A poet
To bleed onto paper and act like we aren't hurting;
To soap up our pain and make something pretty with the stain;
To hide things behind metaphors and similes.
As poets we describe feelings we can’t name
and write moments we can’t remember.
We feel too much of what others have forgotten
and so we try to remind them
of what it feels like to walk
around with your heart
beating in your
hands.
There is nothing to let out
The pressure is gone.
An equilibrium was reached where everything turned into nothing.
Where a moment of too much shifted to a life of nothing at all.
Where eerie silence overpowers the noise that ring in my ears.
The fuel tank is empty—the rocket will not fly
Though the paint has yet to chip, the parts have rusted.
It's worth nothing—cannot achieve flight—so it just stands.
So I stand.
I wonder what all I could do—what all I could achieve.
if only I talked like I thought
if only i wrote what I felt instead of editing away paragraphs to create something they won’t choke on.
Oh how many notebooks would I fill—how many books would I write—if I didn’t worry about those who would never truly try to understand...
If I didn’t worry about those who would jump to conclusions or those who will deny me kindness.
Man fear what they don’t understand and they hurt what they fear.
i fear misunderstanding and I hurt myself.
hold it in, like medicine
It's the disgusting sting on my tongue.
hold it in, like medicine
It's the burn in my throat
The sick in the back of my mouth
hold it in, like medicine
I've been given the wrong dose
The wrong pill. The wrong drug. The wrong cure.
hold it in, like medicine
But it destroys the natural harmony of my inner workings
It messes with my pH, triggers a fever;
It's killing me.
hold it in, like medicine
If I emptied my stomach onto to floor, my still pearly teeth would rot.
Spit would dribble down my clothes. I'd stink of vomit and natural digestive fluids. Eyes would draw to me, and they would see a mess instead of a victory.
I hold it in, like medicine
I keep the barf in the back of my throat. My nails break into my skin. I bite into my own tongue. The pain masks the acidic burn and the blood mixes with saliva. I pinch the sides of my mouth tight—none of that foul liquid will seep through.
No one will see.
hold it in, like medicine
Understanding others is knowledge
To have knowledge, is to see the multifaceted world around you.
To see a world that doesn't revolve around you,
A world that would live on--albeit a little differently-- without you.
Knowledge is not hard to find
And knowledge is madness.
Understanding oneself is enlightenment
To be enlightened is to see yourself in all your glory,
It is a step above knowledge.
It's contentment in one's pivotal insignificance
And acceptance of flaws and scars, truth and pain.
Enlightenment is difficult
And enlightenment is peace.
Icarus
It was late in the night.
The moon was high in the spotted night sky.
It was then my mind reflected on the power of the sun.
The sun, a force of nature, the giver of life on earth.
An ever burning mass of gas and fire.
And as my mind does, it wandered from there to the story of Icarus.
Son of Daedalus the master craftsmen and creator of the labyrinth that held minotaur.
Young Icarus underestimated the all-powerful sun.
He trod on her domain, trespassed on a sacred land that did not belong to him.
Icarus flew under the sun fearlessly and foolishly.
Ignoring his father’s words of wisdom, he spread his wings out proudly.
He basked in the sunlight, letting his ego, and pride distract him from the softening wax.
Feathers fluttering off his wings flashed before my eyes.
Hot wax trailing down his legs burning his still fresh juvenile skin.
The feeling of fear piercing his heart as he falls into the ocean.
Feels the air rushing past him as he falls.
He goes limp, knowing there’s no escaping as he falls.
Eyes close knowing he has fallen.
Man’s fatal flaw.
Smart enough to fly.
Stupid enough to fall.
Sorry...
"It's up to you to save the world!"
That's all they yell. Calling me to fix their problems, not even lifting a finger to clean their messes.
Who chose me, huh? That's what I want to know. Why am I the one burdened with the lives of everyone? Why do I have to do it alone? They never asked me if I wanted to be the saviour. I just want to enjoy my life like everyone else. Is that really too much to ask?
I can't save everyone. And, even if I do, who's there for me. Who will save me when I'm dying on my knees, torn apart by my "destiny" that you cursed me with ? I have no one by my side yet I'm supposed to be there for everyone. The world has done nothing for me, yet I'm supposed to surrender everything for the world. That's just messed up...
I can't do it. I'm sorry. I'm just... tired. I'm sorry.
I know it's up to me to save the world, but I can't.
I guess the world is doomed then.
I guess, when the world is up in flames and about to crumble into ashes, you can blame me if it makes you feel better.
Lately, I have felt like I have been losing my touch, my connection with words.
It used to come to me so easily, like breathing, needing no prior instruction.
But here I am, staring vacantly at another white page, emotionlessly and uninspired.
I'm losing track of everything I thought I knew, letting doubts rule.
I feel myself slipping into the stillness, the shadows, the thoughts.
It feels like I am losing track of this reality.
Everything is everything, which is too much for me.
Writing doesn't feel the same; nothing does anymore.
I have many questions without their answers.
Right now, I'm a little confused.
I could use some help.
I am slipping away;
From the world,
My family,
Myself.