Strictly Personal

It always amazes me just how much shit people will eat, if you feed it to them. They swallow concepts without giving a second thought as to what they mean. They bow to authority without question as long as it is well dressed or disguised as entertainment. The thoughts being consumed are sickening. I find myself fasting these days.

Nothing is hard. Hard is only a fear of our own incompetency. Incompetence that doesn’t yet exist because we have yet to try. The mind is good at building walls between us and our dreams. The rival of hard is work. Work chips away at hard little by little until hard is no longer there. Then, we look back at what we’ve done, certain that we could do it again. But that’s not how it works because life is a system of cycles. But not of cycles of things repeated, but cycles of meeting brand new hards.

I often fall into this trap.  This trap of seeing things that other people have and thinking I should have those things too. The trap of inadequacy as opportunities seem to bypass me. I sink into this pitfall of perceptions that scream to me how I should look, behave, what I should have, and how is should BE. All of it being mostly lies and at best misconceptions. I had to learn to accept acceptance,  That I am who I am meant to be. Outside influence no longer clouds my thought, and I begin to enjoy life as I step out of a place between being too critical of the past, and too engrossed in the future. The fact that I am here is evidence enough that there is a place and a purpose to my destiny. I am here because this is where I belong.

Keep giving.

Give so much of yourself,

That when they have your funeral,

There is no more of you left,

You would have used up everything you had

By giving life your all,

And your casket will be empty.

And there would be nothing left to mourn for,

Except the memories that had yet to be made.

(Image by Xpayne)

Broken

It’s like being a child and letting someone borrow your favorite toy that you don’t let ANYBODY see.

But you trust this person with it.

Then they give it back to you…broken

Because they didn’t care about it as much as you did.

They weren’t as careful as you would have been,

and even though they’re sorry, sorry doesn’t fix things,

and you’re not sure if they even truly understand the damage they’ve done.

The artist understands that art itself is bigger than she.

It is neither for or about her.

It doesn’t belong to her only, but to everyone.

And the artist has to come to terms with the fact that she is only the God-chosen vessel through which the art is delivered.

But even that, in itself, is an honor.

Displaced. Given Away. Disposed of.

Left to fend for yourself.

Yet, you, my friend, have survived,

and are surviving.

Why should I keep consistent with the rest of the world?

Why must I live with labels thrown at me?

Tired…Of them constantly trying to frame me or constrain me

As if I’m only here as their decoration,

To make things more colorful perhaps.

Ideas and ideals have been forced upon me since before my creation.

It’s a shame when you can’t even learn because of the education…system,

It's so corrupted.

Bearing witness to no building knowledge, but rather destruction.

This teacher’s not even from my neighborhood, and always expecting us to cause more harm than good…mostly to ourselves.

Telling me what’s “classic,” what’s “ideal,”  what’s “right”

I don’t believe everything that I’m told.

I don’t believe in the false culture, that we’ve been taught to uphold.

"Fuck a Sonnet" is something I wrote a while back that came about while reminiscing about my teenage years in school where I was what I call "mentally rebellious." I wasn't outwardly rebellious, but I was always challenging the reasons of why I was forced to learn certain things deemed "important" and "encouraged" to take on certain opinions that were not my own. If only through my silence of not supporting the "crowd" or through a simple question of "Why?" Perhaps you can relate. No? well who cares.

There are people so perplexing,

That they can teach dogs to ride bikes

But cannot teach themselves how to love.

Can figure out how to reach the moon,

But can’t find their own way to peace.

There are people who are moved by watching rockets propel into the universe

Atypical thoughts spin in my mind like whirlwinds

Transforming into a dense imagination

That doubts itself and its originality.

Something’s turned me backwards,

Got me trying to maintain copies of

Things unoriginal that only recycle themselves.

Now I’m awakening my mind, rebuilding my identity.

My identity,

That has been categorically torn down and stood upon.

Feeding you contrived themes.

But you are a sleeping God, a deadly force.

A force of life.

They know to keep you at bay at the bottom.

But I’m taking myself back.

Relinquishing their beliefs in money and power,

It’s hard to be brutally honest with yourself

Even when writing words on a page only your eyes will see.

But the truth is eternal,

and everything else, including life, is brief.

So I just let my pen run free

And deal with repercussions later.

Honesty paints an interesting picture,

Weaving words effortlessly together.

There is no “how to” lesson.

My mind is the book, my heart the guide.

I go wherever it takes me.

Writing my truth and speaking it

because they say it sets you free.

I was once told I was selfish

For keeping my thoughts to myself too much,

And I agree,