unrealistic

so…i wrote this when i was in a very dark place, emotionally. i think this was my way of either seeking something that i did not have, or at least describing my idea of what i thought i was  missing at the time. this is actually about no one in particular…

your smile is like a sunrise-
it imitates a ray of light, and manifests the joy i seek in the darkness of my life.
so when i feel melancholy, my imagination leads
to visions of you, gracing me, through the bleakness of the night.
all that i can tell you is, you’re killing me with your smile.

and when i look into your eyes, my serenity begins to rise.
like moon drawing in the oceans tide, you pull me close and make me strong;
it’s in your mirrors that i see reflected souls of you and me
gleaming kaleidoscopically, until moon gives way to dawn.
another thing to tell you is i get lost inside your eyes.

but the reality of your foundation, and the pliability of its fortification
is the loveliest of your creation, and that’s stronger than a rock!
of course, i’m talking about your mind, which grows in wisdom all the time,
a truth made all the more sublime each time our thoughts interlock.
i’d really like to tell you you mesmerize me with your mind.

i’ve written all of these to tell you this:
i think you’re kind of fly.
someday, i hope to meet you
unconditional

 

my life is seen as scars.
thoughts of a war torn past consumed me
as i was possessed by the obsession with a broken memory.
(why must i forget? why can’t i let go?
why does my brain race to retrace thoughts of things that i just don’t know?)
sometimes, i’d rather been anywhere, anyone, or anything else.
most times, i didn’t want to feel.
yet strangely, i spent time inside of my mind, trying to outrun myself,
indulging in fantasy to escape from everything that was real.
no, i was a coward. devoured by fears of some inevitable truth,
too afraid to be courageous in the face of the present, which used to seem quite aloof.
trapped in the past, i’d had no future.
only pain, which told me that i still felt, that i was alive.
and scars, as proof of my existence.

Monsters

sometimes, i get monsters-
thoughts of consumption, more ferocious than the most feral pangs of starvation.
is this hunger, or obsession that wants to overtake my being?

sometimes, i get monsters-
insidious ideations of bloodletting invade every mistake,
so guilt convicts like a wise tutor offering constructive criticism as
shame scavenges, a greedy predator cannibalizing itself for survival.

sometimes, i get monsters.

 

Dew

even bathed by the breeze,
i am born before sunrise.
by cover of night I conquer all
until coming light diffuses me.
at first, i am thirst quenching water.
then i escape into the atmosphere,
a refreshing breath of life.

Whilst I am no grand orator, alas! A Soliloquy of Platitudes:

  • the tutelage of time teaches the truth, because time is absolute, and eveything’s eventual.
  • until we first belong to ourselves, we will forever feel out of place.
  • child-like is to childish as self-centered is to selfish.
  • “happiness” is a fallacy; there are only degrees of contentment, and then, only with acceptance.
  • when my fantasy is your reality, you’ve inspired my delusion.
  • endured pain is the fullest expression of life, whose desire is experienced most ardently when it is nearly extinguished (or: I didn’t realize how badly I wanted to live until I almost succeeded in accidentally taking my life on purpose).
  • if there’s a will, there’s a way. but in the absence of will, only impulse born of apathy remains.
  • the closest approximation of interdimensional travel is empathy.
  • the square root of empathy is shared experience.
  • hope is hard to hold onto when the whole world is black and white.
  • if what we hold in our consciousness manifests itself in our lives, it stands to reason that telling our own future is not completely illogical.
  • everywhere is elsewhere to somewhere else, and because everyone is somewhere, there’s no nowhere.
  • a hole tries to fill itself in by digging deeper, because it sees its own edges crumbling. it doesn’t realize that the more it grows, the emptier it becomes.
  • words are often platitudes, spoken more for the bolstering of the speakers own ego than for the benefit of the listener.