Expression I have long considered mortal and short-lived. I have craved withdrawal from myself as much as I have struggled to contract my wants.
Now, I demand the pictures that frame me small. I draw from the imagination that forces me to see the truth. Pure everything till my ends allow.
I choose to complete the circle. Not because I’m alone, angry, or powerless. Because the things that once existed no longer fit to make me brave.
It is the beginning of the end of my romance. I drown with a raging desire for fantasy with a reality that doesn’t understand my love.
A love so kind and filled with unanimity that my identity touches a crack on a spotless land. A stream in the middle of nowhere; flowing in directions that have no boundaries to fill.
To animate this relationship with myself, I must expand my horizons and look beyond finite. Instead of standing under the glass myself to learn my intricacies, I must fall under the millions that shine over me.
Lay under the fire, feel the burn, and become a subject of stillness to comfort the role that society illustrates. How many times this sentiment arises and how many times do I blink and lose sight of it all?
This will make me strong. Make me live. Make me affect. Yes, these emotions are brief, but night comes and the pain makes it last forever.
It means having faith in yourself. And it also means to, unerringly, resist certain natural instincts to find your miniature stone among a million others. For if in the greatest agony, being alone can mean many things: it can be a solacing embrace for some while for those a suffocating asylum. There will be many things that will take you away from you, not only to perform day after day on a stage alongside constant comrades but also to find your sense of quiet and meaning in the world where everything seems perplexed.
I find it unusually satiating that how being alone can take you away from paradise, but at the same time, create one for your own. It means that aloneness is extending equally to tap into your ‘desperate, painful’ and somehow bringing to surface the ‘real, candid’ you. Somehow, from what I see, aloneness is not one thing, but many. It’s not an eye-opener, but merely a kindling of being loyal to you, before anything or anyone else. What does being alone mean? It is that complicated that we don’t understand? Or is it so simple that we can’t believe in it?
Pay your respects it is forgotten now drowning within the shadows my ego forces me to bow.
Starting as a substance to consume, judge, and upset let’s play that game where we follow the practiced steps.
Actions and reactions we’re stuck in the habits of messing the lines and of labeling our tides.
Only when we’re in deep we look at how perfect our wounds are to find out we’re not the ropes the strings or the force we’re just a living and the soul in cages of our cosmetic roles.
Silly, it really is to forget yourself thoughts are things are mannerisms why don’t we break the shelves? become our only ones to break that companion nonsense just for a little while become to become a stone unmoved but defected to inspect.
Are you struggling to survive? Do you count your days or do you make your days count? Life isn’t an answer, but a tale with many answers for each one of us, different as night and day, but still so closely imbued on each other.
. . .
You win you loose you grow you choose.
It isn’t the rules it isn’t the conditions it is something it is made out of small decisions.
They say they judge they stare but they don’t care as much.
Stop resisting the change stop locking your frame stop to start from scratch stop to realize that life isn’t just about the fame.
Define life by living it define courage by surviving it define beauty by acceptance define ambition by practice and persistence.
Life is a tale and now you understand its chapters turning pages finger to finger maybe even skipping a few for answers you’ll find passion as you will grief tell me what you’ve read because the book is still void for it is written by your forbearance.
Craving for change isn’t the routine any longer. Maybe you don’t know what is, and maybe you won’t ever, but the virtue of believing that there is, won’t stop you from trying. In tribute to that which remains unknown, here is a short poem.
. . .
Earn wings not to strike but to shift from one to another for life is nothing but particular.
Earn wings to be patient it isn’t what you’ve gone through but what you’ve done what you were before “it” happened and what you are now after it’s done.
Earn wings don’t dwell in the past they prick they hurt they don’t caress the truth is they just blind you to think you’re not the worthiest.
Earn wings for there will be complications it’s life, not your world of expectations nothing works out the way you want so what? stop the cringe when you cry when you want to anger when you have to those are complications too but as easy as they come don’t succumb to those who can’t forgive.
Earn wings your goals will never end they come and go the answer lies in those trying moments when you know you need to start letting go.
Earn wings replace the nest to become a crest against the immovable the dishonest and guess what you know the rest.