you are.
Jigsaw tabs and pockets of a puzzle portraying
the mesmerising silent mystic figure of a creature,
Whose name is Humanity and frame is the Universe.
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 2:35 AM UTC
Hurtling through space and time,
but these thoughts not worth a dime,
just geometric shapes in a black and white,
but this jumble is quite a sight.
Running running, can't stop running,
something behind me just keeps coming,
so I run the parkour course with it's twists and turns,
looking for the resting spot as my muscles burn.
Jumping and climbing all the time,
from each shape and each line,
circumferences of the circle made,
leaping to the free floating Ray.
Now up the ramp of a triangle,
vaulting to the rectangle,
sprinting toward a massive gap,
now flipping and flying some arm swing *****
Landing on the squares edge with a tumbled roll,
on the move once again, surprised that I'm still whole,
but the danger still lurks behind,. so onward I roam,
suddenly a dark barks and I wake in my bed at home.
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 11:20 PM UTC
I HAVE BEEN THINKING —THOUGH SINCE I AM A SENTIENT CREATURE OF A PARTICULARLY EXISTENTIAL TEMPERAMENT, THAT IS AN UNNECESSARY STATEMENT BEYOND SIMPLE INTRODUCTION— BUT I HAVE BEEN THINKING AND MY MIND HAS DECIDED TO WANDER ONCE AGAIN DOWN A WELL-TRODDEN PATH OF DECAYED LEAVES AND LEANING TREES AND SHADOWED CREATURES GLIMPSED OUT OF THE CORNER OF AN EYE —A PATH THAT I CANNOT SEEM TO FENCE OFF. MY MIND’S A TRACEUR, AND MENTAL PARKOUR IS UNSURPRISINGLY EFFECTIVE AGAINST THE SIMPLE CHAIN-LINK FENCE ONE MAKES ON THEIR OWN WITH HOME-BAKED COPING MECHANISMS AND INSPIRATIONAL WORDS PASTED OVER OLD WALLPAPER.
I’VE TRIED MY BEST TO CONTAIN THE DAMAGE, BUT OFTEN I FIND MYSELF WRITING IT OFF AS COLLATERAL. I LOSE SEVERAL HOURS, ADRIFT IN MY HEAD DOWN TWISTING PATHS WORN INTO THE FOREST FLOOR BY ANIMALS ARMED WITH TEETH AND CLAWS AND BURNING EYES, AND ALL I CAN DO IS EXCUSE IT, BECAUSE WHO AM I WITHOUT MY OVERACTIVE THOUGHTS? WHAT AM I IF I AM NOT ALWAYS REACHING INWARDS AND OUTWARDS TO TRY AND MAKE SENSE OF THE UNKNOWABLE?
IF IT IS INSANITY, TO REACH FOR WHAT YOU CAN NEVER HAVE AND TO TRY AND KNOW WHAT YOU CAN NEVER UNDERSTAND, THEN I MIGHT VERY WELL BE INSANE. HONSELTY, THERE IS VERY LITTLE I CAN DO TO AVOID IT.
THE ONLY PROBLEM WITH THAT, REALLY, IS THAT I AM LONESOME LIKE THIS. MY TONGUE TRIPS ON THE TANTALIZING WITTICISMS THAT MIGHT OTHERWISE ENTICE COMPANIONSHIP, CAUGHT UP IN THE COBWEBS OF MY SKITTERING, BRANCHING THOUGHTS. WORDS STUMBLE OVER EACH OTHER IN A SWIFT WHITE-WATER RIVER OF SPEECH THAT HARDLY MAKE IT PAST MY LIPS BEFORE THE NEXT THOUGHT IS WORMING ITS WAY TO THE FOREFRONT.
TIME AND TIME AGAIN, I HAVE BEEN ASKED TO SLOW DOWN, TO TEMPER MYSELF, BUT HOW CAN I EVER SETTLE FOR BEING LESS THAN I AM? I AM LONELY, SURELY, BUT I THINK IT WOULD ONLY BE MORE ISOLATING TO KNOW THE PERSON NEXT TO ME AND KNOW THAT THEY WILL NEVER TRULY COMPREHEND ME IN TURN.
THAT IS OKAY, THOUGH. I WOULD NOT WANT THEM TO TRIP ON THE VINES OF PAST AND PAIN AND COMPOUNDING DEPRECATION THAT WEAVE THEMSELVES THROUGH THE SLIGHTEST GAPS IN MY PSYCHE WHENEVER THE OPPORTUNITY PRESENTS ITSELF. NO ONE DESERVES THAT. IT IS BETTER THAT I AM ALONE.
ALONE WITH MY THOUGHTS.
h.f.m.
Aug 20, 2020
Aug 20, 2020 at 3:29 PM UTC