Way Too Faded (WTF)

Walking, walking on my hands. Hands that stare and breathe and make love. Walking on top of faded clouds of green and brown, upside down. Colour me special. Look at my face, how my hands creep, how my eyes weep for themselves like what they see is the saddest thing. Looking down from the middle of the sky. Not too high. But faded enough to think about myself and how my wealth is in my interactions with the ground. Walk me to the door please. Get in touch with me when you're done. Walk out and never come back until you do, but never warn me. Warm me. I'm so cold in this freezing room with the windows wide shut. Make sense to me. Make me a legend. I will take you and make you faded. My hands walk off the edge of fhe world and lead my body back down to the ground. But my mind is the last one to get there. Always somewhere else when it's needed, no regrets or thinking. Just. Faded.

Runaway

I've been hiding for the past few days. Sometimes I just need to be incognito for everything to make sense. I'm no longer part of the anything, but I'm still something, you know? Anyway. Big shiut out to my friend who let me crash at his place for the past few days. I really needed to kust get away from myself and that was the perfect thing. Now that I'm back, I just lock myself up in my room and wait for the sun to go down. It's a bit sad, admittedly, but honestly I don't mind. At least I can keep my head and my thoughts away from the outside world. Also, it's been a while but I decided to free myself of my mind and get out of my body. A form of meditation. It worked so wonderfully well, I hate to admit. Well, the next piece is about my experience. I hope you enjoy it...

Letter Writing Lessons

I wrote you a letter once. You must not have got it, or I must not have sent it. Doesn't matter anyway, we don't talk much anymore and that's fine by me. I have enough voices in my head to keep me conversaturated 24/7. They know me better than you ever did, or ever will. But, I know they aren't real. Just figments of my overactive imagination. You know, that place where everything makes sense. I doubt you'd know about it. We stopped making sense some time ago. I wish they were real though, so I wouldn't have to shut my eyes to block out the bull. I wished so many times on every falling star that they would be real. I know it isn't going to happen, but, what is life without hope? I could explain to you in 10 000 words and photographs, but I doubt you'd pay much attention. You rarely do. You see the surface, but deep down, there's a whole team of sadness anchoring this iceberg to the floor. It's cold, and heavy and hard to keep in place, but at the same time, it's a crutch that keeps me balanced and able to walk into anything. I'm sure you've noticed it. The way I look into the absent minded space between here and there. There's always a memory in that place that brings back some kind of feeling. And there's always a reminder when I catch myself that I'm supposed to be elsewhere. And then I come back. And I end up doing something stupid, like writing you a letter I know one way or another, you'll never get to read. It's how I stay connected to my emotions. I put them down on an arbitrary piece of paper and put them away, never to be seen by anyone else. Sometimes though, I'll let you see what I've written, just to show you how far away from what I want to be I am. Just to show you I do feel pain and loneliness. Just to tell you that I wish you were listening.

One More For July

So I've decided that I'll publish two pieces this month. Firstly, because I've really been slacking and secondly because I have some things that needed time to make sense to me before I try put them down. July... Wow... July has been a rollercoaster so far, and I don't know how I've almost made it off without shitting my pants, but here I am. Not much else to say, really. I just hope I can get to sleep after this...

Parental Guidance is Advised

After much consideration, I've decided to cut the bull and kick my writing into high gear. I've had a bit of a block for the kast two months, and it recently dawned upon me that maybe I'm trying too hard to get the words right. Theoretically they ahould just flow out, right? Well... That's where things get a little dizzy. See, I find value in vulgar language. It makes writing and understanding how people feel a lot easier and it also manages to pack quite a punch when it comes to imagery. I have included some vulgar language in my writings but not nearly enough to fully depict what the state of my mind was at the time of inception. This being said, it isn't a deliverate practice that I am looking to engage in, it's something that I'm more likely to throw in for added effect without fear or inhibition. I've been trying to keep my work quiet, laid back and non-aggresive, but really that isn't as accurate a representation as I would like. The real stories that I want to tell are dark and with a few curses here and there, they seem to allow things to fall into place quite nicely. With that being said, I feel like my block will unblock itself with time and with determination, introspection and some solid hours putting pen to paper (or typing, really). Like most ideas though, this one didn't come from nowhere. I recently reread a poem I wrote at the end of 2013 (i think) and I recognised a part of me that had been hidden since then. As a thank you to my vulgar self three years ago, I'll let you guys read that poem now. Enjoy!

Gwanz

This week, and indeed the last month have been absolutely crazy. I thibk I lost my mind and found it again more times than I care to admit. I had a very intersting freak out session earlier, and I decided to confide in one of my friends. He decided to call in the cavalry and brough in one more friend. The combination of the two (which is quite a stunning  combination if I do say so myself) saved me from all kind of embarrassing nonsense that I was going to do or say. Quite frankly I was freaking out like a 13 year old who started growing hair out of their armpits and didn't know how to deal with it. Okay, maybe it wasn't quite at that level of freaking out, but I was quite on edge. But thanks to them, I'm back in business. You can thank them both for what I'm about to give you. I showed this to them and they thanked me. I was confused becausd they realky did most of the work. See, for me, finding the inspiration is the hard part. The writing will come naturally given the right spark. Thank you for finding and giving me back the spark guys. I don't know where I'd be without my friends.

The Fiery Mouth of My Struggling Soul

First post of the new year! Woo! Excitement! Yeah, so this year has already been a rollercoaster of everythings in my strange little world. I'm slowly starting to piece things together but there's always something that's holding me back I feel. And it's something so big that I can't really go around it. Alas, my life has never been ao simple from an emotional perspective and I can already see that this year is going to be a tough one. Shout out to all the people who still look out for me. Even implicitly. I can feel your thoughts and prayers from all sides and warmth that you send. It helps, trust me. I would not even be able to wake up every day if I couldn't feel any sort of love and appreciation from people. So to those who care, thank you. For those who dont, thank you as well. It's very confusing for me to say this, but I feel like not caring too. And it's not for fun either. I just... It's been a crazy first week and a bit. I promised some people something from, and I quote myself saying this, "the fiery mouth of my struggling soul". Sounds about right. The following piece is neither here nor there, in my mind. It's direct from the furnace and freshly hammered to a sharp point I had no control over it. Anyway. I hope your year is going better than mine.

Judging Me

Isn't it nice that everyone can write so well? That they have metaphors and similes and all that juxtaposition of alliterated whatever. And then there's me who has so much to say buy can't say it the way you like to hear it. I know, it's weird isnt it? That there's a method to how people want to write and how they end up writing is completely different. But here I am, simplifying everything because I don't want to not remember what and how and why I felt like writing. It's almost always about myself or someone who I care about really. Not many other people can put me in such a vulnerable emotional position to let loose and put oen to oaoer as it were. But I, alas, am not as eloquent as they need me to be. The literary minds of everyday people who decide whose poetry to engage with because it sounds like they should be snapping their fingers. And don't get me wrong, I have no beef with that, it's just. My heart hurts every time I write because I put a piece of my soul into each and every one if my poems and even these preludes to poetry have a fair bit of heart in them. But the flow, the intonation, the way you read it isn't supposed to do anything but make you think what I'm thinking, and paint an image in your mind's eye of how I'm feeling. And maybe it's my fault for not getting it across well enough, or even expecting too much from my writing. And maybe it's your fault for holding my words to the same standard you hold everything else to. I can't judge really. All I'm saying is let me write the way I write. Tips and hints and comments are fine but, they become condescending after a while and all I can picture is you thinking that you're better than how I feel. And that hurts. But I can bounce back, frankly I don't care what anyone thinks (almost a contradiction but not quite) i just want to write without people being judges about it to my face. Poets are sensitive people when it comes to their work. Respect that.

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.

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.