Out the Blue.
I squandered my resistance,
for what? I don’t remember.
Fleeting pleasures, I reckon.
At the hands of strangers,
seeking acceptance from the ragged people
Cause the fine ones,
come with fine prints I can’t read.
The harder i squint the blurrier it gets.
I can feel it, something is off.
ahh,
I just wanna find peace.
It’s been too foreign to me,
buried below my feet.
I will dig them out, and sift the oddity
we will be whole, eventually.
I promise.
Where will your pride take you?
Beware,
You’re riding on the waves of your ego.
Know this,
Even the waves has an end
Short lived, sporadic sprouts of force
But to what end?!
Flat and deprived of life.
For a moment.
The ground on which you stand,
connects us all, you and me.
A tiny piece I caved, a strong hold
made by me, for us.
Perfectly curated and maintained,
held onto tightly,
even against the tides,
but the grips are burning.
Can’t hold on much longer,
Can you hold the reins for a while?
Oh to have lived!
Can’t you see, we are nothing
Life is fleeting,
Right before your dead eyes.
Won’t you wake up?!
Spring has sprung, the flowers are pretty again.
Even harsh waves still makes an exquisite picture.
Speak to me
You are barely living
Tell me you want more
This too shall pass, I promise.
Hold on to what you believed, just like you told me.
Remember when we lived life
The feeling of youthful bliss, cascading.
This sadness is a chore, my friend
there are holes in all of us,
but we must carry on.
You are it!
I implore you to say
you are an artist, she said.
Cave your name on the surface of reality
Find your armor
Sharpen It,
Wear it fast against yourself
Protect it with such might
As seasons bring in new silhouettes of you
Some as harsh as a brutal winter
Some as joyous as the dawning of spring
Mistakes are bound to be made, but
forget not your greatest masterpiece,
Your heart.
The name and pretense of virtue is as serviceable to self-interest as are real vices.
Francois de La Rochefoucauld
The forbidden, no one speaks of it.
Not you, him or them
and neither will I.
We perfected the art of pretense.
If not spoken, then there isn’t life to it
Hence, did it really happen?
Peace of mind so foreign,
can barely remember when you had the luxury of its presence.
Your soul on the cross,
seasons after seasons,
living for your mistakes.
Hey! the celeste are calling, if fettered with a troubled soul
come forth and be gifted tranquility.
I present you this, time after time.
Walk away from your pride, I say.
Love your flaws.
Yet you cling on to the misery you call life.
I have to say, you are drying up
from the inside out, and its almost beautiful to watch
If it wasn’t familiar, dead eye.
As we dwell at the teat of the forbidden you forbade.
Written for Moonwashed Weekly Prompt – Forbidden – October 11, 2022
Its all fleeting!
It’s gone,
Packed it’s bag and took off without a goodbye.
Some people actually think it was a curse,
borderline stupid.
But I still want to bask in the bliss of my ‘former’ ignorance.
This self-awareness is very much a hindrance.
Slowly watching my mind becomes an enemy of itself, as it over analyze the smallest smirk.
Please tell me this eventually goes away!
Wait!
If you get too close
and am not how you hoped,
forgive my deceit.
I was raised with little love
scared to life, scared to be
So, I show what you might like.
A facade, is all.
Am running back up the hills now, do not try to follow me.
As I should.
Go that way,
I will take the long way down
I will find my way around.
I saw a glimpse and I don’t like what I see,
The dissonance is draining, so
Am going back in, into myself
Basking in my solitude, sublime!
It takes a while to come back out,
So don’t hold your breath.
“Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.” Oscar Wilde
Was it because I stood up to the man in the mirror,
I thought it get better from there.
Was it because I stop listening to the voices,
it was unfriendly.
Was it because I started smiling,
sadness is a chore.
Tell me why, I deserve to know
or do you just miss sipping from the cup of broken me?
Why take it away?
Now Piper does of babel,
and you fucking ibis’s take note!
GallopingCrazy 