I detach my feelings when treating patients to enable myself to make clinical decisions when doing my job.
Due to that I have transformed
I have transformed to a person that can return to her original shape or position after deformation that does not exceed her limit...resilience
I acknowledge that this wall of resilience has turned me into somewhat an "insensitive" person
So much that when those closest to me are in misery it doesn't break me although I sympathize
With that comes imperviousness
Which for a long time I have confused with strength
I fail to admit  passage of emotions or rather I have become incapable of being affected by situations
I acknowledge that I may reach a breaking point sometime
I just pray to God that I be ready when all of this finally hits me

I wanted
I really
I really, really
wanted
to write
something
that is so
beautiful
something
that only
an angel
could think of
something
that blows
our possessed
crooked minds
away
something
that could
captured
the heart
of thousand roses
and rhinos.

Noting
on what I
am doing
at the
moment,
lies are
here
to stay
to feed
to satisfy
those with the
precious
unperturbed
untortured
minds
to congratulate
them at
the end
of their
endless quest.

Do painless hearts have a voice too?
Where is the untortured artist?
yearning to have their voice be heard
Or are they the ones looking to be beaten
Because something has it out for them
They have a story they are meant to tell but
Cannot be told until they have lasted the pain
That is spiraling in a match makers brain
Building the bridge between the pained and painless
Where innocent minds drink and the triggered get triggered
And the passengers finally have a place to pour their pain
Without dumping it on others that don’t deserve it
We can hand it to the next victim,
A guideline of self -sabotage
Where we first sat to learn how to take pain.

In this age of instant gratification and expanding hive mind at our fingertips,
A 2D projection of the whole world is turning into one location .
These are the purest forms -
Untortured by corporeality .
These are the shadows at the back of the cave, if ever there has been .

With all of this here to observe and ponder ,
It would be disservice to ignore the nature of these tools -
This evolving human state

Man
Made
Man

And
The making has never yet
Stopped .

We may yet falter at the edge of the colliding tectonics /
Be crushed by nascent peaks /
Be swallowed by the sundering seas and cast into new abyssal reach

We may yet
Break apart into scattered pieces
At the cusp of escape velocity /
Disintegrate into nothing more than a debris cloud /
Serve only as a dusty web of obstruction for others who may come later to bat

We may
Become a spiteful
Net
That’s wrapping around the globe and the greatest artifact of all of our failures -
Ugly poltergeists looking only to hold back the light /
We may seek others only to
bring them down to our level, such that our memory doesn’t
Get
Left behind.


Or
we may hone a deeper focus
And a wider gaze of what Home really means


We seem to be afraid of knowing -
Of being .
We numb ourselves into perfectly manicured stupors ,
Cast roles for ourselves and the rest of the world such as to frame ourselves as victims of our very existence

How are we to know without knowing?
How are we to decide where to step without map of our footfalls?

If ignorance is bliss -
Then omnipotence must be a more supreme form of
Agony
Than felt ever before.

Yet here we find ourselves
Wanting both :
Seats at the pantheon - and also the kind of
Guidance
Offered to children.

Many
Demand it, even.
Demand everything.

What lowest common denominator
Will define us?

Shall we slumber
Ever
Again?
Shall we deserve to?

How will we recognize and be
Recognized?


How will we love?
Who will be worthy of such love?
Who will we dare to say are truly unworthy?


How much time do we have left to
Decide?











Here.
Now.
We.