Time To Go

When you show someone you’re vulnerable, it scares you. That’s normal. But it scares them too. They’re afraid they’ll have the responsibility of holding you up when they can barely stand themselves, because life is hard. There’s no free pass. Not everyone can rise to the challenge so they look for easy options where there is none, sacrificing chances for meaningful happiness in the process. You can’t blame them. They feel what they feel, think what they think,  and act accordingly. It doesn’t mean they made the right choice but they believe they did and no argument can be pitted against that.

Believing something doesn’t make it true but it does mean you won’t change your mind, at least in the short-term. This is why I believe nothing; I need to be agile, adaptable. To be safe I need escape routes. For if I get stuck believing something unhealthy I will surely perish.

Some things are undoubtedly true though. I try to differentiate myself by being completely honest. People don’t seem to like that. They don’t want to hear it. They want to be lied to, they want a fabrication, they don’t want to know real life.

It’s an interesting place to be in when you’re happy and sad at the same time. I feel it every day, moment by moment. It keeps me in limbo, constantly wondering what things mean. I have decided I don’t ever want answers. I want my reasoning, my thoughts, but I don’t want proof. I want conversation and discussion. I don’t want facts, or lecture.

There are too many normal people on Earth, where the mainstream continue to weed out alternatives; turning them, shunning them, or destroying them. So when a philosophy arises from a quiet mouth it’s crazy because there is no one left to fight for it. No one to say it’s right, or what the rest say is right is wrong. And no matter how innocent it is, it will not be accepted as most do not possess an open mind to even explore original thought. They ignore the autopilot that is driving their life until they die and wonder why they wasted do much time.

I am the same. It’s not so easy to get away but at least I want to.

Two

We were standing on a precipice,

the edge of something beautiful,

with our hands

together.

I convinced them to let go,

push me off,

step away.

So I was falling down

and there was nothing I could say,

nothing to raise me

back through the air.

My plea

made it worse instead.

I tried too late

to make them see

I wasn’t dead.

*

I had failed to see the crumbled sandstone

lip of the cliff,

could not feel my own ragged fragments

tearing away like a ship spar,

my soul has never found a place to rest.

The salt on the air was not visible

but I could taste it, sour in my stomach,

flavoured glass ripping insides out.

Maybe it wasn’t that, maybe it was the

words I heard

and the ones I could not say,

a flood slammed against a dam wall,

until I had to scream them as it broke.

A vicious uproar,

the tide scared away any that would listen.

There was a desperation to the flow

and desperation stinks.

The good thing is

once the rush has subsided

and all the sticks

have settled again, there won’t be another flood for a long time,

no more risk of being cut

or broken,

at least until a new version of you

is sucked into an atmosphere

full of stormy tendencies

and unforgiving conclusions.

But if you survive the first time,

you will always stay alive.

They Come In Threes

The most disturbing thing I’ve heard

was a man saying,

when describing a woman hit by a train;

“she popped, it was hectic.”

 

I churned like the harbour

from the pain

in my ankle,

knowing she didn’t want me,

and from the shock

of living in a world

such as this,

where that man exists.

 

“There was nothing left of her.”

These words in my head

from someone I now wished was dead.

I turned around

and saw the brightest of smiles

from a baby,

in the bed of his father’s arm.

If time didn’t then stand still,

it never will.

 

 

I Am Termites, I Am Wood

There is no sleeping now.

There is a thing

called a self-destructor.

I am one.

I am a big one.

I will spend all night

in the sand,

looking at my hands.

Thinking

I should have put them

on my mouth

before my voice

sent things

heading south.

Freud

and death-drives,

have they chased me

my entire life?

I want…

I want…

I want…

but I stop myself

and I kill my health.

And I don’t want wealth.

I wish I was kelp.

I could drift,

I could drink,

I would not sink.

Self-sabotage

is my skill.

It stands large.

If you tell me to fold,

I will.

I know

where peace is,

peace just doesn’t want

any of my business.

 

I am sorry for me.

I am sorry to you.

 

Off

I will never be the control

in this experiment.

I will be the reaction

but never meet the creator.

It will fail.

My face cannot say who I am.

It will never show

what I know

to be true.

If it did it wouldn’t fit right.

 

One small crack on the veneer of the

eggshell that I am

can send me spiraling

down.

I don’t tell anyone.

I try to see the method

that others use.

It’s a different language

and I can’t count on

them.

 

More dependent than I could ever admit,

I pretend my own roots are enough

to stand through surrounding decay

and it’s always maybe,

maybe they are

but maybe I need you today.

 

It’s not to say

I don’t want to be part of the process

but I can’t participate

when I’d rather notate

all the invisible parts of me

slide off the rails.

It’s not about process,

it’s about function

and I can work,

if you help.

Mettle

He often wondered

what destruction was really like.

A car crash,

a bomb blast,

a predators fight.

 

Sometimes he wanted to be inside

chaos

just to see if he would survive.

And if he didn’t,

at least in his final moments

he would see he was alive.

 

One day I will cross the street without looking

and if I die

then I will know it was time.

Split

My thoughtful inattention

comes off as disconnection

I know.

It seems like I’m not listening

when it’s only that I’m contemplating.

I’m thinking about what you said

two minutes ago.

Or I look in your eyes

and swear I see

landscapes moving there.

They’re beautiful places, of course I’d like to go there.

And I know,

well I’ve always been told,

that it’s rude to stare.

 

So I retreat

and start thinking about

the way people speak.

Close proximity

can make some meek

while over distance

they become bold.

Technology grows kids too old,

they say and hear things they are not ready for,

and adults forget consequences

or choose to ignore.

They turn confident,

sometimes cruel,

sometimes thinking they’re cool.

Often it’s too hard

to work out what is truth

and what is meaningless.

These are the things that make me stress.

 

Then I’m back,

asking what you said,

chastising me

in my head.

Take this with you from now on;

every moment can be learned from.