I haven’t shared any of my work for a while now and I have accumulated a lot of words. It’s a bad habit of mine but I often do not share what I write out of fear. This fear is essentially contained in being misdirected. What I mean by that is that I am reluctant to share my work because it is deeply personal to me; it reflects me and my state of mind; where I am and where I have been; what I am trying to overcome. When you put that much meaning into the words you put down it is incredibly easy to keep it to yourself, to hide it; I deeply and truly believe that no one cares for what I put down, yet I care about what other people write, their artistic journeys, their hopes, their dreams, their feelings. Why not the other way around? It could be just in my head.
The aforementioned misdirection comes from a fear of being misunderstood, which I often feel that I am although I try to communicate myself as effectively as possible. I guess the general privation of lucidity in perception really plays a trick on you.
I am a very private person in some sense of the word and I keep a lot in. I try to internalize everything until it is entirely processed, so much so that just a smidge comes out. Of course, I would talk about it with those closest to me but the internal battle of worlds is sometimes a lot to handle. Before this, I haven’t written poetic verse (or something that could possibly pass for it) in months. This is why I am choosing to post a piece that I finished just yesterday. The fact that it has no temporal axis; it is a state; space; it is nothing and everything; calms me. It assures me that those who attempt to establish a direction would simply engage in a imposition of meaning. Of course, that is a welcomed response with regard to personal context. I am just uncomfortable with sharing my context but I think that is what makes me the writer that I am.
No Title
My mind is like kaleidoscopic dreams;
Eternal sunshine of cluttered chaos.
Endless search for transcendental wholes.
Large hopes; Disappointing outcomes;
Playing Russian Roulette while intoxicated by a feeling.
Calamities; Disasters; One-ofs;
Soundscape of stars that guide the rhythm of a dysmorphic heart.
Dualistic identities and singular selves;
“A War of Wars”
Someone was waiting for me to say something along those lines…
…if people are listening.
Are people listening? reading? hearing? intaking? consuming???
Harmonious waves of green hills
bleed into each other ;
breathe into each other;
beat into each other;
be into each other;
Distorted pictionary.
Playing catch with feelings;
inability.
Breathe softly; soundlessly; effortlessly
Breathe into the earth; into the soil; into the core;
Breathe until there is nothing left;
Breathless.
Sweaty.
Lost.
In a dancing circle of sunflowers;
soft and delicate to the touch;
one skin, one body, one face
in a sea of yellow so bright that
you wonder if you were really on the sun.
Vibrantly reflecting rays of warmth;
rays of welcome;
rays of love;
the love in the loveless,
the less in the love;
Embracing a million raindrops;
A cacophony of sounds;
A clash of worlds
A War of Wars — again.
Signaling a distortion; a deficiency; a privation;
Synonyms to express symbolic hyperbolism
for things that sound right or relevant
And what if you were timeless?
What of permanency?
What of life?
What of love and hope?
It is an endless discussion about uncertain absurdities.
originalmess 