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Isolation

Silence has a way of talking

It whispers through the walls

Of the mind and it burrows

Deep.

Like a gust of wind flowing,

Or a gale of wind threatening

To seep

All that come in it’s way.

Today the silence woke me

Middle of the night, I stared

At the ceiling while the silence

Spoke of all the things that fared.

I held my hands to my ears

To shut out the silence

Drumming in my mind.

I blew my breath in and out

To dispel what had me

In a bind.

I fought and yelled at the silence

A black hole swallowing

My protests until I gave in .

And in that moment

I realized

I had found an amazing thing.

The silent walls

They were singing

Were humming

A lullaby, a lovely melancholic tune.

And to that I listened

Until my eyes closed,

Silence now giving me a sleeping boon.

I closed my eyes,

And burrowed in my sheets as darkness

Took over and my muscles untensed,

And all that was left

Was sweet, sweet silence .

 

 

 

 

 

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Enough

The promise of love

Is not enough

The preception of comfort

Is not enough

Everytime I hope

You crush it

You make me feel

Less than

Not enough.

Can it just be enough

For me to give up

On the idea of us?

Because you,

The you I love

Is nothing but

An illusion

And that is

Not enough.

 

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Still Filtered

Filter and control are marvelous things that can make you lost in your own mind like no other.

Introspection on what I have thus far written has recently made me realize how filtered all my writings are, how fluffy. Even in madness, I need to find a beauty, a rhyme, a metaphor that makes all the ugly go away and only touches the monstrous rearing head of those negative feelings that lie beneath the surface.  An old friend once told me you’re too controlled, your writing is like you: beautiful, witty but guarded-avoiding what really bugs you, afraid to let people know the side of you that’s not always sunshine and roses, to let them see there’s a human behind the smiling imp. A human that feels things probably more than most.  I didn’t understand him then but now I do. Life IS gritty and while we can control emotions we can’t control our situations or avoid them forever.

And sometimes we can’t control our situations OR our emotions. But it’s always a scary thing, trying to open up and feel, trying not to avoid, trying to let people know you feel so intensely because it takes away a power. A lonely power that eats at you, but a power nonetheless. Honestly, if anyone’s reading this, there is no end to this rant-no summation that ties my thoughts up in a nice bow- it’s an errant collection of thought accumulating to a bunch of sentences I write here. Mostly because right now my thoughts are all over the place, some metamorphosing as I write.

At this point, I don’t know how to go from here from fluffy to reality but acknowledgement is the first step right?

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Soul

There is something poetic about a pure soul, for it has the ability and strength to hope beyond hope.  It’s not jaded nor burdened with the sins of the commoner, too plagued by shame to hope for better days.

A pure soul hopes and prays that the jaded soul may once again find its way, while the jaded soul worries that the pure soul may one day feel the hopelessness that drove it astray from the path in the first place.