"rationalized" poems
There is a harsh beauty in mathematics.
Under curves and over slopes,
Equations rise and fall endlessly
In a perfectly measured void.
Optimized, rationalized, sterilized;
Formulas that never lie,
Theorems looming before us
Like an archaic God,
A golden deity whose
Volume is maximized.
How I dream of drifting in this flux,
Concave up and concave down,
Riding the sign of my second derivative
For positive and negative,
For better and worse.
I would not travel alone;
With C by my side,
Friend, ally, brother,
Always paired with my antiderivative,
For whenever we journey back
Into the past, it is necessary
To have a companion to pull us out again
In case we are unsure of where we started.
Rules and laws
Strict organization, control;
There is a harsh beauty in mathematics.
Order; two plus two is always four.
Sines and cosines and theta
All dancing in the unit circle of life,
A conga line that joins itself
To form a mathematical ouroboros.
But the harshest of the harsh beauties
Presented in this Divine Subject
Is that though there is an infinite capacity
For positivity and growth,
So too is there the possibility of stretching
Endlessly towards negativity forever.
However, it is much more terrifying
To lie in the middle;
To be undefined, unknowable, and to add
Or subtract to no effect;
The most fear inducing, mysterious, and gorgeous number
Of zero; nothing yet something,
Infinite yet not,
The most grand of all contradictions.
A hole; a jump; a discontinuity,
Easily removed from life and smoothed out
If you just apply the formulas.
Graphs and coordinates, integers and ordered pairs,
Is that not what life is?
We live within the grandest equation,
Each our own variable,
Constantly solving for ourselves
With the harsh beauties of mathematics.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
In Mahabharat, Yudhishthira was considered as the most Pious Soul. He was considered as Epitome of Virtue and it is said he did not commit any mistake, except one half lie.
At the End of Mahabharat Epic, when All Pandavas tried to Venture to ascend to Heaven alive, it was the Yudhishthira only, who ascended into Heaven Alive. During the Way to Heaven, all other four Pandavas , including Draupadi died.
It is said that Yudhishthira was so Pious , Vrtuous and so truthful that his Chariot Never touched the Ground. Because of Truthfullness, Right fullness , he practised in his whole life, his Chariot Never Touched the Soil. Such was greatness of Yudhishthira.
However, Yudhishthira had to Visit Hell for some time where he saw all his brothers including Draupadi tortured. Even Karna was also seen being tortured in Hell. Later Yudhishthira was explained that he did committed a half sin in his life as he lied regarding death of Ashvatthama. It is said that this was the only half sin , which he committed in his whole life. This was the only reason, Yudhishthira had to visit Hell.
But what about Betting his Wife Draupadi in Gamble. Mahabharat is totallysilent on this aspect. In Mahabharat , Yudhishthira was not held guilty for betting his Wife Draupadi in Gamble and loosing her. Yudhishthira used his Wife as Good. I think this is one of the most heinous crime committed in Mahabharat. Yudhishthir Must had to be held guilty for that.
But instead, this was rationalized. During the Exile, when Bhim and Arjuna held Yudhishthira responsible for all this, Sage Vyas reached there and told them story of Ram and Lakshmana that how Lakshmana left his wife for his brother Ram. Thus Yudhishthira was protected by Vyasa.
It is a matter of Great Surprise to me that Mahabharat did not consider betting of wife in Gamble, A Sin. In my view betting of wife Draupadi in Gamble , by Yudhishthir is the most heinous crime , he committed and for this he was not worthy of entering into Heaven alive, like other Pandavas and Kauravas.
All Rights Reserved
I am the author of this Article. This Article is my Original work. I hold all the right in relation to my Article, as available in law. No body is entitled the use this Article , or any part thereof in any form without written consent from me.
Ajay Amitabh Suman
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 3:05 AM UTC
This monster called guilt, is eating me alive,
And I'm telling you this, so one day, when I've died,
You don't have sit there and wonder all the reasons why,
It's her, it's me, it's all the things I did hide,
Because of the shame and the regret,
And the things in between that I sat,
Upon for years that made me bleed,
Until I choked upon their ashes in my head,
And you all rationalized it away,
The rage and the self-hate,
But it all came down to, it all comes down to,
To a basement and carpet stains on the ground,
Someone help me end this living nightmare,
Where I'm haunted by a demon with golden hair,
She said to trust her and touch her there,
Well I did, and I did, now I hate her,
But not as much as I hate myself,
And no one can take away how I feel,
Sunshine shone in from that tiny window underground,
But all I could concentrate on was the sounds,
That came out of your filthy mouth,
And now I'm just on a one way train that's bound,
For hell, just like you, so eternity it is,
With the devil stuck in my head,
But I deserve no less for what I did,
They say it's cycle, yes, that's what they said,
But I'll never do it again,
But she, I'm sure, she did,
So who's worse or any better really in the end?
The one who learned their lesson, or the one who never did?
Someone help me end this living nightmare,
Where I'm haunted by a demon with golden hair,
She said to trust her and touch her there,
Well I did, and I did, now I hate her,
But not as much as I hate myself,
And no one can take away how I feel.
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 11:10 PM UTC
It's kinda funny, in this Language,
that the following two words should rhyme:
Rise and Demise
To me, it sort of implies a correlation:
philosophically rationalized
linguistic ties;
phonetic lies,
the phonetics lie.
Which lie? Will I clarify?
Certainly not!
For it is
double entendre;
maybe more, maybe less.
But nevertheless, the moral of the story is:
[this] Language is kinda funny.
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 9:31 AM UTC
The Breakfast Fairies (a humorous treatise)
Summoned for to break the fast
of sleep-and-dreams that can no longer last,
As the clock to noon draws nigh,
I happily paddle off to the cabinet
Where the cereals that I CHOSE,
Since I am now a grownup,
faithfully await, calm and in repose.
The refrigerator, in nearby proximity,
sources a Stony-field yogurt,,
A yogurt that I CHOSE,
light and sweet with processed fruit,
due to the miracle of Aspartame.
Distracted, back to the kitchen for
Some multi-grain slices to hail and toast,
Which I prefer dry (no butter)
and ready for anointing with oils of
Strawberry jelly.
To the table return ready to sound
The horn of plenty,
When I see the ****
Breakfast Fairies have struck yet again!
Cousins first to those that reside in nearby dishwasher*
The nefarious fairies guard my health
tho nobody asked them too!
My Crispix, with its malty sweetness,
And the ***** aftertaste of sprayed-on "enriched vitamins,"
has been smothered neath layers of
Granola, with cranberries and nuts,
Contaminated with a hint of cinnamon.
My processed yogurt,
vanished, without a trace,
replaced by their bacterial cousins from Thrace,
which is in Greece,
who, tho white, taste like plain yogurt sourpusses,
Even when littered with blueberries,
Nothing can replace the taste of my
Artificial Sweetener!
Dry toast has been sheeted and shined neath
A tribute of fattening butter,
rationalized by a commonality,
"Everything is better with butter..."
The last indignity is that my coffee,
Not the light brown I cherish
When kissed by whole milk,
Now muddled and muddied by skim milk, so named,
Cause they skim off all the taste.
Because they are fairies,
With fluttering wings,
Hasty retreat they beat,
But I know where they hide.
The next time it be for the morning meal,
I will eat it in bed,
far from their kitchen hiding places,
And celebrate my heroics with original
Frosted Flakes and milk,
And extra sugar just for spite!
The bedroom fairies, living under the pillow,
Emerge to beg in iambic pentameter,
Won't get nary a bite,
Until they they return the poems they stole
From my midnight dreams.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC
Allow me to be bold- brave prying eyes and bare all. Allow me to tamper with excommunication- to tempt ostracism- to tease trouble by talking of taboos... speaking of shushed subjects- oh, society's little secrets, the ones we're all willing to share. Allow me to expound on the lessons parents never wanted to teach- the lessons children are so eager to learn. The very act- the very word- that induces giggles, inspires poets, excites lovers, and makes or breaks "true bliss."
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns." -V.N
*** a word constructed of three of the twenty-six letters that make the English language go round. On their own, quite harmless, but collectively- a jaw-dropping, blush-inspiring, shush-provoking combination. *** the ultimate caricature of love and all that is romantic- oh, just look at this tangle of thorns. Tangled- because we have turned the beauty into a beast- taken "the two will become one"- and rationalized- two will always be two- Not you, me or me, you. No, nothing bad can come of this.
*** used to make lies beautiful and truth obscured. Sold in society- the promoter of skin- condemned in the church- discouraged as sin. All the while, teenagers are toppling around- neck deep in lust- desperate to be loved- fumbling- tumbling into the open arms of the ultimate outlet. *** a shallow solution to a deeper problem- a gift given, unwrapped, re-wrapped, and given again. Allow me to attempt to untangle these thorns- when does making love become wrong?
When it makes heroes into harlots and turns the righteous into romantics- when it complicates the uncomplicated? When it manipulates insincerity to seem sincere- liberates itself from simple mathematics, why, the more the merrier, and forgets three's a crowd? Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, allow me to be ridiculed- expose myself as a hypocrite and define: It is when *** is misconstrued as a mere act of "love" that it becomes a crime.
Aug 1, 2010
Aug 1, 2010 at 3:18 PM UTC
...blame the dreamer, the make-believer, the great play-pretender. blame the girl that picks up every drop of hope off the floor with tweezers. we all want to believe. even if its obvious how dangerous it could be, even when it has dagger-like thorns, and they stab your fingers. we want want want something still even though you will bleed. blame the ambitious one. blame that ******* time that always haunts us. blame the one that tries to defy it. blame loneliness, blame that empty space, that shadow that lingered for so long. blame the encouragement of self-sacrifice. blame basic human instinct, to see, to chase, to conquer. blame the amygdala. but what would it be like, without emotion, memory..it wouldn't hurt to forget to remember. blame energy. blame everything you've ever tried to believe in, wanted with every ounce of passion you had left. blame money, we're all just slaves. blame the unknown course of human life. blame the unpredictability of the circumstances in which you take your last breaths. wherever you would be, would the last scene in your play be a happy one or a tragic ending..or somewhere in between? blame analyzation and rationalized thinking, the fact that things could make perfect sense but your gut tells you differently. blame fear and anxiety, blame what scares you the most in this world. heights, change, being alone. blame the girl that always sees light but is ready for the dark, she is waiting by her windows. shes prepared for the part in the end where the actors bow and you realize, oh, yeah, fuck...this was all just imagined.
blame me. the director. the optimist. blame me, because i picked the thorned rose.
but it was just so, tempting, so extremely beautiful...
......i just take life as it comes.
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 2:22 AM UTC
That nameless spark
The one that starts in your diaphragm
you think it’s your breath,
but it gets stuck
Chest—hot
Breath—ragged
Heart—taiko beat
But you turned away...
“Didn’t want to start something”
You said
“Smart for you, sad for me”
I said
...Incompatible, I rationalized
What to do now?
Did we dodge a bullet?
Would your woundedness have moved
Through me and left a mark?
Your hesitation has.
“Everyone is complicated”
You told me after you kissed my neck
Do I stay soft?
Stay open?
I didn’t know when you said “everyone”
you meant yourself
Aug 14, 2019
Aug 14, 2019 at 11:59 PM UTC
Here we go,
take your pick:
which is worse?
to cry and not feel
or to hold back the tears?
in public?...
which is worse?
living in a house made of glass brick?
or a house armored thick?
so no one can ever see you...
or harm you
or your house...
which is worse?
being in a body you cannot stand?
or being the person you said you can't
are you your own?
or are you being held captive
perhaps by a former you
are you your own?
or have you turned on yourself
lied and said that it was to protect the rest of the world
rationalized
you are too clever
you are too violent
you are too... much,
or so they say.
yet its all on credit, an unregarded tab
and someone somewhere is keeping track
your words they twist and turn
they are vines and veins
whose blood they burn
you deconstruct meaning
transcending with every verse
it is a blessing, it is a blessing
it is a curse, it is a curse
oh but which is worse?
immediate classification no, judgmental interpretations?
descriptive deliberation of informative investigations
soon as the information is deliberately delivered
to the perception of my appreciation
artistic systemization
or
casting all this self manipulation aside in finalization
and choosing self mutilation
for the preservation of the rest of the nation
all the while, pleading through consideration
which is worse?
which is better?
to be everything is to be nothing
lack of identification.
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 4:03 PM UTC
Advanced in years, advanced in life
There slouches our grandmother in strife.
Winter has set in, no time to laugh
For our grandmother is knitting a scarf.
Behold the nature devoid Earth,
As the grandmother looks through the window.
Everyone step outdoors with a dust mask
For the air so polluted never was
And breathing shall cause dreadful malady.
Every time a man digs the soil
Only plastics found amid the great toil!
Drinking water has been rationalized
Only a liter for a huge family.
And as our granny knits the scarf
She gives up water with a guilty laugh.
Her grandson returns home with a thud
Covered with sand and drenched with mud
But no water to take bath
So he holds himself in wrath.
Grennary pictures he finds
Only in textbook binds.
Grandma is beware of all these
And takes her mind to the trees.
There is only one tree in India
That is the great Banyan tree
And it is among the 7 wonders of the world.
It hardly rains once a year
So everyone gets a holiday
To see in front the nature appear.
Grandma with agony and despair
Explains her children how beautiful
Earth was, when nature was there.
She wrote articles for magazines
Describing the birds chirping in peace
And the smell of the tranquil breeze.
Grandma catches sight of another incident:
Only one rose left in the Ooty rose garden
And before grandma could give a pardon
In Auction was it sold to the highest bidder!!!
Never a rose, was seen then.
.
.
.
.
.
But don't worry, we are not in that age now
And never we shall get that blow.
But our future will, the future generation will
Undergo all these torments calling us evil.
We now see children playing around the trees
We now see animals in deciduous forests
We now enjoy rain and greenery.
But we will be a nemesis for the future.
Let the future not see greenery in books
But in reality, in real life let them see brooks.
We humans seem to be selfish, for I define:
“Only after the last tree has fallen
Only after the last river has been poisoned
Only after the last fish has been caught
Only then will we realize that MONEY cannot be eaten.”
Perhaps our world has simply been hijacked
if man is to survive we need to act.
So, let's act and save our planet "EARTH"
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC
Whispers from the fallen, it sprouts a bud,
From the seed planted within a dream.
****** into prayer, rationalized by desires;
A contract between flesh and darkness.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 9:51 AM UTC
At the age of 17
I graduated high school
The fast track for college
To become a Doctor
Next logical step; marriage
had a child at the age 19
age 21 divorced
I was never going to get married EVER again
age 23 I met a man
I met him in a bar
I did not give them my phone number
but he listened intently
the next day he showed up at my work
I thought he wanted my parking spot
I said I’m not leaving not recognizing him
I was eating my lunch in my car how pathetic
since he couldn’t take me to lunch
he offered to take me to dinner
from that day on
we were together every day
The third day
he told me he love me
After one week
we were going out to lunch
he said he had a really great idea
I thought he was referring to
where we were going to eat
he paused was quiet
I said that sounds great
He cleared his throat and said
Will you marry me
Did I mentioned he was 13 years older(36)
I said the first thing that came to mind
are you (f word) kidding me
I don’t even know you
but then when I looked at him
I realized he were serious
I told him ask he again
in a year
Two weeks before one year
He was down on one knee
Now? he grinned
He just knew
I rationalized
If I have ten good years
That would be better then most
36 years later
Still together
So much has changed
Do you ever look In the mirror and wonder
who is that
what happened to me
My dreams, desires and goals,
Who I wanted to be When I grew up
I am in the winter
Of my discontent
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 6:07 AM UTC
It's been a long time since I've looked at myself in the mirror and asked who I am
prodding a reflection to see how long it takes to change
That kind of thinking follows you- it preempts every step-
step-
I'm swallowing confusion whole. In a daily pill. A color for every feeling.
I was thinking about my circular habits when I caught myself there, again,
a black hole in the glass fragmented like..
children, transposed against war
myself, the child and the war-maker begging for peace
the harsh lines cut across valleys of wheat
cut me down, I'm begging the blackness, make fault lines out of my hate
across my body, slash my body, curl up and disappear into my body
take my body and teach me to float
I'll volunteer my soul in the name of love, lovers, loved, loving... forgiveness.
and float there in a dream that a human doesn't stand to realize any time soon, I'm sobbing for my lost dreams and stuck in my own memories, I mean --
I fool myself sometimes. Because things are harsh and harshness is perception. And connectedness comes from letting go. And ****** I've been stubborn since birth and I was stubborn when I knew God and I'm stubborn now I don't
I don't
I don't. Tell me what to do, because I'm tired of beating myself down
I once tried starving myself raw
and realized the hard way it was never an option
I miss that kind of numbness. I want to believe that the ones I want to see know how to look past skin. I'm - wanting - to float. I'm... wanting. I'm wanting in components of human nature lack lacking lacking love
I
never ever would have ever admitted
self in grounds of coffee. down the hatch, down the drain, downing levels of consciousness as days homogenize and fears are realized and
slowly drowning time
rationalized
mine
body is mine
body is dying, legs are dying, eyes are dying, drooping, dropping like flies fl-fl-fl-flying
to fly
dreams of flying
I had dreams of flying
I have dreams of flying and every day I'm dying
This is blackness reflected back. apathy.
warped cognition slides through me cold
I don't know how I got so old
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 2:12 AM UTC
The rise and fall of my life
The reason for my being
I haven't run because you are here
The only one who tames me and claims me
I'm yours
The sweetest man a girl could want
I am in no way attracted to
An eternal friend
Without even a possibility of more
Somehow personally sad
Young and dark in air
Romance blooms internally
A shell of sarcasm, dark humor and wit
Covers the warm, sweet tenderness underneath
How does one speak to the animal?
Looks, pets, scents
The will to be free he calls to me
But in truth we know it never will be
The purity innocence and kindness
I hope it lasts
How one can come out of something broken
Even more pure and whole than those who have known no wrong
Continues to amaze me
Kept safe or killed is your fate
So sweet and innocent
Some would never say
They do not see what I see even in your "lust"
Play is truly your way
A gentlemen true
We are not always lost without you
It is sad to say
We would not want you to change
But we cannot always protect you from you
One who steals my words
Writers Block its true
The embodiment of confused lust and rationalized morals
Love broken with distance
Yet we continue to love you
The Laughing one
Always quick with wit and jest
Me you always impress
If only emotion flowed as freely from you
As I know it does from me
Light and pure as gold
Soft and new as fresh silk
A look so tempting
Words cannot express
The breath seemingly wrenched from my chest
A smile reaches the eyes of us
Both upon the sense of each other
All hope will return
Darkness to Grey
Whenever we meet
My brother
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 4:23 PM UTC
I'm trying to live life to the fullest
and the meaning is on the crest
As I look at the sun
this fleeting feeling sweeps over me
the horizon will always be on the run
such an unnameable emotion
just out of reach, blowing in the wind
I'm becoming blind,
to what is really happening
I'm trying to harmonize
but instead I'm anathematised
it doesn't matter what time of day
or how I try to contemplate
I'm pushing you further and further away
I don't obligate
you to stay
you don't want to be analyzed
or rationalized
you're already leaving me behind
I'm just beginning to understand
self, mind, can you discern?
you radiate such command,
your meaning causes this yearning
I'm tantalized
and hypnotized
then you start to depart
before I can truly see,
hear this plea
to grant my desire to comprehend,
you're slowly slipping out of my grasp,
before I can write this fleeting,
fleeting thought down
you've already flown,
flown far,
far away............
...............
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 11:00 PM UTC
the wart, at first
was mostly ignored;
like in the case of squint eyes
or few strands of untimely
white hair.
though it created
bit of a complex,
thought merely as a nuisance
(what else, was the
thinking of those times)
the wart persisted,
and consistently spread
attracting attention
of almost every one
revealing how our people are curious.
so found the need
to be operated
(no big deal, the doc said)
the papoma virus shouldn't be
given a chance to go out of hand
on the surgeon's table
a discussion ensued--
many possibilities
were brought to the fore,
the pattern was striking
an opinion was sounded
it in fact, is
out and out natural body art--
isn't it?
see, how ' found art' emerges !
art of the persistent wart
was illuminated and realized
the wart with a striking ( ancient?) motif
was saved from the surgeon's knife,
thanks to the timely 'wartistic' thinking on art.
life springs surprises before us
but we take it as something else,
what other reason we need for the
failure of human race?
some one, (a nurse?) near
the surgeon's table rationalized,
none could say anything, but shake their heads.
Nov 7, 2011
Nov 7, 2011 at 9:30 AM UTC
I am a nice guy. why? I guess the trauma I have endured, made me a bit passive? To much destruction and discord. I live at a distance. Yet I'm still observant
especially of individuals and their ideas. Without being directly involved to understand them, their words are still clear. I won't approach you or become close with you, because I have a prejudice and preconceptions, rationalized by my fear. My family and friends seem to be the only ones, I can trust. However those who I love, have had their own selfish aspirations fueled, by their lust. I put others before myself. Their needs seem to be more important than mine. I come secondary in my own life. I wear my heart on my sleeve, so its vulnerable to attacks. I don't trust those who say they have my back.
I will give everything I have, just to get the one who I love to stay, but its my love that makes them stay away. I'm a very forgiving person, and at times a horrible judge of character. My vision becomes narrow, I only see the good in others. I got taken advantage of, and I went through many hardships, because I have a personality that brings people to me inspiring friendship. If I could, I would no longer like to be, the nice guy. They say don't change! remain the nice guy why?
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
I need a sign
I live a double life
Whatever you say
I will disagree
The spoken word
Even dignified perception
Is heard in the comfort of our needs
Some things are best sung in the dark
When weird wired sounds freely float unimpeded
By a truth fabricated in a childhood of awe
Justified and rationalized for fear of discovery
Where is my sign?
Yesterday I accepted Christ
By morning I bid him fond farewell
Wondering if I would thus live in vain
Impaled by my fearless worship of scientific facts
Discovered by others and insisted upon
You know what you know
I don’t know what you know
You want me to believe what you know
When what you know is not knowing at all
But certainty built slowly as one sand block after another
With one eye on the rain clouds
And the other on me
Your mission
Neither reached or repulsed
Merely confused
Flip flopping like a fish on the dock
Or a girl who won’t sit still after I loved her
What conviction can I offer you?
Other than to say
Don’t ask me
Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 10:53 PM UTC
Throw ‘em in a hole
Franco;
Mohammedans, Free Masons, and socialists.
Why can't inclusion be?
Look to the future
Franco;
Mohammedans, Free Masons and socialists.
The sum of democratic ideals,
rationalized even in you.
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 7:32 PM UTC
Dear Dr. Heartthrob,
I’m guessing you did not know
Yesterday I was admitted to emergency
Taken from clinic in a death march
You pretended not to notice my urgency
Guess that all has to do with insurgency
That’s quite all right by me
My seizures are not pretty little features
The drug mishap is likely not to blame
No, they did not call any preachers
Agnostic I am and devoted to creatures
I have a complicated medicine regimen
Which is to be rationalized by conspiring minds
Dr. Eyes That Melt Me is a brilliant young intern
He had gizmos and probe scopes and interesting finds
He knows more specialists dealing in matters of these kinds
We had such intimate talks together
So I hope you're not embarrassed to hear
I’m firing you for lack of bedside manner
Though in fact you were prescriptively dear
My heart is now weak for another I fear
Your Loving Patient,
Poopsy
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 3:57 AM UTC
She is a caregiver.
She who gives complete care is she whose care is completely given -
So much care to give yet none remains for herself.
Built 6 ft. tall she carries:
A Rolleiflex 3.5T,
A phony french accent
And an enigmatical past.
Ms Mayer.
As her lens soaks up the quintessence of normality in
A diluted Chicago suburb or
The emphatic streets of Manhattan;
She was wired to observe.
Her nature, craving to sustain unrepeatable moments.
Instances so human,
A simple photograph just isn’t quite enough
To capture them.
V. Meyer.
She relies unwaveringly on an object whose sole purpose is to
Look through,
To surpass.
But to her it acts contradictorily as
A barrier,
A rationalized blindness.
An outside eye peering into the lives of others
But never within herself.
She is the lady who would rather look through a lens than into a mirror
Because her refracted self is slightly easier confronted than that reflected.
Vivian Maier.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 4:15 PM UTC
"I’ll always hate my birthday, because it will always be the day I lost my best friend."
Those were the last words said to you,
Passed from my lips to the phone screen,
I didn’t feel the shotgun in my lap anymore,
Just needed a drink to feel okay, okay, again.
Again you’re on my mind like you’re in my life,
Stuck in my heart between anger and love,
Lost between the past and what was the present,
An ocean apart like the seams of my heart,
Pulled at the frayed prayers I once gave God,
God what have You done. . . ? I blamed You.
I blamed You but I made the choices I did,
Justified, rationalized, sweet white lies,
Honey on my lips laying in my coffin I died,
Me myself I focused always on I, I, I,
Self-centered but she was everything to me,
Why’d she hurt me when I just wanted help?
Take a step out of yourself and see it from her eyes,
You pushed her out it doesn’t have to matter why,
You used to be there for her, now all you do is say “hi”
Ask her how she’s doing but never be in her life,
You just criticized her choice in men,
Never asked if she had a choice,
Never asked if she wanted a choice,
You forced it down her throat all the **** time.
Empathy is your greatest gift but you removed her from it,
Couldn’t take the pain, I understand, but you didn’t walk in her shoes,
You loved her til you bled then didn’t touch her with a ten foot pole.
She needed you in her life,
She took me for granted,
I took her for granted,
I needed her in my life.
If I could have talked to you a week ago I would have told you how much I hated you for what you did.
I wish I could talk to you now, tell you how sorry I am that I let you down, tell you I forgive you, and let you know why I did what I did and ended up where I was at.
I’m sorry I hurt you, I have scars you gave me too. It was something we should have overcame together, we just hurt each other too much.
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 11:47 AM UTC