sometime in 2006-7
left behind, pushed aside, forgotten.
another hope burned to ashes
my heart bleeds but novelty escapes it.
this time. blind to it, you melt away
surrounded by schedules, responsibilities,
even you must be sacrificed.
secretly your ghost chains me to the wall
and numbs my will with memories
alone i let the pain fall from my eyes
a pierced chest, anoxic lungs
a smile can fool millions
would you be fooled?
I'm trying. . .
endless options to numb and amnesiate,
hopeless strings of thought connecting inaction.
what little can be done is not enough.
small futile efforts infinite; overwhelm.
responsibility for actions affecting globally,
my species. my brothers, my sisters; all creatures,
at the hand of greed and profit.
conflicted teachings control actions,
perpetuate love, need, want, war, hate.
How I feel is indescribable, yet with words and potential poetry I will attempt to do the impossible.
Emptiness and pretentiousness. I'm too good for everything, yet not good enough to do anything worth doing.
When I am alone, far different things seem ideal than when I indulge in others.
Am I ready for them?
Do others change me? Or do I sincerely change?
Will I wake up in the future realizing finally and far too late that I have believed a lie for much too long?
Will I succumb to the pressures of society finally, in an attempt to please those close to me? Will my youth and idealism perish in the final battle? The dauntless hero avenged by time and age?
The more things go wrong, the more likely this seems. Youth has been mortally wounded by disappointment and yet, it is a valiant knight.
Everything changes, why shouldn't I?
All signs point to normality, but what is not said or known proposes an alternative to those who know it best. Pretentiousness again? Perhaps.
Perhaps I will renounce my 1st world-isms, perhaps I will use my education, perhaps I will teach english, perhaps I will do all of those things I always hoped and dreamed I would. If not, I will at least survive. Life is short, and I can't be convinced that North America has the right method. Let horror come, let death ooze in. What are we so afraid of? Especially here. The fullest has been lost in responsibilities, work, lies, money and injustice. Paradoxes abound. Capitalism can't be the right way to live. I can't morally stand for that. I can't bring anyone else into this vile and unforgiving world.
I just can't.
Listening to John K Sampson and Christine Fellows on repeat marries nostalgia and apathy to hope and exuberance.
It makes me want to write something profound, but I don't think it's in me.
Absentmindedness screams insults to my preoccupied brain. No one hears it but me. I'm a mess. Or, I'm asleep.