there are people who wallow
in the energy field of people
strangers colleagues sexmates
they don't know
they simply enjoy soaking up
prattle jabber babbling brook
conversation laughter splash
them glowing
in finery hoping to be noticed
admired applauded better yet
talked about into others night
there are people who demand
other stimulation
then there are those who recoil
from the commotion flinching
shrinking cowering wincing up
from the thought
for those other people are hell
Les Autres
There is a disruption in the way I live every time I am reminded of *others*. I'll be shopping for groceries and see something I like, reach for it, and then...
What will my flatmate think?
It's not what she'll say, because most of the time she doesn't say anything, except of course when she does. It's been rare, but the odd comment or two has me on edge. Technically she has no power over me–we're both adults, we make our own decisions. But I gave her power anyway, by caring about her perception of me. How much room for improvement do I have, to her?
It's been another late night, couldn't get any sleep before two o'clock. When I wake up, bleary-eyed and a little bit lost, I decide to let the tide whisk me away again. It doesn't quite manage, so I stay here on the bank, mattress warm in places, deliciously fresh in others. My phone is within reach, soft-spoken stories the only thing that can put me to sleep these days. It's barely nine in the morning. I have time, I tell myself. I'm not working right now anyway. Not much to do so I simply exist, and scroll, and exist, and scroll, telling myself all the while that I'll get out of bed at 9:30. When I check, it's 9:52, and dread sinks down my throat all the way to the pit of my stomach.
What would my mother think?
She'd be sad, wouldn't she? That I'm wasting away like this. "You have a lot of potential", I can hear her say, while all the things I keep saying I'll do flash before my eyes. Yet I'm still in bed, unable to move, and now guilt is making me yell at myself twice as loud. I should be, I should be, I should be.
What would my sister say?
These past few years he'd accomplished so much that even when things don't go according to her plan, she's still miles ahead of me. The solid foundation under her feet is something I don't feel I ever had, and I feel its lack underneath my bare soles. It's just my blanket and a pillow I kicked all the way down the bed during the night. No low-rate-of-success national competitive exam win, no 2k-per-month job, no screenshots of my latest run that I ran with my good body that I feed good things only.
But my sister wouldn't say anything to me. She wants me to be happy where I'm at, nothing more. She told me so herself on a car ride.
My mother wouldn't think anything other than well-wishes, because she knows my struggles, and mostly she, too, only wants me to be happy.
My flatmate is just a person, same as I am. I have opinions on her too and they're not worth anything. They're certainly not reflective of her worth, because my opinions are just that. If she expressed any worry about those I'd ask her who cares, because I certainly don't. She doesn't owe me anything.
And yet there is a disruption in the way I live every time I'm reminded that my confidence isn't enough for me to feel good about myself. So I have to make it everyone else's job to love me instead. I never say it out loud, I don't need to, we all do the same thing. Responsible for everyone except ourselves, it's like living with cameras on us all the time, never relaxed, always searching for the approval of people who have already given it. But what about the renewal? What if?
It's not even them I want to ingratiate myself to. It's the meaner, less flattering versions of them that I have locked up in my mind to serve as little punishers whenever I step a toe out of a line that I'm not really sure where that line even comes from. Is it my own? Has it been fed to me, ad after ad, tweet after buzzfeed thinkpiece, law of the land and popular opinions?
I don't know who I'm trying to please. All I can say for sure is that those distorted things I'm trying to feed with my best behaviour will always be hungry, because some masochistic part of me needs them that way.
And it's kind of hell, if you ask me.
“L’enfer, c’est les autres” - Jean-Paul Sartre
Hell is other people. It's true, it must be those whom you’ve suffered with long and hard in this thing called life. Yes, it’s those other people who are ever cynical, critical, judgmental, and scornful of all things. It’s those who never see the brilliance of a snowflake in the sun or the beauty in a weed’s blossom. No, hell is not only occupied by evil ones, it’s also full of those who find no joy in existence, those who are never satisfied with enough, and those who are hellbent on living in a realm of negativity.
Then perchance, you should stop. Pause and slowly choose to look in the mirror, peering into the depth of the face reflected therein. You may find that you, too, are in fact a factor in the hell you so dislike. The vast array of actions you scorn in others may also, and very likely, be held tight within your own grasp - and utilized more frequently than not. Careful, lest you become him who leaves such a bitter taste in your mouth or him whom you so loathe.
Yes, hell is other people, but it’s also you. Can you decidedly manipulate yourself and create change to ensure the prospect more heaven exceeds the hell, at least in your own realm of existence? In choosing this difficult path, perhaps your actions will brilliantly reflect to perpetuate a turnaround in others. The effects of such might be surprising and dynamic in multiple worlds. For life, you see, is much of what you intend it to be.
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players." William Shakespeare
My Hell
it is mayhaps
the people
as reflected
in my thoughts
the resultant
mayhem
as seen
viewed in
multiple
looking glass
flip flopped
and flipped
again like
Mayflies
that pass
easily thru
the swatter
and soon
die off as
contortions
long thin or
short squat
dim visions
in the back
of the mind
that may
torment;
if i allow
05.26.2024
Hell is other people/ Your thoughts? challenge @dctezcan
I’m Hiding
I’m hiding.
I’m hiding from people.
If I go back down stairs they might ask me questions.
I am in a dark room.
I have my headphones on
(noise cancellation, of course).
And, I’m scared.
I’m scared of the people who call me family.
I’m scared of the people I call friends. Not because of anything they might do.
They aren’t overly aggressive or mean.
They just… well…
they’re people… and people are scary.
They trigger about everything that is possible to trigger.
And, for me, that’s a lot!
So, here I am.
Sitting.
Hiding,
in a dark room.
at a party,
From people who call me family,
from people who make me scared.
Heaven Lies in Me and You
In a room where silence screams,
Where shadows dance in dim-lit dreams,
Three souls entwined, their fates unfurled,
A mirror to the inner world.
No flames, no pitchforks, no descent,
But torment in the present tense,
A gaze, a word, a knowing glance,
Condemnation in a twisted dance.
Hell is not a place below,
It's in the eyes of those we know,
A judgment passed without reprieve,
A prison where we cannot leave.
In Sartre's world, we play our part,
Our truths exposed, our secrets bared,
We seek escape, but can't depart,
In endless loop, we're ensnared.
The self is lost, the other reigns,
Our essence bound in human chains,
In every look, in every sneer,
The essence of our deepest fear.
For what are we but our reflections,
In the eyes of others' projections,
A constant state of raw inspection,
A lifetime's worth of introspection.
We wear our masks, we play our roles,
In this theater of human souls,
Yet freedom lies in our control,
To break these chains, to be made whole.
So here we stand, our hearts laid bare,
In Sartre's vision, stripped of care,
Hell is other people, true,
But heaven lies in me and you.
To see beyond the other's gaze,
To find ourselves in life's cruel maze,
To redefine, to reconnect,
To find the peace that we neglect.
In every look, a chance to see,
The boundless depth of you and me,
For in this Hell, there's hope concealed,
A path to grace, a chance to heal.
Hell traps us
We ourselves do not enter hell. We never truly walk through the burning gates of hell, greeting Hades as we begin to make ourselves at home. Rather, we are surrounded by hell, we are encompassed by those whose thoughts and actions suppress us until we are but a small fragment of what we used to be. Perhaps they often do not realise what they are doing, those hell-trapping people, perhaps they are too blinded by their own happiness to see what they are doing to us. In the end, it doesn't really matter, we are in hell and that is where we stay as the world changes around us, lives around us and what do we do? We watch, we watch the heavenly lives of others as we sit, mourning for our lost lives whilst we breath the cold, crisp air that winter has brought.
Wading in Beeswax
America is burning out
Because it aims too hard please...
Bald distraction...No interaction...
Scrounge around on hands and knees...
Fitting in
Skin to skin...
It's a hive mentality...
Buzz buzz buzz!...
And there we was...
Taking pollen to the source...
Not too often,
Once or twice
Ask myself in funny voice...
Don't this feel like something's wrong...
Singing someone else's song?...
Makes my two heads start to throb...
Back into the mob we go!...
Noises, warmth...The ebb and flow...
No one asks me what's inside...
Work to sleep...No self to hide...
Look at faces
That don't fit...
Those who'll never
Make the grade...
We determine a fixed path...
Seeking out our epitaph...
Drop the swagger!...
Drop the sting!...
Every synchronistic swing
Like a dead skin
Peeling free...
Other people I must flee!...
Fitting in
Skin to skin...
It's a hive mentality...
Buzz buzz buzz!...
Moving in gangs...Tearing down...
These shopping lanes...
America is burning out
Because it aims too hard please...
Bald distraction...No interaction...
Scrounge around on hands and knees...
5/30/24
Bunny Villaire