Brown walking angel
Your hairs are your wings
You stumble yet always arrive
Around my shoulders
You’re wrapped
In my heart you thrive
I like to capture
You in my hands like fireflies
Glowing while fluttering
I’ll never reveal your disguise
Our tiny secret
Like our kisses
Under velvet night skies
Sparkling with hope
Bourbon glistening angel
With your wings draped and dark
You came down from heaven
Yet you shine like above the stars
hope
Be cliché because be yourself!
She wants to experience all the lives of all the others. She joins in on their hysterical crazes and tries to blend her mind with their outrageous ideas. She does the research to make sure she understands them and can keep up. She sometimes dives in too deep, and what for others was casual leisure, becomes now an obsession for her. That’s when she moves on to another group. One where she can fit more of herself in, one where she feels more parts of her reflected and understood.
I wish someone would tell her, it’s not necessary at all, what you are doing. You don’t have to conform to be able to be liked. You don’t have to try so hard to be still so unheard. You don’t have to sell your soul to open up your heart. You don’t have to be liked to be loved by people who matter. And what would you rather be, liked or loved? Disposable or invaluable?
The most important thing is to be aware of yourself and what you have to offer them. Don’t downplay yourself, be real and be honest. What do you see reflected in people’s faces when you’re with them? What compliments do they give that you got so accustomed to nonchalantly brush off? What do you like most about others? Chances are, that’s what you like most about yourself, only you have trouble seeing it in yourself, so you seek the reflection of it in others.
Go and experience your own life. Explore your own desires and weave your own dreams. Follow them, or write about them, paint them or just tell them to others. Inspire and have hope. Always have hope. Love and despair from time to time, but not all the time (no, not even love). Create and let loose. Suffocate yourself in breathing new things and drown yourself by swimming new depths. Be proud, be silly, be passionate, be noisy and obnoxious, be humble and forgiving. Be thankful and be aware. Be cliché because be yourself!
Stop looking.
He kept showing my only each and all of the reasons why I broke up with him in the first place. Every time we’d interact, he’d whip out another classic example of his asshole self, his selfish behaviors, his grave lack of responsibility, his inability to care, try, reflect or understand, his stubborn stuck up spoiled blown up ego and pride that he continued to hide behind.
So I had to stop looking. I had to look away and stop feeding the person that I hated he’d become with my attention and frustration. I realized only now that this person he was becoming, thrived on my anxiety and my attempts to bring out the best of him gave him fuel to desperately keep holding on control over himself.
My obsessiveness, I shall admit, must’ve enabled him to retreat from willingness to arrogance.
Yet he truly was convinced he was evolving as a person. But growth and evolution are a one way direction. You can’t grow into a littler man. He was becoming less of himself by trying to be free, while he already was.
Still, his life so his choice, his prerogative. But I wasn’t willing to stand idly by and let that happen to the man I love. I tried my everything to make him see and realize what he was doing and what he was letting happen, but there is only so much one person can do for another until it crosses outside of your jurisdiction. It wasn’t up to me.
So I’m not looking anymore. I’m walking away. My hands clean. My conscience clear. My heart emptied of dead weight. My soul cleansed from all the hurt and sorrow. No more of his drama in my tomorrow.
Although I might’ve been the cause and reason of all of this. I arrived in his life, shook it up and down, put pressure and pushed him, had extensive needs and expectations. It doesn’t matter to me anymore. Whether I did this, or he. I don’t want it anymore. It’s holding me back from being myself, from my own journey, my growth, my evolution, my becoming of my self.
I will have to learn to fabricate a future for myself that doesn’t include him. Give up all my plans and dreams. Start all over, again.
Point the direction of my hope on myself again. Put my thoughts and feelings on a path surrounding myself. Pray for my own happy ending. By myself. Alone, as I’ve always been. With whomever I was.
Love is a gamble. Always.
I feel like a tirelessly exhausted gambling addict.
Every time I lose, the stakes get raised and I always go all in. I don’t ease into it, I don’t wait or ponder whether I have the right cards. I don’t seem to worry about the outcome, I apparently have nothing to lose. Every time again, I believe this time my luck will have turned to face me in my favor. Every time I have my hopes set on the power of faith to work its magic for me just once more. Every time I get burned, broken and beat down. I cry, self destruct, mourn my failure, grief my own downfall. Then I gather my loose pieces and my losses together and reach deep into the infinite bottomless pocket of love cash that is my heart. Only to play again, only one more time. Always.
Maybe somewhere in the back of my mind I know that the house always wins and we’re all being scammed for the mere disillusionment that we could have it all and gain even more if we just play it right, if we just get in touch with that one stroke of luck. Maybe one day I’ll learn to walk away as soon as my winning streak is over. But instead I still sit here, betting more of myself than I actually have to give, just riding along on the hope, the wish, the dream, the faith that soon my luck will return. Or love.
The Oceans That I Drown Myself In
I’m filled with tears
That I cannot cry
Despite the oceans
That I drown myself in
Of fear and sadness
That I already shed
I feel more powerful
In my powerlessness
Than I feel in power
I feel more hopeful
In my hopelessness
Than I feel in hope
I’m full of frustration
That I cannot scream
Forsaken the will
That I had to try
Over my voice
That I lost in vain
I feel less strong
In my strength
Than I feel in my stride
I feel less proud
In my perseverance
Than I feel in my pride
Fire.
In the tired tears of solitude and abandonment, I find the grounds that will take me further. They will move underneath my feet, they will carry me like I’m weightless. They will be nurtured by grains of strengthless hope, prideless faith and vainless patience.
The deeper the hole I dig in this nothingness, the larger the pile of dust I collect. All just matter to build a path from, all leading to a way out. The black hole beneath, above and around me gets sucked into oblivion by the fire inside my heart.
Infinite and pure, unmoved and self reliant. It fuels from its own ashes, it breathes its own heat. It burns water to steam, it lights air up to flames, it cracks any rock into sand. Every attempt to extinguish, it diminishes within a heartbeat.
It will be my leading light out of this darkness, it will be the furnace I prepare my food on, it will be the blanket I keep warm under, it will be my weapon against any harm.
I’ll reach the sun, going from cloud to cloud, from sitting by the moon, staring in amazement, blessed by its magical shine and warmth. I will return this fire to its nature and origin, and become a moon myself.
Forever surrounded by and surrounding myself with, the light, love and life that is within this eternal fire. Always in awe of what I once held in my heart to then enjoy from a safe and respectful length of peace.
.Love/Hate.
The most common mistake people tend to make, is assuming that the opposite of love is hate. That you either love or hate someone, while actually, both notions exist simultaneously, in the same space, at the same time.
When you don’t have love in your life, you don’t necessarily have hate instead. What you do have, when you don’t have love…is silence, solitude and fear.
Fear of being left out, fear of living or dying alone, fear of not being remembered or seen or heard. No one to talk to, nobody to rely on, no sheltering arms around you, no shoulder to cry on, no special person to share all that you value. Silence in your soul and emptiness in your heart.
From this silence, solitude and fear…this lack of love, we actually have a choice we can make. We choose..
either hate; including hurt, anger and sadness, following each other up like chackles in a chain, on a downward spiral of negativity, of hating everything and everyone, especially ourselves..
or love; opening doors to hope, faith and happiness, equally following each other up like steps to a stairs, up to whatever we aspire to reach or become, believing in the good of life and being receptive for all the positivity of luck..
Two seperate paths with many intersections..
Love or Hate. It’s upto you.
Only Hope.
So many losses
Remembering the hurt
I don’t know how to recognize myself
Memories covered up in dirt
I have no feeling left
It all fell apart
My soul is drowning in this deep liquid
Bleeding out my heart
I peel of my skin like a furr coat
There is more emptiness underneath
Every layer is all the same
It never comes together in any sense
No reason, no purpose
No goal and no mercy
Unresponsive to relativity
Intolerant to patience
Rebellious towards gravity
Ignorant yet persuasive
It’s like a never ending story
But in lack of beginning
Now that I’m in it
I can not get out
It revolves around me
Like a bubble of soap
Incomprehensive water
Collecting and kept in captivity
Disobediant but servile
Destructing freedom for felicity
There is no safety
Only hope.
The Second Heart
I want to write till dawn falls
Until I don’t remember anything
About now or ever or whatever that is to come
I know there are no memories available
Of a future that is mine to make
But the past that is mine to keep
Promises only worse to follow
I rather not know any thing no more
I rather not breathe another ounce of oxygen
I rather just sleep to never wake once more
I rather just die tonight cause living for tomorrow is a waste
Tomorrow won’t be any better than before
Like none of the tomorrows ever been
They’re always just the same
A little worse if I’m lucky
Maybe something awful to happen, if I try hard
Never better
Never brighte
People hope and believe and pray
For anything, for all that will never come
It’s all just such a waste of effort
Life is a waste of time
Not worth the time wasted though
In the end you die and be forgotten
Why start and make something of it to begin with
It all ends the same
Everything you try
Goes the same way eventually
Follows the same path
Maybe that is destiny
That things in YOUR life, always go the way YOUR life is supposed to go
Fucked up in my case
Still I stay this messed up believer
Believing in better things to come
Believing in hope to bring relief
Believing in love to ever ease my heart
…But the way this heart’s been broken
It’s impossible to heal…
No one should feel obliged to even try
Let’s just say you do feel that way
Let’s just consider a situation where someone comes along
That wants to make me happy and alive
Someone who is convinced he wants to love me and fill me with all the joy and love in the world
…He will find out soon enough
That it simply takes too much…
Too much time, too much effort, too much attention, too much understanding, too much care, too much commitment, too much endless interest, too much patience, too much love, too much light, too much happiness, too much of everything that has ever been considered to belong to the category of ‘good’
You see, I have this enormous black hole, in the place where average people carry their heart.
I know, the heart is nothing but a muscle, which grows more strong and fit, if you train it.
But we’re all human right ?
Human’s have everything in pairs:
Two eyes
Two nostrels
Two ears
Two lips
Two cheeks
Two hands
Two arms
Two lungs
Two legs
Two feet
Two nipples
Two buttcheeks
Two pieces of reproductions devices (men: testicles, women: overies)
Two brainhalfs
So how come we only have one (physical) heart ?
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not getting all psych right now.. and I know that ‘matters of the heart’ ..it’s just a metaphore because emotion doesn’t actually occur in the heart. We may feel it in our thorax area, some only feel it in their abdomen. In reality it’s just electricity in the nerve system.
But we call it the heart, for some reason right ?
Let’s just pretend for a second, that we actually have two hearts…
One physical, pumping around our blood, supplying our body with what it needs to stay vital, keeping us alive.
And one heart, on a whole other level. Not mental or emotional even. I don’t even care to call it metafysical, because that has a philosopical nasty ring to it. No, I mean something waaay beyond that.
A second heart, I think we all have another heart, on a level of love. Love being then this universal source. A source, not just supernatural, but outernatural. Like a god almost. But nothing like a god at the same time. Because I’m not talking about a person or a creature or anything that has form or shape or extension. I’m talking about something way more elusive and lucid. Something way more abstract and intangible. Something not even divine or superb, but everything more than that. Something so unimaginable, yet so desirable. Something so exciting, yet so nerve rackingly calming. Something so fulfilling, you get confused because as a human being you just don’t understand why you’re not seeking for fulfilment anylonger. Something so overwhelming, it covers and controls every governing system you ever had or created in order to keep yourself together. Yet it has you falling apart. Because as a human being, you’re not built to handle this.
Self-sabotage, self-inflicted injury, self-mutilation even.
At least, that is the typical way of dealing with these things or situations, for me. Would’nt know how to any other way. Maybe that’s my ultimale goal, maybe I have a goal in life after all.
Learning, or teaching myself.. to deal, cope or handle with.. life (?) and all that comes with it? Which should be nothing but love. But who wants to live in Utopia?
What’s the good worth, without the bad ?
Could we distinguish the colors of light if there was no darkness for it to step out off ?
Could we recognise sound if there was never silence ?
I think we would though. I think every living person has a certain sense of what’s good and great and perfect and beautiful and precious and lovely even if we’ve never had any sensory experience of it, as a sort of ‘a priori’ invested knowledge implanted in our souls to begin our lifes with.
Why do I think that? What has me so convinced?
How come we know the concept of ‘peace’ while the world is in war every day ever since human race can begin to remember it’s own name ?
How come even the most morbid souls know at least some clinical description of the meaning of love ?
How come we manage to conceptualize the meaning of an ‘utopia’ when there is no perfection ever realized in this world ?
How could there every exist such knowledge (or ‘faith’, for the pessimists and sceptists among us) if there wasn’t just the slightest fraction of useful information to support any of such conceptual ideas..?
Even the most extravagant, extraordinary, extreme and irrealistic fantasy or dream, is only constructed with the tools of our sensory perception. If we dream, we dream in shapes and colors, which we know… from within, from before.
We dream about what we know, they say. A random cocktail of deep hidden beliefs and fears and hopes or desires even, mixed together into a story, or even just a documentary of flashing images that make no sense but agressively pound their footsteps in our mental image anyhow.
But I bet baby’s dream too.. Maybe they don’t remember their dreams, they’re probably not fit to reproduce a sensible story out of them afterwards at any time of their lifes…
But I’m sure baby’s dream. And I don’t just refer to baby’s, at this point. I’m actually talking about fetuses. Baby’s that still live in the womb of an pregnant woman, full of big expectations, so to speak. I don’t really know if there has been any research regarding this specific question (and if not, I really think there should be, by now), but I think that any human being, when developed a full use of the brain capacity, it would be able to dream, right?
I mean, an unborn baby can hear it’s surroundings. The impressions it gains while being breed, are supposed to be carried along with the child among its life. So I bet there is a mental space, in that tiny brain, that has already (or at least practices perhaps) some premature mental equivalent of processing those (probably mostly auditive) impressions, into dreams..
So let’s just assume that is true. Unborn infants experience dreams too.. Then what do they really dream about? Their eyes are still closed, they don’t have any visuals. They just have sounds. Some basic emotions maybe? It’s true that dreams don’t always occur in a visual content. Sometimes we just dream a feeling, a sensation. If they are ugly and fearful, we call them night terrors. (not nightmares.. nightmares are just bad dreams). Night terrors.. we all have them, you dream something so awful, you won’t even know how to remember what it looked like. Like post-traumatic stress syndrome after a traumatic event. You know it happened, you know EVERY detail about it!! …only not in words, or images, even the most creative examples or most vivid metaphors don’t begin to allow to explain exactly HOW it felt or WHAT it was like.
But those can only exist if a person has at least the slightest amount of misery in experience available. Presuming an unborn baby has no such thing, I allow myself to assume that unborn baby’s have dreams, not night terrors.
Coming back to where I started with, how is it that we know about things that not really exist? Such as peace and perfection. And what do unborn baby’s dream about, if they have no visual content whatsoever to construct a dream in display?
There must be, in my imagination at least, a place where these things develop and occur. A place beyond physicalities, broken free of scientific borders. I believe it is the second heart.
A nature of every human, that resides among them, further and deeper than the senses could ever explain. A second heart, where love lives and rules and flows freely, and willingly. Yet trapped like a secret potion in a vessel. The vessel of eternal youth, perhaps…
.daydreams & nightmares.
Eyes filled with rays of sunlight
I dream away about illusions of love
The promise of nomore violent fights
Impossible to get in reach of
Believing makes the mind grow
To immeasurable proportions
What you see, and want, and know
Can cause for internal distortion
The thing I’m searching for
Unwillingly but still sure
Does not exist
Like the care, I thought to share
Or see in your eyes before
It’s an unclear mist
That covers the senses
Like living in daydreams
When the mind comprehenses
That nothing is what it seems
But the heart has hope
And is easy to influence
No matter how thin the rope
Love lets you hang on your essence
Making you believe you can cope
Pushing you out of balance
And when you fall
You never hit ground
You never recall
Why you were up there at all
And in every thing you do
You get flushed by flashbacks
Of a past full of scratches and cracks
Yet never the less
You never surpress
Any of those nightmares
They control your ego
The reason for all your cares
Your worries so lethal
I never believed in love
Until i fell for its lies
Together with all the above
Plus some heartpain and cries
Nights when sleeping is irrelevant
Begin and end with these
Daydreams and nightmares so innocent
But they slaughter every piece
Of ignorance
And inner peace
Truth Beyond Mystery 