Dear Diary: They’re not ‘that’

We are all not of the same. I need to catch on to that concept, or at least remind myself to catch on. I always end up flat on my face when I feel The Garden Gnomes should give me the same treatment they do Gem. We are not the same, and they’re not going to see it as such, neither should I, but I keep telling myself short repeating this mistake. I stomp my feet and huff as if I assumed the body of another and demeaned my shadow stop getting all the better things in life while the flesh goes to waste with no reflection to help tell time.  I am learning the hard and easy way; no relationship is the same with others. Having common bonds with someone’s does not mean duplicity in shared experiences; People are going to share with you what they want to share with you, even if you think they’re doing too little or too much.

We all have a degree in which we share ourselves with people, it’s like playing pretend, but you can’t help it, it’s a constant side game in life. Think of a party with all versions of you invited, and there is a small group of different versions of you playing a board game quietly on the side. There was an article I passed by walking the social media streets that basically said, we see different versions of people as different people see different versions of us. I was not shocked by that. I didn’t know why that’s groundbreaking news nor why there had to be an article. I wonder if people recognize they’re not the same to everyone and everyone will not see them the same.

The unique thing about the human experience is we ’re going agree on general motions of life in society because that’s what happens when we have things in common with others. However, the tingle in the back of your head is unique when it comes to how specific scenarios elicit feelings and emotions.  Unless I stay just like I am in my entirety, jump inside your head to be you while still being me, I won’t know what is going on inside your head. We can do our best to describe how we are feeling, but the way we think about what we are describing is going to be different. For example, we agree on the definition of love and the characteristics of it, but the feelings love elicits in people are various.  We are a certain degree of something to different people, you can be the same to everyone and so different to everyone at the same time.

We all have chosen faces for different places. It makes for new rules of judgment when it comes to other people. Don’t you ever wonder why people are shocked when someone they, “thought they knew” does something they, “thought they would never do.”? There is ] an element of unwelcomed surprises when someone doesn’t live up to the standards we subconsciously hold them to. Even if the shock is good or bad, you always question your judge of character when someone throws you off the mark with who they are. These kinds of miscalculations always make space for you to have a talk with yourself if you’re too hard or too easy on people; and whether or not you’re going to have to shift your way of thinking about people.

I wonder if the way I see the world with the pleasures and pressures it has graciously bestowed upon me skewers my outlook I have on Gem. They’re my friend at times, and I feel guilty letting them go, but at the same time, I wonder if it’s jealousy because they get what they want in life and I don’t. I am upset they’re the mask is working for them, and mine is showing me in a harsher light than when I bought the damn thing. I was gawking at one of the Garden Gnomes reason with a person Gem offended a while ago. I was amazed at how different Garden Gnome described Gem to this person. As if Gem was a constant victim rather than this tough, in your face swanker I am always reminded of.  Garden Gnome was confessing to the person, Gem puts up a tough act, and they should leave well enough alone because the facade is all Gem has to make them feel like they have a place in this world. I thought that was so sad and pathetic at the same time. My heart broke for Gem in a way, but I was annoyed too.  I don’t think we should shed tears for sensitive brutes.

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Dear Diary: Isn’t It a Gem?

I haven’t seen Gem for a few months now. We used to be very close. To the point where we secretly hated each other but still made it a point to see each other every day. I liked them as a friend, but it was tiring for me to worry about if I was saying the right thing or not. It seems some friendships are built on competition, but only one side knows they’re competing. It was exhausting, but that was what made Gem shine. They always needed to feel that something about them was better than everyone in the room. If they didn’t feel it, they had a handy supply of snide remarks about close friends to get people to look at the person less than they did before, if even. Humans tend to base their opinions on others based on what someone has said about them; good, bad, or indifferent.

We all do it; it’s why we love the news so much.  We tend to base our opinions based on the emotion or information we receive the report. The fact of the matter is, we all pick and choose things that serve our interest in our line of thought. We tend to translate that when we get details on people, we are about to meet through someone.  It’s up to you if you sway to formulate your own opinion about a person or keep building a personality profile based on what someone else had said about them. Gem had an interestingly vindictive, sweet but degrading way of describing people she felt insecure about to others.  Their end goal was the same: As long as they thought the victim was blindsided by a cold introduction to their “other group of friends,” they won the campaign trail. It’s hard not to feel sorry for Gem in a way that you can feel sorry for a thief that steals bread to feed their family. Gem is pathetic, but they’re only trying to feel like the cool kid they never were when this kind of deplorable behavior was accepted, yet quickly corrected.

Gem needed social capital more than life. Gem lived their terms based on the focus group they were stalking for praise. It was nice to see them crash and burn by their own faulty designs, sometimes. Other times, it was a mess dealing with being chosen for them to sacrifice the semblance of friendship to make people like them more. Gem was my friend, but they’re tragic as a friend because they can’t stand on their own two feet without someone validating their toes.

What also annoyed me about Gem was their constant mode of competition. I am for everyone finding someone to compete with, as long as everyone knows they’re fighting. It’s horrible when you’re the last to know that you were in completion and you lost. Gem hated when they didn’t feel they were the center of attention. They never quit reminding us of their complete, historical archives of lovers that came for the party but never seemed to stay for the cake. All of Gem’s tales were similar of whirlwind affairs with someone from nowhere that ends with feeling the sour of severe embarrassment as their lover parades some other being as their new found partner that’s more important than the moon and stars. I had to appreciate the resilience Gem displayed every single time there was egg on their face. I have to acknowledge they know what it means to show grace under pressure because heaven knows, everyone would see my rage if that ever happened to me. Gem really knew how to keep it together. Good for them. Gem always lamented that old lovers downgraded after them, but that was laughable to me. I guess that was a messy thing to do, take some heat and subtle insults for front row seats to Gem’s payment from the universe for the fruits of their labor.

Now, Gem is an attractive person. They meet all of the requirements of the standard of beauty evident by the scores of lovers.  Although their public melts were refreshing during a hot peak of me being annoyed by their subtle insults. The fact of the matter has they had the hands to fire in the field.  As much as they wanted to claim they’re not the one to put their looks out as the only thing they like about themselves. That’s all Gem did! Well, once in a while, you would get the stores of other people praising their looks, but, it’s all the same story structure.  The main thing evident is Gem cared about what they looked like because they enjoyed the praises they got for their looks. They always felt terrible because the divide between their praise and our scorn was great. Gem was happy that they weren’t as ugly as everyone around them. They felt a firm comfort in the idea they stood out. But heaven forbid they allow gnomes to see that.

 

An Ode to Oversharing

How am I sharing “too much” if I wanted you to know?

Secrets are subjective, depending on what comes in and go.

If I didn’t say anything, you would snoop till you’re stone cold.

Now, that I’m sharing what I want, you complain about the amount and the show.

Well, I’m going to overshare,  sit back and watch.

It’s not like you don’t like it, you’re more present than a clock.

Garden Tool

The imaginative extremes people put themselves under to make themselves feel like they’re better than others is astounding. You try to be patient with their mindless prattle of how minor things people have done for them as the sign of undying loyalty, become the only thing they talk about. If they’re feeling more benevolent, they may give you the floor to say something, As long as it’s going to praise them.

You have to understand that some people only see others as garden tools. You’re just as useful to the person the last thing you did for them; which is never enough. There is never going to be a time when they’re self-reflecting on how they can better serve themselves and others. They love to do things as long as there is an audience of people who don’t care what they’re being served, as long as they’re served.

There is never a time to panic, but there is always room to make way for someone that doesn’t want anyone else to stand in it.

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.

I Pretend

I  pretend I’m not sad

I laugh at funny things

I smile when I see something beautiful

I like to make people laugh

I enjoy those kinds of things

 

but when I’m alone

and go inside me

I descend into an unreal sadness

that takes me over

I can’t see me because I can’t stand me

unworthy of praise

intrusive thoughts about things that never happened rock me to sleep

and the sadness tucks me in real deep

.

As I make my breakfast

and leave my sadness in the far back of my head

I remind myself

another day for pretending

but I still enjoy things.

 

 

Idea

The ideas are running cold he’s going to miss me

while the energy runs hot, I’m trying to forget him.

 

The energy is running hot I’m trying to forget him

the ideas are running cold he’s going to miss me.

 

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.