I am Bean. What I am is not what you can eat, I am the idea of a perfect specimen manifested into an imperfect being that knows every one of his imperfections like the back of his hand. I can feel into the depths of my being and know where the hurt lies but not where it came from. It takes away my sleep, and it burns my eyes with the tears I'm too proud to cry, but I still wake up every day and pray that my feeling of inadequacy would go away. But it doesn't. Ive come to realise that it's quite chronic, and not even the medicine man can help me. I might be underweight and unfit and unhealthy, but that doesn't stop me from running head first into the unknown and seeing where it takes me. And sometimes it hurts, knowing that your best just isn't good enough, that you are strong everywhere but where you need to be. But I am Bean and I will stand tall wherever you place me, proud and steadfast like a lighthouse on a river, going to the moon in a fabricated dream. But you neurotypicals can't give me anything that will make me want to be like you. I am Bean. And I hope it stays that way.
Tuesday, 27 October 2015
A comment I received
I don't very often get comments on my poetry, because let's be honest; only like 10 people see what I've written. But let's pretend I do regularly get comments on my writing. I got this one comment from a friend of mine who said, "Your poetry isn't like regular poetry. It sounds like you're talking, not you using a poetic voice. I could literally imagine you saying all these things in a conversation." To put it simply, I didn't know what that meant. Was it good, was it bad? Do I need to stop talking like my life is a poem? So, I was stuck with this idea of my poetry in my head. How it sounded like me, and I really hate the way I sound. I sometimes wish I could shut myself up for a while sometimes, but hey. Anyway, I decided to take it as the compliment it actually was (I asked for confirmation) It's a sort of validation of my authenticity that my poetry sounds like casual, everyday, emotionally unstable, me. And so, to my friend who likes my poetry fro it's me-ness; Thank you for not pushing me to be something I'm not. For helping me stay away from the traps that catch so many writers of today who try and speak using someone else's voice. I'll be happy with my voice, even if it's only being heard by a few people. I do this because I love it and it helps. For no other reason would I lay myself so bare in front of unknown multitudes. Onwards.
Thursday, 22 October 2015
Two Sides of Me
Two sides of me
Delete, Delete, Delete
Delete, Delete, Delete
Monday, 12 October 2015
A Dream
I sit on the edge, and you sit next to me. Your hand feels cold and shivers blue light bouncing off the hard rock cliff. Our feet dangle into the nothingness and down below we can see the crisp shape of the moon laid out in pure silver and grey set in a deep dark sky. Lie back and take in the stars, hold your breath and count the moments that the earth steals away your thoughts. We could scream to the world and the world wouldn't hear us. We are free, unbound by lines and fences and gates and restriction. Free to be who we are and to be one with nature and nature. The blue moonlight only shows silhouettes, empty outlines without heart and soul. But I can still feel the warmth of yours and mine and we fight to keep this time of control over ourselves. We found the perfect place to dream, on the edge of our world.
About my Dreams
I often wonder how I can be a stranger in my own skin. Or an imposter, a fraud, a fake. Sometimes I feel so far down that I start to feel like I am not who I think I am. The doubt sets in, the constant picking on the flaws, the self-hatred. And it weighs down like a metal blanket over my body pinning me down for what feels like indefinitely. But somehow I manage to get back up. It's a nice climb, but I always worry when the next time I'll go down again is. It's inevitable with me, but it doesn't get any easier. I always end up wanting to curl up, to hide, to forget about the stresses that the world puts on us, on me, and sleep and dream of anything happy that will let out all the bad and hope that some good can find it's way in. I like the illusion of good that comes from my dreams. It often manifests itself as a companion, an extension of myself that gives me the courage to stare into oblivion and smile because I know that what I see isn't real at all but it gives me the greatest sense of calm.
Thursday, 8 October 2015
Hologram
Am I a hologram. Take thoughts and make sense of what you feel is easy but is so hard for me. Don't be that way, take me away, I want to live not jut exist. Keep my money, take it like you already have . Handcuff my fingers to my back pocket and take the dreams and hopes and goals from my already empty wallet. Walk me through walls and look right through me. I'm right in front of you, but nothing is really there. Am I a hologram that has a hollow beating heart and a pulse and lungs that are slowly dying from smoke? Can I be a hologram. It would be simpler to be hollow and not feel this. What is this ache. It's neither good nor bad, it's just not what I want to feel. I want my emotions to change like the seasons and my oh my if they could. I could do whatever they want me to. Because they control me, with their money and their qualifications and their fake niceness reality bullshit. Fuck this life that I'm living, it's not mine anymore and I don't want to lose any more of myself. But, this place has turned me into a hologram. A false representation of who I was. And there's no way to make matter out of nothing. And as soon as I step away from the source, I'm gone forever. Just a few centimetres to the edge and it could be over, but... to be continued...
Bear With Me
It will always take some time for you to realise what you want out of life. Sure there are things that can make you happy and there are things yhat you need to do to survive. The way the world is set out, those two things often don't coexist for me. But that's life right? You have to go out and find balance, and you have limited time because everyone will compare you to other people your age, with your skillset, with your goals. They only look at what you can do from the outside, not from how hard you have to struggle to overcome your own personal obstacles. It takes time, and time we dont have because our lives are shorter than we think. Every day goes by and we just seem to be going through the motions; making ends meet, doing what's asked of us, trying to make a living. We've changed the nature of survival so completely that we no longer look to just survive, we look to thrive in our own context. It makes it a bit more difficult because the bar gets raised higher and higher with each new generation, with each step forward we take as the human race. Keeping up isn't always as easy as it seems though, and those that fall behind become the antagonist of the story titled survival of the fittest. We as humans have given up the right to judge who is fit to survive and who isn't because we have placed a higher value on life than anything else. Or so they say. In real life, if you're plagued by notions of self hatred and despair and every day comes as a challenge not because you're struggling to survive, but because you're struggling to find purpose or a reason to live, you get left behind. Catching up is hard, it takes time. So please, bear with me.
Tuesday, 6 October 2015
I Write What I Like
It comes burning hot out of my fingertips smelling of fresh thoughts and ideas and internal struggle. I write to detox my brain, to let the creativity that acst as a counterbalance for my cynicism neutralise the acidic though processes and deliver them. Sweet, sumptuous thoughts on paper, on screen, from blunt fingertips sharpened by intellect and interpretation. Do not take my word for it; you may not like what what is on my menu, but I will cook it nonetheless. I am free to write as my mind sees fit, and I write what I like.
Significance
Once I thought I saw the future written in the stars on my skin. I thought I saw the moonlight glimmering in my eyes, I thought I owned the universe. I'm just a scared little human. A speck of dust on the sandy beach that is our existence, moving and eroding as the tide ebbs and flows by the will of the moon. But the universe is so big and I am so small, what can I do to feel significant? How can I change the tides of my existence? Peace of mind and peace of heart. To be content with the idea your existence is the first step towards having the ability to change the parts of your existence that clash with your utopia. Never stop chasing your utopia. Not even for the moon and the stars that may glitter and shine on your skin and in your eyes.
Monday, 5 October 2015
I am Bean
This whole poetry thing is dynamic. I don't do it for anyone really. I do it for myself. I just write, and getting it out there is just the first step towards a better understanding of myself. I can't really explain why I'm doing this anymore, but I like to think that I've created my own corner where I have my own thoughts and my own ideas that come around once in a blue (or red) moon. I am Bean. The next step in the story that is me. I'm more connected now so there's more to come if there's anyone willing to listen
Untitled 1
Lie on your back and push the weight of the world off your mind. Take the air you breathe and turn it into dust that will cloud your vision. See nothing, speak nothing. Only do as you need to. You are blind to the world and the world is blind to you, but, the world was built on layers of your skin. Peeled and drowned and beaten and shot to make metropolises and towers of ivory and gold. Sweat out the hatred. Breathe it back in. Exhale dust, and again make the world move. Shake it to its foundations and rattle its suburban windows. No fence can keep out the light absorbed by your skin, and no walls can stop the world hearing your cries. You were made to be seen in the light, not hidden by the shadows. You are thick skinned heavy boned beauty commanding every gaze. Pushing back the walls that you were born into and lifting up the world with your strength. Have pride, have shame, have blame, have love, have passion, have emotion and talent and greed and reckelss abandon. Take the whip and crack it over your head with a flick of the wrist. Send sparks flying like fireworks to the sky and beyond. Let the universe know that you were never born to be tame.