The Wind

The shift in the wind was the worst I ever felt

the blow was hard and severe,

the ice stabbed where it didn’t melt
the face of the miles I went to find you

the miles I spent waiting, the trials I roo.

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9:29 P.M.

Self-preservation should be a permanent vacation, but there is no wake in the setting. I’m betting he’s going to try one more time to lie to himself that he’s fine, but this time, apparently, he’s going to “mean it.”

I’ve seen this time and time again. He sends us into a tailspin that thing can’t stay the same and change has to remain. Thus deep down inside, he’s only trying to hide the significant fact that’s he a brute and a horrible man to boot. Instead of working on his aura, he instead grabs a bat and takes a swing at being a whole new person–a whole new being.

Now, it’s all about a secret wins and free spins as the parade goes on. He’s never going to settle what he has drawn to himself in the past, that kind of self-reflection won’t last in the game he’s playing with society. I applaud him once more as I consider this folklore I’m going to assume as reality.

Rising

Rising like the sun

I linger for the means

The heat, intense but soft

I can’t think to breath

Like devil reading poetry

I’m burning in the dream

A vivid imagination

I can’t seem to see.

 

You hold me with your glance

—–A coded romance

Unwind me with your time

No fight

I feel you the trance.

I know i’m all yours

 

You’ll never show me I’m all yours

 

All that I am

Is all that you need

A twinkle despite

The lust we can’t stand to please

Secret contact passes

forget the sneak-look masses.

 

We show, we’re all ours.

sensual greed.

Some

I am

waiting for the days

where I believe I am something

and  stop telling people my experiences mean nothing

when deep down inside, I think they are something.

I project on to others that I am nothing

because others have more to offer

and I don’t have anything

I know, I can start today

to affirm, I mean something

I remember for a few days then forget about it again

Alas, I made a great habit

of reminding myself, I am nothing

someday, I will block I am nothing and

condition myself to believe I am something

but first,

I’d like to write down that I feel like nothing

on a day I should tell myself

I am something.

Roles

They gave me a role, I never asked for.

I never auditioned for the boxes i’m put in.

I never asked to be a protector when none is protecting me.

Why am I seen as aggressive? No one is fighting with me.

I am all these things that are never me.

 

they never want me to be who I’ll always be.

They hate when I’m me; when I’m carefree

As if I disturb them for existing with confident ease

 

I can’t and won’t help that, believe me.

Trust

Trust is subjective and you can’t give into what you don’t believe.

I don’t think I want to trust that there is more out there than a casual stare into the night as the light of the world goes tumbling down into the causal roads that lead to nowhere.

There was a time that I trusted everything anyone has given me as a sign of peace, but it was only till recently I saw marigolds that bounded color to transfix a gaze that was unwanted.

I used to trust up until that point, but the end is to be made that trust is a distant memory.

Trust is subjective.

Staged

Look at you. The laughs at a someone’s expense is one well-played sneaky hype for you. You don’t care what you do, say or feel. As long as you have an audience–that is all you’re looking for, an audience reacts to the character you play. You operate solely for the approval of others. Then again, you don’t know where self-satisfaction begins, and crowd-pleasing ends.

Things are less and less authentic about you as you move along this B-movie you called life. You know you’re a fake, and you secretly can’t stand it. So you use what “friends” have confided in you as entertainment for people who can care less about you. You’re right for a laugh, but never enough to be taken seriously. Now, look at you, you’re destroying real things for fake admiration.

You idolize a crowd that let you into their exciting life as long as you jump when they want to laugh as they tell you how high. You never had an issue going very low to get to what you think are societal highs.

I am sorry for you. Not because I hate you don’t see the person the others came to your stage performance to be, but because you are always headlining a concert no one wants tickets to, you promised one show, and gave whole new production. It never ceases to amaze me how you’re not tired of putting on a long, sad dance for an absent audience. Not the kind of song and dance we all play different characters of ourselves to a degree, especially when no one is looking. I believe that is the fault of authenticity in itself. No, you insist on embarrassing others for what they confide in you to the uninterested audience to shock them to look your way—anything to get people to laugh “with you.” (you know as well as I do they’re not laughing with you)  You keep on dancing; I’m sure they’ll make an award for your efforts one day but until then, keep up the so-called work.

Ocean

I feel like I’m floating in the middle of the deep ocean

blue, I keep things right for myself.

At any minute, things are thunderous. I can relate, It’s one of those things the ocean can’t help.

I see the storm head and the waters gilt and jolt me with it. I panic the same when I discover someone new.

The stormy weather leads me to the underwater graves of ships that never made it to land. Lasting spirits of the widows perched on hollow wood that gives false hope that understanding.

I am my vessel returned where the weather is going to take command.

My feelings about myself —it’s like an ocean; idolized as calm, but widely known to be disastrous.

Conversion Lost

Last night he complained to me “Nothing is real anymore.” he didn’t feel that he was here. Sure, the body was present, but he thought he was looking at himself existing as if he wasn’t aware, but was watching himself live through his eyes.

“Let me know when I wake up” He lamented as he crashed open his cigarette box. I was worried about his statement, but he was always too dreamy for me. I felt that he always spoke in code, and I was never smart enough to solve it.

“You’re awake. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be talking to me.” I hoped he would feel better at my dose of reality.

He explored his eyes in the sky as if he was looking for random words to put together. “No, I feel like a canary, seeking shelter in a cage.”