Poetic explorations of inner self experiences from online social life
My weaknesses, my demons
lazzines and procrastination.
My vice, comfort and ease
It seems a monumental undertaking
To gather enough energy
To break the stasis
A bubbling desire, a sensed greatness
Shackled down by fear and uncertainty
What a demon to fight?
When it offers comfort as an alternative.
Frustrated by life
Frustrated by me
Frustrated by you
Don’t know where it all began
But I don’t want to it end like this.
It’s been so long,
I doubt I’ll recognize my heart
North, South, East or West?
Up or down?
The doubt holds me down.
Holds me in frustration.
How long can you wait? Before making a decision you always knew you should take, but waited in inaction for things to change.
How many years will go by? Living and disliking your life, ashamed and guilty.
How much punishment can you take? Or will you wait for it to break you? Force you to life-preserving action? Hoping your instinct will kick in, and raise you from your numb slumber?
What if it never breaks? What if you find ways to cope with the pain? Perhaps your flexible or tolerant? Confused or insecure? But what if you find a way to live with yourself this way? Prone to sporadic destructive binges, your insides squirming to break this reality in random bursts.
What if you “keeping it in” or “together” for so long, the subterfuge becomes more familiar to you than your original self? what now feels strange and foreign? What if all you remember is “keeping it in” and now “it” is a vague notion you no longer understand?
What if you’ve been doing it for so long, that it has deep and resistant roots?
You can’t teach an old dog new tricks?
It certainly feels this way at times.
As I splash water on my face and look in the mirror, I realize I have never been the man anyone wanted me to be.
Not exactly, and not entirely.
As far as expectations go, any expectations people had of me, or that I had for myself, always felt like boxes. Boxes that don’t exactly fit. Like made for someone else. I almost feel pulled by the idea of no expectations…no plans. instead of aiming, flowing. Letting go.
A big part of me hesitates, gets scared even. Surrendering like this feels like jumping into darkness, as I have no idea how that looks like and what will happen. How can I let something unknown to me, dictate how I live? I dare not step away from the edge…I won’t go back to living like that.
But I find myself hesitating….perpetuating a state of anxiety….of indecisión…of not being. In the agony of becoming.
In this state of becoming, my vices pull against my virtues. My vices are loud with the illusion of certainty. My virtues plagued by self-doubt, pull back uneasily, not sure where to go…stumbling even…but certain that the vice’s lure is a fake and dangerous one.
I am begun, but not yet finished.
The face in the mirror seems lost. The man in the mirror is vulnerable.
His insides sense danger in weakness. He washes his face and pretends to shrug it off.
Not without consequences
Not without letting people down
Not without loosing confidence
Not without loosing self worth
Not true! You might think..
But what do you expect from men?
If he’s expected to lead, he can’t appear weak
If he’s expected to solve problems
He can’t appear confused
If he’s expected to be the rock you lean on
He can’t appear to be soft.
If he’s expected to provide,
He can’t pursue his heart’s desires as freely.
I want you to think im cool
I want you to admire me
Im afraid you can see through me
And find out that im not
And find out you actually hate me
What is it that will change your mind?
I dont know, but if i feel this fear,
There must be something there.
There is a danger lurking underneath
That will show me to be fraud.
I must do better, maybe then I wont be afraid.
The further i look, the deeper it is.
The more nebulous it becomes,
The riskier it feels.
I’ll coil around myself like a rattle snake
And hiss to be left alone.
If i’m alone, maybe i wont have to deal with this fear.
Like a puzzle piece that looks like the rest
Trying to find its place
Only to find its edges dont line up exactly.
Finding no match, but seeing something close to it,
It forces it’s place in the tapestry
Either forming a gaping hole in the image
Or snapping back out because of the tension.
How many times must it snap back,
For us to realize its destiny might be a diferent one from the others.
Maybe, just maybe, this piece can be it’s own image.
Waste is a by product of the sacrifice life requires.
Like ashes from a fire, corpses in the aftermath of your warmth.
It has great potential to haunt us, if we don’t treat this sacrifice with the respect it deserves.
Life requires death, that is the payment, and it should be honored.
There’s a reckless energy in my chest, somewhere in the fog there’s something trying to tell me not to listen to it but I can feel it’s frustration, it needs an outlet.
You close your eyes and hope it doesn’t cause harm…..it might. The guilt though, somehow just makes it a one a way trip, a pedal to the floor kinda thing, now only the distance matters for the crash is a sure thing.
My calm and patient demeanor
betrays the chaos that swirls beneath the skin in my chest
and the foggy confusion in my head.
I’m at odds in so many ways with this world
That’s is hard sometimes to have a sense of direction
A deep frustration as I try to cling to something in this whirlwind
Only to grasp half truths and lies.
It goes deep in my chest tossing and turning
How can anyone be so sure of anything in this life?
Beyond the most obvious of things.
They are not. They lie to themselves,
Something to feels convenient and comforting
Something to try and make sense of the chaos.
A lie in the end.
A lie for the gullible.
Closet Social Online