Cage Free

The emotion within me rather strange

Ensconced in my thoughts for so long

Not sure if outdoors I belong

Now COVID has gone, and I am cage free

There’s nothing to hold me back, but me

Simple pleasures of life denied

running chores, going to work, meeting a friend 

hanging out without fear or doubt

I am born again, I dare say

This quarantine has taught me how to pray

Church is filled

I look around

Joy and hope is abound

Grocery shops, malls and beaches packed

There’s an air of calm despite the rush

One lesson we learned: kindness and compassion

this invisible enemy it took to crush

But, human memory is short lived

Road rage, bullying, speeding, screaming

Lying, cheating, division, derision soon begin

Thank goodness, we are back to normal

All this love and kindness was making me sick, like an unwelcome tick

Covid, A fleeting memory of the past

Must be first, I can’t be last.

Standing for hours in line for a black Friday sale

Shoving  and jostling to get to the front

Hours of screaming sounding like grunts

And just in a snap, the unthinkable happens-Bringing all the madness to a full stop.

T’was was the very thing that brought us to our knees

The dreaded COVID sneeze

2020- A year of Clarity!

Just a few months ago

The champagne popped, we were giddy with glee

Ushering a New Year, with no cause for fear

2020, we screamed, with jokes galore

As we laughed away, not knowing what lay in store

2020 vision for you and for me

Oh what a year of clarity it would be

Laughter filled the air, and none had a care

Ironically, how blinded we would be in 2020,

But then, it was too hard for us to see

With jobs, economy, stock markets

And “ME, MINE and I” on the rise

Yes, self-centeredness does come with a price

In a race against time, 24 hours a day not enough

Oh we needed more- to make more stuff

In a race, just running here and there

All without fear, of it being taken away

And suddenly, it struck- a virus came from afar

As if it were a shooting star

Bringing life to a pause

And life as we know it, soon came to a halt

As everyone echoed- It wasn’t our fault

No malls, No games, No theatres to go

No parks, No ballet, Non-essential places, no more

Grocery shops the only place to be

To line up and buy till the eye can see

People losing jobs, and some on furlough

Tough times ahead, a cause of much dread

The only way to fight this scourge

A commandment of love that we knew all too well

But seldom followed, it wasn’t too swell

Love thy neighbor as thyself- the prescription today

To defeat this virus each and every day

Be mindful and caring and generous of heart

To fight COVID, selfishness must depart

This virus did strike each of us in its own way

It got us to think what matters the most,

No longer the things of which we boast

But family and friends, we should cherish the most

Vital lessons it did teach us

Make more with less

Oh, how wasteful we had become, we must truly confess

COVID-19 taught us what’s important all right,

By gradually exposing our inner plight

And bestowing upon us our much needed sight

It humbled the whole world

On bended knee, looking heavenward -Making a plea

I gaze

This is Eternity.

In front of me.

Won't call it an addiction?

This is surreal

And yet tangible.

Is it a passion?

Or plain madness?

This is a bustling city

In front of me.

Illuminated.

Is Heaven golden?

I stare at everyone

And there I see myself!

Hovering cupcakes follow me

Strangest?

I look at my wings,

They flutter in eagerness.

It's like all the dimensions, high and far off 

Can now be touched.

It's pleasantly warm,

And yet it snows.

Lights float on the lake

And stars still pose a mystery.

I look into the vastness

Ready to explore

Everything that had mystified me

But then Beauty grips me tight.

I sit here and gaze

I'm addicted

It's painful, it slays

A trick of imagination?

I gaze for hours

I'm addicted

To this bad longing

Of being there.

I gaze, uninterrupted

I'm addicted

To the Magic

It might, might possess

I gaze. Lost.

This is Rowling's Erised

I've painted on my wall

I often, often forget to live. I'm addicted.

More paint here

Won't call it an addiction unless

You paint your own image

I  n    E  r  i  s  e  d. 

Snow white and smelling fresh

Crisp coverings, cool as I whisk my hand across

Island surrounded by carpeted ocean

Unwilling to dip my toes for fear of loss

Firm Heaven with so many feathery, downy, creamy, cushy pillows upon it

His resting place, my sanctuary

This child, fluttery butterfly belly child, in me

On my knees I'd bounce with glee

Still there behind closed eyes

Disappearing to outstretched hands and sad, little-girl cries

when day is 'bout to dawn.

From point A to B 

All love becomes pain

Returning to its creation

It's root

The pain of with and without

If you follow that line 

Long enough

And are of the few, lucky enough 

To be oppressed by the gravity of time

You'll find that in every society

Bullets eventually become currency 

And witness firsthand 

The instincts of man can only be suppressed

Within A and B so long 

Until we're overwhelmed by needs 

To hunt and gather 

To sow seeds 

Of virtue and destruction 

To be freed from the cages of thought

By the dirt under our nails 

And smiles 

Finally 

That can't be bought

To right wrongs 

Of love and pain 

Cubicle enclosures 

And real chains that disguise their weight

Lighter than the paper that enslaves

Heavier than the burden of the debt 

From a deal we never made 

You'll see the currency changed

And exchanged

In rapid fire

Master made slave 

4:00 a.m.

and I just feel like laughing.

All alone in my room,

all alone in the dark.

And yet I sit here laughing,

truly happy from the heart.

The euphoria of being up so late,

when everyone is sleeping,

while I smile wide awake.

Who cares about waking up tomorrow?

How tired I'll be,

or that parking ticket fee.

For right now I'm on top of the world,

my heart is swelling up high.

With my hair lying flat,

perfectly uncurled,

I don't care what you think,

I'm just a teenage girl.

These moments where I'm truly myself.

These times where I don't pretend.

Not for my parents,

and not for my friends.

It's like looking at the world through a different lens.

No one to judge,

no one to care.

I think what I want,

and I'll say what I will.

For it's just me and my empty room,

with only my mouth to spill.

And so I'll whisper my secrets,

reveal all my lies.

I'll voice all my worries,

my dreams and my hopes,

and eventually,

time will fly.

And when the clock strikes 5,

I'll lay down and rest,

and reminisce

in

this

happiness.

Why do I worry? That can only be answered with mockery. If you only knew what it is I worry about.

I’m a young woman, in my early twenties. I’m beautiful, intelligent, from a well-off family, have always been loved and showered in adoration from men, family, even strangers. Let the pathos begin.

I’m so worried about my future. Normal enough? I’m so worried that I let go of incredible opportunities to study in incredible places to become someone incredibly rich and successful. For I could have done it; but if I had, I would have worried that I could not sit down and study for boredom, for fear of wasting my youth. I worried that my father would spend too much money on me; and so I settled for something cheaper, yet still expensive, and which would not get me anywhere without passion, or so I worry: a degree in pop music. And so I worry.

I have my youth, I have my free time, my beloved part-time job, I have my loves. And so I worry that I spend too much time on them and not enough on my degree, however worrisome it may be. And so I worry that I do not fully appreciate these blessings I have, because they are interfering with my degree, which worries me anyway!

I’m worried that I’m smart, and I’m right, but it all stays in my brain because I can’t be bothered to formulate anything transmissible. And what if I’m not right, and I will never know, and live a lie, a stupid, one-sided, simple-minded lie?

I worry that I will be poor! That I will regret this frivolousness of youth, when I am older and wiser and poorer. I’m disgusted that my father still supports me as I only have ten hours of classes a week. I wonder how I would survive without it; and I worry at how I treat him in spite of that. I’m worried about my mother; I’m worried about my mother’s dog, whom I love excruciatingly. I worry about that love, because how will I ever love another dog like that?

Pets are pretty important to me.

I used to be worried that said dog, that I grew up with, didn’t like or respect me. I’ve grown out of that one since, thank god. She’s a dumb animal and I love her to death.

I’m worried that when she dies, how will my mom get along? She will be so lonely. That dog, I’m telling you, is a gift from the Earth itself. She is the funniest, most precious, most silly and most intelligent dog in the world. How will anyone get along, really, for such an event would probably displace the rotation of the stars (I’m worried about my knowledge of astronomy). I’m worried that I didn’t follow up with my childhood ambitions to become a veterinarian to create some sort of longevity drug for dogs. What is with that lifespan, anyway? We’ve domesticated them to the core; we couldn’t go one step further? Who am I to talk, anyway, when have I done accomplished anything close to selective breeding or biology?

I’m worried about all the clutter in my room, and all my roommates abusing it while I’m gone. I’m worried about my clean sheets having someone else in them. I’m worried that because I forbid it, I will make people want to spite me and do it even more, and I hate washing my sheets. I’m worried that I might smell and no one will tell me, and my boyfriend only likes my smell anyway so he won’t tell me, either. Also, I’m worried that I’m too sensitive and people might be worried to tell me anything worrying.

I’m worried about everything I should be doing that I’m not. I’m worried about the multitude of things yet to experience that I’m either too afraid to, too rational to, or too lazy to. I’m worried about my laziness. I want to experience youth, but I have the mind of a septuagenarian. I wanted to use that word; it’s a shit word. I could have said “old woman” and kept it simple, like my literary hero, George Orwell, would have said. I wish I could write like him.

I’m worried that I worry too much and that I will age. I’m worried about gaining weight, and I’m worried about losing my curves if I lose weight. I’m worried that if I worry, I will jinx everything. I don’t believe in jinx, but I do, because the mind affects the body and the mind, and that is worrisome in itself, because I’m worried I can’t trust my own mind. And yet I’m so stable and sane; I’m worried I’m kind of boring because of that. What’s up with that?

Speaking of boring, I’m worried that someone reading this might tell me: “Oh, you. This is all completely normal, what you’re feeling. Everyone has thoughts like this and most people get out of it. Don’t you worry about a thing, you’re a smart, pretty girl, I know you’ll do well.”

Now THAT is something that worries me. People’s belief in me (and also, being normal). And my father’s disbelief in me. Both sides equally repulse me. I wish people would just… you know, I don’t even know what I wish, because I don’t really like most people anyway, and instead of just disliking them, I’m afraid of them (why?). I want to make my mother proud, and my father eat his words of doubt, and to impress everyone else, and use all my money to make my mother happy. I’m worried I won’t get that money, because back when I was a kid and I played this online pet game, I was only moderately rich on it and never got to that serious luxury level of playing. Well, if at least I get moderately rich, you know. I’m worried that this is all talk, and I want to help her but I’ll end up not, because I’m so lazy and I hate myself for being so lazy, and I hate myself for hating myself for being so lazy because it’s just such a pointless thing to even write down in secret.

I’m worried about my musical tastes stagnating, I’m worried about my hard disk dying and losing my data, I’m worried about something spilling on my computer, I’m worried about my attachment to inanimate objects and clothing, I’m worried about my inanimate objects and my clothing. I’m worried about friends and also not caring about friends. Do I care or do I not? Doesn’t not caring attract people anyway? What if, with me, it doesn’t? What am I even talking about? I’m worried about my egotism and the amount of times I use the word “I” or “me” in conversations and just everything.

I gave an interview once for this online magazine thing where I was interning. And I had to hold myself back nearly every time from replying with a comparison to my own self.

I am not empirical or the base of all humanity!

I’m worried that writing this might not be so therapeutic after all, and who even had this idea? My stupid brain? What if I make it all worse? What if this makes me age faster? What if

And I’m so worried about the baggage retrieval system they’ve got at Heathrow.

These walls hear dreams.

As one goes, white noise follows

Into these rooms, and it reverberates

From ceiling to

Corner and corner and

Back again.

Louder, it grows

As notes add on.

In the bare brush of feet

Along this carpet,

In the faint strains

Of this song or another,

In the cracking of these

Sore knuckles,

In the pre-recorded applause

Of late night with

Insert name here,

In the rustle of weight

Shifting and sheets moving,

In the bangs of falling things

And muffled curses from

Hurting others,

In the clicking of a pen

And the jingle of

Keys,

In the rush of a door

Slam shaking the foundation,

In the scraping of a fork 

And drip of 

A leaky faucet,

In the riotous laughter

Outnumbered by the 

Soft pull of tissues

From a box,

Collectively it is the whole of

An existence.

Decipher the static and

All you will hear

Is a life, in these

Small sounds.

Humble me, bring me to my knees, Lord

Knows I need it. My pride has me

By the throat and fears not my fall

From grace. Knock me down

Before I hang myself from the rafters

In the house I built of ego and airs.

Little white note, on the table

Express my thoughts clear and vivid

Reverenced by writers stable

Little white note on the table

Preserve my words like a marble

Fresh, as onion bulbs in liquid

Little white note on the table

Express my thoughts clear and vivid