(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 1, 2015)

To search for, interpret, focus on, or remember only information that confirms your preconceptions.

The solipsismal cataract, a knotted bog of shelter,
sortings of the world floating in translucent drops,
validations dissolving through your skin like
evangelical fumes: what you remember is the red flag,
the red vase, the ironic rose—because red is the mast and mascot
of your soul. Your own blushing village of Versailles—
built to suit your towering, powdered wigs. The brain works
if the ego allows. Go to the Grotto, Marie,

and listen to the flaxen minstrel,  speaker for the wise
old catfish. She is sitting to catch her breath, strumming
her catgut and similes as you stand inhaling the darkness,
remembering each side of a cloud and lampshades
on the heads of beautiful things. She brings you visions
of Wurlitzers  and coffee percolators,  things you wouldn’t know
how to look for if you’re looking too hard.  Remember your reds
until they fade away into the black of the grotto.

Come back out and try again.

YOU need to be validated.

now, I know that "you love yourself" and all that crap.
Maybe too much, actually, that you feel like you don't need anybody else.

But isn't it nice to have someone commend you on how you try make yourself better?
I think it's nice to know that people could notice the way you radiate with light.

That same light that you've worked so hard to conjure up through the chaos. your chaos.

Don't you see? YOU are beaming, my love, and the whole world is blinded by you. Can you expect us to shut up?

you can ******* a man with accusations of insanity and destroy him instantly, or over a few years... but that only shows the collective approach is insane and, including the man in question the prefix added to the collective: self-destructive... it's no good implying a man faked a coherent use of language, when the western model attached paranoiac iconoclasm of certain pronoun and noun usage - one man had more coherence in language than a million reduced to Emoticons - but no one minded that affair - they simply accepted it - it was once making the populace literate then the unmaking of literacy with technological advances - as ever the lax aristocracy - we don't philosophise in western society, we simply imply logistics of psychology - a Chinese model for the eradication of the unit of indestructibility - a soul, but what happens in China is a success story, the number in question are too man, our experiment is a failure in this eradication of the unit of indestructibility is a failure, excess individuation processes with too few example of coherence and grey matter - the family model is primarily the one source we have no coherent grey matter populace - with its failure no person will strive to wear the mask of father, grandfather, uncle... there's no investment in society of a family, western hands said: freedom to clone, freedoms for L.G.B.T. communities to flourish - surrogacy prostitution... care homes and tattoos of ***** bed-wetting on the skin - individuation's aggressiveness and objectivity's passiveness reduced to a criticism of a book rather than a project of collective cohesion... Communism came across the greatest antisemitism known to man - capitalistic zenith of the holocaust - now slang in populist propaganda - V for Vendetta realism i approach - i don't think i want to go to a pub these days, whether with Scot, Irishman or Anglo - i don't think watching rats scuttle is much fun over a pint of beer... schizophrenia of the collective, from theorem and other additives you can see the reverse chirality - some way or another you become involved - globalisation did that, you want to be un-involved and yet you become involved - you want the village life but are forced into an abstract urbanity - you have the urban life but are discouraged from an abstract village-life although in deepest desire, you wish for it... the day when two speakers of the same tongue undermine each other's speech - by way of constructing the perfect Ypres' replicas of entrenching validations to stand opposite each other on the basis of argument per se, and so the argument comes... how then contend between masochism on one side and sadism on the other, when the former traps himself in a panic room and does it to himself, and the latter is kept repeating a knock-knock joke with no answer?*

England has become a place where
i don't want to socialise -
i wouldn't want to be in a pub
full of Irish or English -
i've become marginalised as a user
of the tongue - i'm a user
but hardly the attaché - the "where you from"
question is always asked, i'm here,
but where from seems to matter more -
it's not fun anymore - London is
slightly confused at it all,
they said the European Union experiment
is a failure akin to the Communist Plot -
but of course both were pre-readied failures,
the former was tackled by puppetry of the
American president, the latter by the Pope -
both were ****** - the populist assertion
of the dream of Nebuchadnezzar -
if history is hardly a hindsight, it certainly
is a way of sleepwalking -
the failure from places not formerly conquered -
the anger of north africa and the elsewhere
encompassing the Mediterranean -
invigorating a force of conquerors by the once conquered
by goose-pimple buttocks of the Romans not
heading north on the continent (islands are insulators
of the cold) - hence the once former conquered
trying to scold and try out their post-colonial
authority - white v. white won't work -
Scandinavians and the Baltic States weren't
ready for ***** Gaul or ***** Britannia setting
orders - the Roman didn't go that far -
the failure was imminent from a single dream -
history is nothing about hindsight -
the hindsight default is nothing but the wrong
of the waking hour for many a man,
to take a dream as a vector for forward only sent
as backward - never make history from the interpretation
of a resting body - from a dream -
to make history from a dream is to give more men
unrest in the waking hour - to make history from
dreams is to make history without hindsight
but with sleepwalking, and few men are given
the anti-psyche drugs for a sober approach,
they say: but i didn't drink... but their intoxication
came from dreams... a drunk man will stumble and fall,
but a man intoxicated by dreams will make more
horrors outside the realm of cinema than is already
there with an eager audience - indeed, a cinema with
an un-eager audience - residues of symbolism,
the quote: for king and country and such baffling e.g. plural.
Ukraine was almost ready to join... you could say
Russia and Britain pulled the project apart...
i just don't think you'll like this aggravated German
with the expulsion of Jews from Poland -
the Visegrad Group - partly because this is the undercurrent -
so when will the channel tunnel become a plot-line
for Guy Fawkes? it's already rearranging itself -
a new chapter - a new nothing - it never worked in
the first place because there was no respect for the diversity,
we shared a single phonetic encoding, sure, some of us
used diacritical stresses, one particular didn't -
but it was anti-representing the diversity, this was
supposed to be an European Union -
not the Post-Colonial-Pseudo-African Union -
the great colonial states ruined it, that's why the greatest
of them has left - the European Union should have
excluded Britain, France and the Iberian peninsula -
it was intended as the revival of the Holy Roman Empire,
but including post-colonial states invoked the realisation
of their colonial past, thereby necessitating an integration
of their past colonial subjects into Europe -
Britain left because they heard the news... Turkey is going
to join... well... never mind Rotherham, eh?

Defining solitude is an interestingly malleable task
You can be one of strangers dotted randomly around a room, with the nature of your task distinctly yours
Or pressed up against 4 or more others, in the compact discomfort of a crowd that defies personal space, joining hundreds in a shared disdain
Or even with that one, in a similar change to the norms of personal space, but one that is welcomed chemically, emotionally, socially, where you test your nervous systems together, trying to get those **** little noises and faces

Amongst all this it has to be said that you are one person though, a single distinct identity, a single perception, a single source for emotional and ideological response to the blisteringly large amount of stimuli beyond counting over the course of years

With that.. comes uncertainty, especially when younger but settling still sometimes on the oldest of shoulders
An uncertainty, or an adversity, or a challenge
A challenge for some which drops down the back of sofas, or is gratefully piled under by gift after gift of shallow victory or opaque validations
For others they stand taller than the highest of towers with the most intimidating of faces, deconstructing the figurative cells of the beholder
For others still the matter is more personal and individual than two tone truths, the task, the anomaly amongst lucidity, the defining cracks in the mirror manifest in different animals, expressions and caricatures
And the singularity of existence, which is gradually being ballooned by technology convenience well, that doesn't ******* help.

So what do we do about these ******* bits of our brains? These resounding sticks putting pressure on our cogs and wheels, slowing us on our trip to the ideal
Some repress them, building them like ulcers, ulcers which burst in destructive forms or simply crush our backs till our smiles are hollow
Some indulge them, pursuing the irrationality till blood, ***** and tears surround our overwhelmed and tired doors to the world
Others.. those that I always admire, fight them, engage them with a rational or honest stand to last, and some of these ones win
I like to think of myself as one of these but..

I'm not there yet, not truly
But I see things differently, thanks to traditional private channels and a tipping see saw between healthy and really unfucking healthy approaches
The miniature disasters, the minor catastrophes, they've become different, something opaque, analysable and approachable
I can see them for what they are more than how they make me feel, and that is something I'd advice you do next time that thing, under whatever buckets or barrels of soaking context you've got going with it, that's an approach that really works for me
When it has substance, a color, a shape or a texture, when it can be really perceived for what it is, it can be dealt with
And you can be the one to deal with it, let the thing be what it is

Then grab it, squeeze what you need from it onto your plate
Or let it go and drift along to the sides of your vision, allowing you to focus and let go of what is peripheral in sight and insignificant in mind

I can't imagine what you're going through, I will never say I can, unless say, you're eating jam toast.
But I will say that I have faith in you reader, and that if I can face what my challenges have been and what my challenges will be well..

You can too.

I saw myself sitting on my knees, hunched over, clinging to a pile of rugs beneath me. Precisely three. Each rug was much like the other; slightly different in shape, but all of the same tone and texture. 


One by one, each was pulled away from underneath me…


My dad came and stole the first rug. I hardly expected it to have been snatched away. In my innocence, I thought I could somehow seek comfort there. Somehow I thought, I could feel it’s warmth for the remainder of my life not knowing much of the past, nor the future. With its displacement soon arose great fear. My mind started to alarmingly ring. What if all my other rugs are taken too? What if I have nothing soft left to lie on anymore? And what if all I feel is the bare emptiness of the ground below me? An emptiness, in which I am nothing? Inherently nothing…?

I clung to each rug that followed in dire fear of unanswered questions. In dire fear of all unknown. 


A few years thereafter, another rug I had grasped was snatched from underneath my base by T–. He did so in such an insidious way, I hardly expected it to have happened either. He had such invisibly cold hands that he told me were warm – a series of lies masquerading as truth. When T—’s rug went missing, I fell in much the same way as when my first rug was taken. Except this time, I fell to a position I had already felt so keenly, and so now, fell much more intensely. Doubly hunched over and in pain. A feeling of dejection and despair so intense from having already carried a previous stain; a previous memory. 


The next rug I encountered, I thought to be real. Actually, I thought it to be the most genuine I had ever encountered in the universe. It had seemingly inexhaustible warmth. I could hardly help but cling in ecstasy, though also in hidden agony, in cognizance of how transient all my other rugs had been. Finally, perhaps I had a home for me to lay my head upon? A home which would grant me stable rest? But here too, I was mistaken. Like each rug that came before, this rug was indeed transitory and full of uncertainty. Perhaps more soft, perhaps more real, perhaps more warm and embracing – but he too had to go. After all, he was another rug I had clung to; an attachment like all the rest.

–

When this particular rug was pulled, I was so terrified of soon touching the ground below me, that my body contracted in a frenzied, desperate agony. I tried so hard to make whatever warmth remain; strenuously clenching with all my might to staple it down in place. However, as hard as I did pull to hang on, an unknown force pulled away at a greater intensity. I found myself in a tug of war I could not win and sooner or later, the weight of my frustrations gave in. Mournfully, I failed to control its inevitable movement. My last remaining rug, yes, he too, went away.

And so I had nothing left beneath me… 


The cold floor exposed bare was the hard reality with which existence presented me. In the past, I had tried to search for other rugs to hide in. I thought to myself that other rugs would do, that perhaps I just needed a different few. I clung to some alternate variations; some made of others’ skin; half-hearted relations or validations, some of money, others of drugs or work or pastimes and pleasure. Despite all my attempts however, I could not evade the emptiness of the floor beneath me. I had felt it repeatedly with my own body. Its coldness had visibly scraped and scarred me. And I knew; each rug I had clung to was a cover-up so transient. Despite their initial warmth; each stood porous now – exposing the cold, and digging holes in any of my attempts not to feel what lied beneath.

Upon these realisations, the floor which held me and my previous rugs soon started collapsing. With its fall, I was taken into an empty, dark abyss; seemingly endless and all-enclosing. Seemingly perpetual.

Mid-fall I was so catastrophically uncertain, I wanted to close my eyes and no longer wake. I berated myself for continuing to be conscious and pleaded for existence to **** me in my sleep. How dare I still be alive while falling in such suffering and sadness, I lamented.


I lacked the courage to feel the thud of my final landing and its location.

From past experience, I was almost certain that what lied beneath was infinite pain; dark abandonment of course, for miles without end.


–

To be continued (as I learn how)…

Where were we when you quit the sound?
Caught in distance while you hung around
Encased inside of our own menial pursuit  
Flaunting desperation as a constant survival
As you battled death in your combat boots
There is no glory with fate as your rival

What were you seeing in your distorted mind?
As you ate your last words and ecstaticly dined
At the chemical festival of illusions' absorbtion
How far did your gaze stroll onto the other side?
did you meet with an end or the start of damnation?
In which lonely drawer do your dreams now reside?

Where have the remnants of life made their grave?
Are they in the lingering regret that you've paved?
Through each flash of your face and casket sight
The delusional rebirth of your presence revealing;
Fragments of ended realities giving spark to night
Burning sigils into visions of a broken feeling

Flame lit sketches etched across a charred eulogy
Only a name remains lying in the wake of a memory
Pieces scattered amongst an unfitting resting place
Conflicting beauties molding a divine contrast
A devil laid to rest in the midst of holy space
One shade of diversity on a bland earthly cast

Echoes of descension from this dimming black sky
Adorning each reflection with your hollow eyes
Complexions left searching for an answer to hold
As to how lifes' vigor can so swiftly fall to decay
And,The aging of dignity resembling every tale told
Seems to shine a reality check on this tragic play

A nulling backdrop for this cemetary playground
Where the kings and queens become tediously crowned
With a sickly ailment that reaks of dalipidation
The stench of the end atop an eternal retrospect
Glaring back with the most sincere of validations
That the fallen live on as our recollections resurect

When I look at you
and your hundred photographs
with some smiles saying cheese
while you are busy making some material memories.

You tend a click a shooting star
or perhaps a new born flower.
You capture the reindeer
and get a video of a someone drinking beer.
Those likes that please
and the validations that they give.
Is it really what matters ?

Would you still click the riviera
instead of lying on the grass ?
or would you take a moment to breath
or post just another smiley ?
Its a never ending cycle.

Communication through light
and distantly distant on the inside
You still don't bother
and still request more friendships.

Do you still long for those hugs and
that little chemistry.
Do you still wish to hold hands
or the ups in your heartbeats.

I still wait for a whisper,
telling me that you love me.
I wish to wake up besides you
and not for a beep.
But there’s you
and your Fake Dopamine.

it's okay to let confusion drown you, pour over you like the wind sweeps the Great Plains clean.
it's okay to mistake up for down, and have to wear a compass rigged with alarm bells as an amulet.
it's okay to forget your name and make up a new one.
there will be days when you can't see out the window past the dust and sun-charred veneer,
and they will serve as reminders of the universe in the bathroom mirror and it's impossible reality.
it's okay to feel like mundane chaos, or a deflating balloon in the dessert sun.
it's okay to save secrets for yourself and to wear your mistakes as medals on your chest.
it's okay to doubt all that you've ever been told.
there will be days when no amount of coffee will cure the weariness compiled in your bones and you will have to set a timer for breathing.
it's okay to squeal in ecstasy and in fury and in despair.
it's okay to miss people who do not think of you and wish that they would.
it's okay to wonder if you have every truly loved anything.
there might not ever come a day when it all makes sense, and that is okay too.

artifice, oh artifice of deception

miraculously ameliorated

by a strategy masquerading as a reality

or a reality masquerading as a strategy

leads to unresolved questions

of the perplexities that tug

at the heart of many truths

laying bear the spontaneous rhythms

of a mind in motion with

an unprecedented intensity

of a struggle to articulate

perceptions of a shattered understanding

of absurdities proclaimed as violations

of moral obligation

for morality is nothing more than opinion

that has a treasonous alliance with itself

giving birth to illegitimate validations of stupidity

Theoretical problems
Social validations that never pass
Quantifiable shapes over gaps that never fit
Thoughts on any and everything
Self-created problems that never exist

I.
I speed down Jamboree,
away from you,
almost without feelings.
The only thing I am really drowning in is
guilt.
It pulls me under the surface,
Leaves me gasping for breath that I can’t seem to grasp.

II.
I have validations, but they don’t excuse this behavior
that won’t just hurt me, but others, too.
I can imagine her face when she finds out,
a mixture of hate and disbelief.
Maybe a double-date to Disneyland is
not such a good idea anymore.

III.
Cheater.

IV.
I had the option to go home but you tempted me.
Stolen kisses like whispers in the night,
forgotten fast without a trace,
except your smell, your taste.
That smell that should choke me, but is inviting.
That taste that should be foul, but is sweet.
You’re familiar.

V.
There’s a history between us.
It’s hidden amongst the ruins of our secret romance,
kept within our tight-knit group of comrades
and left a mystery to anyone outside it,
including our “other halves”.
No matter their title,
they don’t know,
and they won’t.

VI.
I know you.
I know the number of wrinkled shirts on your
backseat that reek of gasoline from the go-karts.
I know the way your ankle cracks when you wake up
from an accidental nap on your charcoal couch
during a “Two and a Half Men” re-run.
I know the nightmares of funerals and too many
baked goods for a son and mother in grieving.
I know too much,
and that terrifies me.

VII.
You’re like an addictive toxin.
You’re bad for me,
yet I find you in the worst and most unlikely places
and embrace your killing qualities,
breathing in your broken promises and
injecting myself with your reminiscences.
I thought I could quit
cold turkey
yet here I am in your cold Accord
wearing your work sweatshirt
and wondering where I tell him I am
since he knows what time we closed.


*December 3, 2013

i've been afraid for awhile,
the kind of afraid that's kept
me inside on most weekends,
but disguised itself as my
average mental illnesses and an
obsession for the current body
resting beside me as i sleep

it wasn't until the election that
i got bold, going to the women's
march by myself, and silently
judging the lesbians beside me
as they sat on their privilege and
critiqued trump and posters -
i never thought about their fear,
the potential loss of the wedding
certificate that went along with
the rings on their respective fingers

i had always stood up for injustice
and wondered how far i could
push it with educating my students,
but when my teachers forgot the
true meaning of february, i jumped in,
i educated and asked questions and
urged my white students to realize
that they were the minority in our
afterschool program, and to open
their ears and eyes to their peers

i confronted strangers in public
places, made eye contact and
smiled at everyone i walked by,
listened earnestly to my friends
of color, hugged my lgbtq pals
harder than ever and repeated
again and again that love is love
is love is love is love is love

i took care of myself, better
than i ever had, because i knew
it was important, i did yoga 5
times a week, went hiking, ate
well for the first time in years,
i didn't sleep much, but i felt okay,
because i was doing something

this weekend i sat in my transgender
friend's home and talked about
my fear, i felt like i wanted to crawl
out of my skin as i said it because
her life is in danger, not her livelihood-
her life- and though i may translate
this into some noble act of wanting
to save all of the children who need
love most in the world, the truth is,
i love my job and i love to serve others,
and i'm not sure i have meaning without it

my fear, it feels transparent, and i'm still
trying to find the space to hear the
validations from people who haven't
yet been confronted by the ****'s knocking
at their door, but rest assured, they
will come, and if you're lucky enough to
be a part of the 1% i hope that the
cries of hungry children, the ringing of
bullets ripping into black bodies, the
screams of transgender people being
murdered, the howls of mexican families
being torn apart limb by limb, the
images of wet syrian toddlers washing
up on the shores of greece will haunt you
endlessly as you sit on your filthy money
and do all of the personal trainer yoga
you can to find what will never come - peace

Body relaxed, reserved energy
For travels a far.
Eyes fixed, focus thin
External stimuli dim.
Breath deepens,
Situations replay again,
Like are they really real, again?
Like how come so few can view them?
Like what is really happening?
Contemplating reality.

Mind separating the data,
Sifting the *******
From the gold.
Weighing and weighting,
Inventory control.
Heavy duty lifting,
Mother Earths story to be told.
Infected, protected, selected
To be told.

Considerations and validations,
Take so much time.
Sorting cosmic energy
Permeating our space constantly.
The compass takes a spin,
Silence... We are confused again,
Walking slowly and rather dumbed.
Bought in, and then few will decline
These are the times, history
Told.

I tricked myself into thinking you were sunlight and I was a flower but you are not a star and this world is not a garden and I am a human soul who needs more than warmth at night and I do not need validations, you do not validate me you do not keep me alive. It took to long to know this but I am not a flower and you are not my sun, you don't decide when I get loved.

please breathe
please breathe some more
and more
and more
you will be okay
I will be okay
perfection is not mandatory
not possible

you are enough

ringing validations out to yourself in the moonlight of the night is enough
for now
and maybe for always
please breathe
you can sleep
you will never finish
but you are always complete
so sleep

i'm stalling in these slowly sinking weeks,
seeking question-mark validations from the backs turned to me.
these are abandoned bridges i wish i had burned;
boards that break before i try to walk on them.
i hear them creak in your wake when you walk past.
maybe i could find my hammer and nails and try again,
but you've made sandpaper out of my heart and
my throat's scratched raw.
don't ask girls who hate paper cuts to build you rome.
she'd rather build you gallows to hang herself from.

there are aches in the joints of my automaton heart
and i cut circuits just to forget about you.
she stared me dead in the eye and i tasted acid rain.
hate smells like rotten petrichor.
i forget my midnights in hopes of sleeping through the sun,
but we're haunted by our daylight ghosts.
i must smile and say hello
before these puppet string frowns pull further down
in dread and dreariness.

Just like that,
I felt a sprinkle of pain,
You know the kind that gnaws and grows,
And nibbles your insides.

What started it, I wonder,
A buried thought,
a deserted experience,
Befallen, buried, squashed,
Run asunder, but still alive.

It pushes through the barriers to say,
Hey you! Yes you!
I exist,
Don’t think your looking away,
Will stop me coming back, some day.

Huh! I beat it hollow,
and there it’s slimy self crept back,
I had learnt not to feed it as it would grow,
I keep it on such a strict spartan diet,
My oh My! Look how bulbous it looks!

Hmmmm! Pain, were you feeding inside of me merrily while I was asleep,
Chewing my tissues, chomp chomp, burp,
Deep so very deep,
I feel I am missing a bone or two,
you gluttonous pain,
I am sure you’ve gobbled up many cells too.

Dark, gray, silent, doom,
Am I on for lifelong gloom,
Aah! Hrmph! Boo hooo!
What do I do,
So many around me,
Who do I reach out to?

Oh I do reach out,
And they say,
You? Couldn’t be,
You’re so strong,
It doesn’t fit you well, this pain you see!

I laugh, Is this pain
A size smaller for me,
Am I self indulgent,
In saying it hurts.

I start looking around,
And see many like me,
Laughter hiding the pain,
Cloaked well, their touch warm,
The tremble reaching out in vain.

It’s tough, this despair,
Sometimes with valid cause,
Many times so much accumulated,
Unaddressed, unmet, covered with gauze.
It rears it’s ugly head
For many
Eating their insides,
It’s canine jaws,
Sharp and unrelenting.

I still don’t have an answer,
Who does really,
Expectations, recriminations, justifications, validations, manipulations, mechanisations,
Eat us up a bit more.
We sleep off some days
hoping to sleep away to nothingness.

And then we arise to the morn,
The sun filtering through, casting its warmth,
A bird in the distance chirping away,
Pain still there but so are my fingers glowing like starlight along the Milky Way,
My limbs stretch and I purr away,
The clocks tick tock,
Reminds me of a chance,
A new beginning,
A fresh start,
A fresh me,
A wounded but mighty heart!  

Facing my pain instead of sublimating it,
Nursing it tenderly instead of ill treating it,
I know you’ll ease out, heal out,
And I will be better each day,
Because this life, this beautiful life,
Is worth living each moment, every day.

When I face you, I shall share you,
Tell your story to those I want to,
And suddenly, you will feel acknowledged and dance way into the oblivion because you’ve been sung to, heard, cuddled and celebrated.

Till then, I trudge along...

Sometimes you get these little victories
A change in this little thing that bothers you, and that other thing that needs doing
Small pieces of self change the bitter taste in your mouth to a wonderful view in the mirror
And before you know it you're having a great day

And on those days
When things get a bit too annoying
When a source of disparity is exacerbated either deliberately by others or just a symptom of the natural flow
You trust in those little validations
And remember the tunnel that gives you your vision

Sometimes you've got this, and nothing will **** with that.

Happiness is absent - If you don’t fit that mold
We internalize that failure and put everything on hold
Daily validations to lift up our mood
All in an effort just to feel good

But then we forget that....
happiness is fleeting, not a permanent state.
Placing too much emphasis -  get in the way of awakening state
©seychung

You just sit there, together, share little nothings, and suddenly in the very next moment, a whole lot changes. You just sit still, absorbing everything they say, the honesty, the ferocity in their conviction, forces you to believe in every spoken word and sentence that draws you down the rabbit hole.

The thin line between knowing someone and thinking you know them enough just blurs away.

Have you ever felt a mystic human emotion? I surely have! There is always that diffidence that lurks somewhere deep within, it keeps you from looking straight into their eyes, the transparency- it surely kills. To be able to listen to them without holding any emotion, to hold nothing for them, no expectations, no reasons, no questions. It feels like an archive, where you can stow away all your thoughts and wonder about the uninhibited, free familiarities you share.

Crazy, I know, that is how everything sounds and just builds an atmospheres in that instance!

Everyone I have ever met has a story to share. But in the art of urban loneliness it never passes through you. You somehow just try and defend it by equating the situation and chaos of thoughts coursing through your nerves. There is an inexplicable rage and a need to turn things and construct the worst possible scenario in front of your eyes. Where and when these conversations occur they are too hard to take. I never feel the urge to listen to their side of the story, mostly. I just want to avoid any human contact and pretend that I am lost in my own dominion doing my own thing.
This may come from the fear of giving them admittance to my realm, or to come across like a bare human trying to deduce and find meaning in their stories, their hardships and struggles that make mine absolutely mundane and lacklustre.  But once in a while, you feel that feeling of the known. There strikes a conversation so hard not focus on, it’s different, where from once you actually listen. They play the good one, riding you in the palm of their hand and all you can do is see them.

There have been thousands of answers to why or how we feel what we do. May be it is an advanced form of attraction or infatuation, where your mind visualises things and you feel connected in terms of your expectations or experiences you share. Or maybe, your soul has connected to someone from another point in time, from another dimensions or say a parallel universe? (Queue some sci-fi music here!)

Another reason, your views and theirs match, your likings match, or maybe you unknowingly just share similar personalities. It gives meaning, it makes you feel like ‘you exist’. We always seek for more connections, more validations whilst looking to complete ourselves, and wait agonisingly for when our thoughts will be transformed to words that someone understands, comprehends and most importantly relates with.

Insecure and unappreciated, everything seems so overrated while you are ensconced in your cocoon till you find that connection and the minute they speak to you it all disappears. This is how I feel in the moment, trying to re-collect all the words, before I forget them in this fast-moving world. And If I ever want to talk about it, laugh on it or even cry about it, I hope I can still reach them, smile and look at the unchanged sheen in the eyes and feel content and hang on to the stories that they have gathered over time.

Till then, good bye, adios to the stories of the time when we were just strangers!

I tried
really freaking hard
tongue tied
no reply
Looooong sighhhhh
brain fried
emotions discard
to the side
soul died
problems pryed
whyyyy God whyyyyy
I quit
throw the towel in
straight lit
burned wick
both sides
feelings hide
no room to sit down
heart lied
Im tired
fired up
sirens ruuuuun
I'm done
nine one one
collapsed lungs
life stung, brung
hung subconscious
abnoxious mindset
gifted talent
captive to flesh
I'm not who I am
befriend reflections
selections made
parts played
patterns stayed
when will I feel
okaaaay saaaaay
sooooon pleeeease
hellp deal, steal me
awaaaay, todaaaay
this isn't a game
regain trainwreck
breathing becoming
difficult, hurting
flirting with death
chest caved in
slaved to
past pain
insane within this
membrane...laaaaaame
saaaaame, aaaage old
situations, validations
never appearing promising
pinky swear mixed with glares cares go unnoticed
clouded with distortion
darkness stares
fares piling up
tolls avoided
polls divided
anger subsidized
privatized issues
tissues  by the box full
absorbing alcohol
leaving dryness from
lack of softness
this is a mess
where's bounty
quicker picker upper
pieces shattered
heart splattered
eyeliner upside down
war paint
this kind, this mind
of mine, not for the
faaaaaaaint, aaaaaint
you feeling better
from my ugly treasure
no map necessary
these valuables planted
at my feet, repeat, download
discrete ***** matter
scatter this out, doubt
trapped inside and out
leave this world
in a body bag
blood fills up
the well to hell
your asking to much
for your soul
reeeeetreeeeat, defeeeeeat
no compete clause
floss the debris
these traumatic non-diplomatic, sporadic, hypnotic, anti-value, shattered glass.....moral compass, failure to launch, trigger pulled grenade.....explode
ticking time bomb
threats, let's set this off
battles scatter, wars pour
from the door
knock hard
go away, today now, gone
not not double negative these words fumbling from a fragile brain, train the waves never to leave the bubble, keep them coming, stop running in the hall, tall mental strain, short fuse, trapped abuse, hung from the nooose...traveling by caboooooose looooose the
attituuuuude, duuuuuude
rude , quiet down, riot stuck
no luck , inside voice now, how laaaaaame, taaaaame
yourselfffffff, helllllllllp meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
screeeeeeeeeeeeeam
meeeeeeeeeeeeean
gleeee­eeeeeeeam
but don't shine
bright, light ignite
charcoals refuse
infuse substance abuse
now that's a flame
comfort warms
comfort warns
delay of reaction
two hour delay
recess school's out
I learned all the **** they didn't teach me THE HARD WAY
literally fade the black cascade , fake brovado
middle class movado
bravo , he go round and round, rodeo , big steer, lightyears ahead, bread, loafs of lacked love, feast on these carbs, toast, spread , peanut butter jelly time, slime , lime placed on the rim, keep em coming , I'm fuming at the ears , fears, peers not had, relatable a false illusion to bitter for babysitter to keep an eye on , funded friendship for future fam, **** this is alot of slots to fill up with cots of thoughts sleeping ....laid to rest, r.i.p this minute in 61 seconds it'll be over , can't stop the world from turning but can leave it for good, rocket juice, who's coming with , plastic tubes room temperature placed in a freezer box once but now removed , melting cheer to frowns just look in the mirror ! MAN DOWN

On some days

I am like the butterfly.

Vibrant and colourful,

Fluttering my wings

Not settling for anything bland.



On some days,

I am like the firefly.

With my pulsating charm

And flickering lights,

Mystifying  the people around.



On some days,

I am like the rainbow.

A triumphal arch across the sky,

Between paradise and earth

Enticing dreams and musings.



On some days,

I am like the fire.

Wild and rebellious

Setting social evils ablaze

Leaving behind chars of

Stigma and stains.



On other days,

I am like the human.

Unceasingly aspiring but frivolous ,

Submissive but woke.

Contained by social media validations

And archaic judgements;

Finding my way

Through different thoroughfares of life.

Have you ever realized that life is just waiting?

Waiting for your favorite artist to release a song
Waiting for them to have a concert
Waiting to buy tickets
Waiting for the day of the concert
Waiting in line
Waiting for it to start

You wait for your phone to blink with notification for likes, comments, and validations
You wait for a person to reply
You wait for a picture to load
You wait for a song to end

Waiting for the next trend
Waiting for the next thought you didn't think of
Waiting for the next serotonin dope

Waiting for








...

There is nothing better than growing up in two thousand and something
where America, the beacon, the safe haven,
is the place to be and technology promises prosperity
Segregation is over and women can vote!
Gay is okay and Al-Qaeda is gone!
There is nothing better than growing up in two thousand and something,
All the answers ever needed at the palm of your hand,
Thanks to God’s greatest creation: the smartphone
We’ve got sore necks and thumbs with validations from notifications
But the light of a screen shines brighter than the sun
There is nothing better than growing up in two thousand and something
Where bored complaining teenagers are college criteria by day and adrenaline junkies by night
And a healthy breakfast consists of coffee, adderall, and zoloft
We give our babies an ipad before we give them a rattle
Life moves faster and faster, with no time for silly simplicity
There is nothing better than growing up in two thousand and something
Where thoughts and prayers replace votes and bills,
with opinions split by the change of a channel
school shootings have become a generation
racism is presidential, and misogyny is congressional
with no gray area between red and blue
abortions are the killers but rifles save lives!
Alphabet people stay out of the army,
Mexican rapists stay behind the wall
women’s mouths stay clamped shut
Our civil liberties are eroding
& what do we do? we shrug
****
There is nothing better than growing up in two thousand and something.

No one ever cared for me
But I
Never cared much
For them

We are all the second guesses
Of a God

That They

Never wanted
Much for me but they came
And I was there
And I said,

You were there
I was there
So you were there

And I'm tired
Of all these validations.

Everyone's a stand up comedian
When the
                  Joke is life.

To truly have sentient validations or to believe in thoughts that might mystify or make eccentric dreams a reality

Services and demeanor and clouded judgement of the askance world of armistice eternal

    may take a turn

More over false identities proven from one's mirrored look at self identity

Senses degrade, eternity splays the convictions of the absurd you once believed after they were heard

and frail thoughts turn and turn as they burn

Acceptance of well fought ideals breathe life both quickly and slowly into you

What wise distances' once imposed now narrowly escape a belligerence at the door

Look abright full of colors directed at the sun and yourself

into severe torrents of endurance and hate you find the realms

All worlds seek haste and make for hopes of a divine perception

Yet alone we find our souls enduring until vanity and deliverance

take hold of perceptions

Your words can ****** me,
like a serrated knife
into the,
core of my serenity.
Killing the peace within me.

Drive me to despair.
This is how you care?
With words of poison that 'make my heart bleed.
Then blaming me for planting that seed.

What scares me is your
hipocritic validations you seem to fabricate
Its blat tenly disregarded
Its your most manipulative and daunting trait

I admit that I am no better than you.
For sin is sin, but faith can renew.

But I cant force you,
I cant compel you,
to take your fear
and drown it within.
No more excuse to play pretend.

It's hard, there is pain,
but a new life is whats to gain.

We have ****** and condemned ourselves
like we are afraid to walk on burning coals.
The drive and desire to change
outweighs
ANY pain from deep within our souls.