Am I a storm to be quieted?
No, some of us need to scream.
I, I let you tape my mouth,
To prevent offense,
That came so easy with your prejudices.
Even after, I peeled it off,
For time I could not understand,
The new power I had gained.
Inch by inch,
I crawled back up to high ground
And found my voice again.
Here it echoes in the distance.
Though I wish you’d hear it,
It makes me content
That I’m doing something
You’d never understand.
(unpublished archive June 2015)
I’ve tried to get rid of you,
A few times now.
You’re not who I expected to be with.
You’re not the whirlwind romance or the ken doll I had in mind.
I keep pushing you away because you don’t fit their description.
You’re nice, and make me feel calm,
And you make me someone else,
I haven’t met her before.
No, I don’t protest,
But I still hold on to my expectations,
And they make me sick,
Even though perhaps I’ve gotten,
Much better than what I thought I wished.
And still I’m so scared.
If you’re different, how do I know who you are?
If you leave, I’ll blame myself for my decision,
And what will I tell my scars?
I really don’t understand how you ended up in my life.
So I keep thinking you should leave.
But every time I think it,
I pull you close,
One more kiss,
While you’re oblivious to my motive.
Oh please please don’t leave.
Maybe I’m just scared that I care.
And that it’s better to be the one to step away
Than to be left standing there.
And even worse, by a person who didn’t fit your scheme.
Love is way too fucking complicated,
And sometimes feels so overrated,
But you waking up next to me
Is what keeps me from over-thinking
Everything else to its extremes.
I guess you just end up being
The collateral damage to my mind machine.
I pray for clarity,
But it’s never there,
Except in loneliness,
And that I refuse to bear.
Clarity is in quitting,
In cutting people off,
In cleaning away dishes,
In choosing a very practical career,
In cutting off your dreams.
The great struggles of life,
They have no room for such a thing,
But they cause everything else,
The stuff worth waking up for.
Because walking away is easier than caring.
And caring is a violent storm,
But there you see all love and art,
And feeling of a beating heart.
(from the unpublished archive 2015)
It’s hard for me to figure out what I want to do with my life because
I want to participate in normality
And that tends to encompass the majority of things
I don’t want to fight for:
Grades and jobs that entail
Bending over backwards to show people my worth.
I don’t want to be under-worked and underpaid and underestimated because of my age.
I want to be respected as a human, with ideas.
That seems like decades from now, possibly.
But what ridiculous thing can I do if I choose to run against the system?
It all amounts to shame.
What if I don’t want to solve the world’s problems?
What if I just want to be, because everything is essentially meaningless anyway,
Except for the joy of people, and even that’s temporary to their existence.
Saving the world is such a reckless idea.
Who said the world needs to be saved?
What said it can be? Continue reading Non-Poetic Rant from the Armchair: “Not Saving the World”
Why do I always leave in a hurry?
Why can I never slow down?
Why do I go places to say I’ve been there?
Why don’t I look around?
Sometimes I think it’s about personality,
It would be a shame to change.
But if I’m different and I’ll be happy,
What makes me stay the same?
“Relax” says the graffiti outside the train,
“Relax” says the constant rain.
But how can I listen when life seems to go so fast?
One moment I’m here,
Next on another continent,
And I hardly felt the change.
One moment certain people matter,
Next I forgot their name.
I guess once again I’m in this ridiculous dilemma,
Trying to avoid the changing tides of life,
Looking for a constant,
Deluded into its existence,
Never stopping to see the real light.
My sweet devil,
Gotten so comfortable with falling apart.
Like the dried up stream,
I run from.
At times I’m fooled.
The stream is still dry.
A quest to find some spark,
My loving tears
Can’t turn a wasteland to a park.
What is it?
Books, songs, dances,
I see nothing.
Sometimes so foreign,
Just like laughing.
I’ve erased them.
Nothing really worth it.
No difference can be made.
Living to live,