Unsaid; unlived

It’s as if
I’m living in an alternate realm where
only I exist
and my comprehension of people
is the only truth behind their existence.

As if
I’m bred from the love I have for myself
and the love I have for the ones around me.
Yet I remain uncertain:
As if I’m misplaced.
As if I’m myself,
but not really.

As if my other self is in control sometimes,
and I’m standing in silhouette
demanding X or O keep me alive;
too late;
I’ve died again.
And again.
I’ve let myself down again.
I’ve disrupted the balance,
again:

My mind creates this
virtual reality and
relives my days
again and again,
whilst I dream.
Trying
to maintain
that I do good;
speak good;
be good.

You see,
unsaid words are not invisible,
they just reside in me until
my mind recreates
the night,
the day, and
the people:
what they’d say and
what they’d laugh at.

Then
it reminds itself
to say that thing it was longing to,
to laugh at that joke it lacked to,
to hug that person it ached to.

The parallel separation of
my thoughts and my self grows.
As if I’m playing
a videogame
where I’m
watching myself do something I’ve already done;
or say the thing I wanted to
but didn’t.

 

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Tails

You
found me
alone in
an unlit room;
running around
in circles;
chasing my tail.

You
asked
what I was doing;
I smiled and said
“I’m content,”
(even though
that wasn’t really your question).

“but, are you happy?”

I cringed,
“don’t ask questions like that.”

Love

Her
reach inspired
hundreds; thousands; millions.

Her smile
cured every soul in her reach
from its own mayhems.

Her heart
hugged the whole world
with color.

Her mind
taught even vivacity
how to love.

She
was a dichotomy
to be poked at
and studied.

They didn’t realize
her secret
is her love.

 

Flesh

But it’s;
the gossip,
the lies,
the deceit,
the arguments,
the tears,
the broken friendships,
the heartache. 

It’s
the trouble of picking up
all the pieces
of all those experiences
and
reshuffling your meat into place.

It’s
the angst of trying to sew together
a muscle
that’s supposed to beat
as long as you’re alive.

It’s
the sincerity in your pain
the innocence in your darkness
the anchoring of your freedom
the tongue thrashing your flesh.

It’s the beauty of the deficiency
the attraction to longing.
It’s the callousness of
your beating hearts
to be pumping blood
through the veins of living cadavers.

For what is
a heartbeat
without a soul?

Where is the beauty in suicide?

Past; present; future

They ask.
They always ask:
what your drive is:
what your aim is:
what your lifelong goal is.

They ask
you
where your sympathies lie;
where your heart flutters;
why your heart flutters?
how you want to live;
who you strive to be like;
who makes you who you are?

They take all those answers from you
about
your-
self:
future;
present.

But they fail:
to ask about your past;
your demons;
your weaknesses;
your unexplained fears;

They-
don’t-
care-
about all the things
that held you up
to be this
version of yourself that
they find interesting.

They
don’t care about
all those skeletons in closets;
all those days spent mourning;
the sad moments that gave you
this strength that
they applaud.

They
don’t ask;
how many times you’ve been defeated
how many times you’ve had your heart broken.

The truth;
they don’t want to know
about what’s lurking within those
shadows of yours;

They
don’t need to know what it is;
what you are.

They
just need to know:
you’re
less beautiful than them.

Captivity breeds resilience

Standing
side by side-
covered
top to tip
sweating.
Longingly wishing
to free our
pale skin to the sun.
Walking,
hand in hand,
smothered:
thought to breath
in lust for impulse.
Searching
without meaning.
Roasting
Our skin,
Our blood,
Our bones,
Our veins.
Slowly, roasting but
cycling.
Aimlessly.
Shoulder to shoulder.
Trying to understand
the world;
Touching everything but
getting burned and
moving on.
Daring to question once,
but facing loud voices shouting to
shut
up. To
stop
thinking. To
follow.
Follow.
Follow
the rules.
“SHUT UP.”
We’re repeating to
our wandering thoughts.
“Follow.”
We’re repeating to our damp skin.
They say.
They said.
They’re always repeating
that if you
place your lips
on wounds and suck-
you’ll remove the infiltrating poison.
But what they’re not telling you is
the hardest of all the poisons is
the stagnancy
that is continuing
to fill our veins;
simplifying our minds.
Daily,
we’re striding
silently.
Wearing our layers of silk gracefully
masking our impurities.
Side by side.
Hand in hand.
Shoulder to shoulder;
Afraid to let go of each other
seeking that physical reminder
that;

captivity breeds resilience.