Okay. There’s a lot going on right now – the eclipse of changes coming to an end, I can’t be fucking bothered with. I don’t know where to start. In fact, I’m not going to because it’s putrid unavailing. Really. One moment, I feel like an overgrown, terrorized, pleasing child and the next day. Well, the next day, I feel sixty years ahead plummeting into a bottomless well, one- leg-shackled, just to keep the humor for someone to pull me up and let me feel all in reverse. I don’t like my face in the mirror, no matter how many times a day I convince myself to look at it. I can’t get hold of my shit together. I’m somewhere between the verge of tears and a bravado entrepreneur wanting to travel to places. I want to binge and purge, binge drink and binge watch. But, I can’t be bothered with. I feel like my body parts are mixed up, like they don’t belong where they’re supposed to; out of place, out of magnitude, size and everything. Not right. Not physical. Not spiritual. I’m an enigma of thoughtless reverie, arbitrary emotions and nothingness. A water puddle that disappears when the season is over, disturbing tranquility precedes. Tranquility is good, not the calm before the storm.
Some nights, I want to crawl up my bedroom wall just to see if I have spider DNA or the ghost living in my room would hold me close enough to fill me with warmth. You don’t believe me? I feel it all over my skin, things fall from here and there and you hear sorts of sound like water running, footsteps, screeching, moving furniture and sometimes a nice singing voice. It’s got to be a beautiful man or woman. I don’t know where I’m getting at, honestly. Pardon my absence of normality. I’m never ordinary. I’m torrential.
Let me make it simpler.
[Play this right now before you start reading the poem, one of my fav pieces from Golden Time]
In camouflage, crafty chameleon
Self-induced retrospection gauge
The water kindles a ghost who lives by my feel
Who sings, runs to avert my attention
My bedroom wall, I want to crawl
Out of ordinary, inhibit bravado
Extraordinary malfunction, I harbor
I want to be beautiful
I want to ride the plummet
Down the bottomless well
Enigma of thoughtless reverie, eliminated
Tell me I’m alright
That binge and purge should only mean so much
Tears don’t wipe your body parts
Back to its position
Spirituality lies in the physical shadows
When you trace your hand across your stomach
And the mirror looks at you saddened
This emotion, this contenance you see
Is witness you’re alive
That you’re all torn and ashes
But you’re alive
When you paint them with color
They become art, master pieces
What revolting disturbances you have
I love you so much, I do
How can I not love me?
I should, I should.
Ashamed, I affirmed
Who loves me, a torrent?
[Close your eyes for a few moments and feel the music. I play this when I’m down, it helps you cry as the song’s all about longing to love someone, aching to keep them by your side]
Look what I did there, I did poetry. It’s so much easier and shorter to tell. It can have endless meanings yet it means one to me. Something to you. I play with words, like I own them, It’s amazing to write poetry. I want to write so much that I don’t write at all.
This isn’t the best of my work, but this is what poetry means to me, I can talk about my feelings without talking about them.
I can write letters and they’ll still guess who it addresses.
It’s magical, isn’t it? You know, if you write poetry, you definitely feel the same.