Disclaimer: the following post is ridiculously personal. I know I haven’t made these lame disclaimers in a while, but just in case any of you feel confused about the tone, it is because my mind gears can get stuck in some function sometimes, a computing error, so it blurts out nonsense. Just as with most of my other personal posts they are usually for me to reread after a certain problem has passed (with the will of God), anyways thank you for sticking around. And sorry that these posts make no sense, I’ll hopefully be putting up better content soon.
It has been 19 days. It feels like 19 months. Nineteen. Perhaps a few years.
We are entering the third week of incarceration — mental psychical flatulent prison.
Let us pretend to be wrecked, injured from spewing debris.
Let us force some muscles to curve and laugh with the kids until he returns.
Let us inhale then exhale and not choke in between,
Nothing is broken
Perhaps except for her — but she’s always been away
Love is no entity requiring observable forms of emotive behavior,
I suppose that necessitates a grinding pain of infatuated idealism that is as feeble as the last gazelle in the herd
Targeted as sure prey
I know little of the sense that is to arrive from my words, perhaps they are not mine for right now
I understand writers embody a certain prestige, an air that usually reads ascetic on paper
And hedonistic in practice
Truth is not from the mind that already seeks — that one has already launched
I am created and will return soon
I am passing through, not staying anywhere here so comfort feels terrifying
Repose is not for now — why can’t you understand?!
Keep your body here now let your mind travel to a start — the one that slowly placed you here
You’ve lost a good chunk of expression, but who cares about this language anyway
Learn and learn and learn then die
Return and return and return alright
He will come back to you. He. Will. Return.
Ah, patience if you can hear me,
I pray for your warmth.
And I pray for your serenity
I wonder if there is such a thing as a liar who knows not whom they are
Perhaps it feels easier to loosen a commitment to some scar, the wind filling it with grit — coating it in a timed dust that I let pass through
I have always had the choice to know how to live, I have always been driven by some motive to exist — but never like this what a blessing!
I remember so clearly being honest with myself
As a child with frilly hands, a shaking pen and the mind of a goldfish – where’s my next meal? My next round transparent bowl of water? Maybe today I can nibble instead of bite and tomorrow I can crunch and not wiggle —
Faulty purposes like weighted sacks of curse words and fables (cloooouds)
I asked myself where I wanted to be and I couldn’t decide
I laugh now because it is that I could not comprehend. That question was not cogent, it didn’t filter properly I suppose
I don’t know what other question I could have asked this eleven or twelve year old nobody
Perhaps, “what do you want to be when you grow up?” Ugh
Impure puerile games. No game played right
I didn’t want yesterday or tomorrow, but I was sure I didn’t want it to all end. What was it? It? It.
It was a swirl of confounded idiocy unguided — just thrown there, written in some splotchy ink on yellow paper, unreadable from the age
Probably from the structure
God has blessed me with this peace. I have been blessed with a tranquil motive to proceed with the certainty it won’t be for long
“For today is work and no grade, and tomorrow is grade and no work.” It doesn’t read as poetically in this language.
Ugh, this was never enough — how did I ever grasp such an undermined infatuation?
الحمد الله الحمد الله الحمد الله. اللهم إني أسألك الفردوس الأعلى. رب أفرع علي صبرا جميلة — رب ورده إلينا قريبا انك انت الرزاق الكريم
Feature photo is my photography