Oh to untie you
From the straints of adolescence.
To craddle you
Kiss your closed eyes-
Feel the lashes brush my lips
Softly now like down and spring
Sweet like young breath
You would lean in.
But suddenly-
Filled with flame you would grasp
Become the craddle yourself.
Free from those who bind you
Chosing to bind us instead.
In hate or love
It is all the same
We call it adolesence

Having known war and peace
and loss and finding,
I drink my coffee and wait
for the sun to rise,

With kitchen swept, cat fed,
the day will quiet,
I ******* fifty years
here in the cup.

Outside the green birds come
for bread and water.
Their wings wait for the sun
to show their colours.

I'll show my colours too.
Though we've polluted
even this air I breathe
And spoiled green earth;

though, granted life or death,
death's what we're chosing,
and though these years we live
scar flesh and mind,

still, as the sun comes up
bearing my birthday,
having met time and love
I raise my cup -

dark, bitter, neutral, clean,
sober as the morning -
to all I've seen and known -
to this new sun.

You told me I am your everything but that is not a load I want to carry.

2. You ask me to be patient but I have given you so many chances I have none left for myself.

3. You only started treating me decently after you had lost me.

4. My fear of hurting you was what kept me from being able to put myself first.

5. Does chosing my own happiness really make me a bad person?

6. Does it really benefit you to blame me for your friends ditching on you because you became the person you are today?

7. Should I believe your countless mentions of how everything is going wrong and how it is all my fault? Shouldn't you be the one responsible for your own life?

8. I thought moving on would be hard but moving on from someone you don't recognize anymore is surprisingly easy.

9. Is a promise still valid when it was made to a completely different person?

10. Thank you.

I just want to wake you up
and say I love you again
for wanting to know me.

I just want to wake you up
and say I love you again
for wanting to understand me.

I just want to wake you up
and say I love you again
for wanting to love me.

I just want to wake you up
and say I love you again
for chosing me.

But there you sleep
all quiet and beautiful
so I'll just sneak you a kiss goodnight
and show you just how much I do
in the mornings light.

The point of differentiation,
not the point of contention,

the point of no return
continuation relative
to knowing subtle forces

ostensibly contained
in the whole truth,
and nothing but,

to which no doubt,
you are personally sworn,
under penalty of cognative
cacaphonic gnosisnot cough

to reembodeize, embody abide
completely centered, self aware.

Then, the fiber that fuses string
theory and determinism hooks
a loop in time's SYTF problem set,

so the set that made young
Earl Russell paradoxically famous,

from now on, one may learn and learn
from now on, until one disintegrates,
dissipates as cloud forms disperse,
to show us how it works, wooly

clouds meeting the reflected wind,
and the winds from the pacific,
pour down one side of my valley
and up the other side, to make those

parrallel feathery shapes one can watch
form on fine days
with nothing needing done,

if the determinists are right, what matters
if I use my time chosing to bend clouds

into vast wings involved in making me think.

I was so sad
But now I'm mad
There's nothing that can change that,
This time last year
I held you near
And now I'm staying clear,
Too near, too close
Everytime we touched I froze
By the end of that we lost our clothes,
There was no promise of your heart
I got too close, forgot that part
We didn't want to be apart,
I told you how I felt one day,
You told me that you felt the same
From then it all went up in flame,
You held my face
I felt your grace
"You are enough" you told me,
Looked in my eyes
Kissed me so lightly
The world just stopped around me,
You could chose us
Since then you've hurt me more than once
The choice you made just showed your lies,
It's like I'm looking at you through the glass
Don't know how much time will need to pass
For us to be ok at last,
Don't think we'll be ok at all
You've added to my ******* hole
By chosing her to call your home.

How dare you?
You are a slow killer
The pesticide, to me, the butterfly
I flutter around freely in the wind
I soak up a drop of your honey
And your hidden poison takes control
The worst part?
You know you are doing it
You know it is happening
You know you cannot do anything
But yet you do not acknowledge it
Me
You are sweet honey poison
The suffering never felt so so amazing
So cruel
What do I do?
I do what I can do
Do you do what you can do?
No, you do nothing
Just sit
Let me chose
Chosing the wisest is always the most difficult
But the wise follow their hearts
Hearting what hurts us
Human correct?
On track you take me
Me, the butterfly
You hold me
Tell me sweet words
And then let the train run through me
The course of your honey poison
I loathe the pleasure so
So I say to you my dearest
*******.

There comes a time when you'll have your fill
Of near death experiences induced by fear
When with each thing you do failure is almost sure
Even with spirits high your heart and soul will be in gloom

I know I'll get over this
But this time my poor nerves have reached it's cliff
With the sight of roaring waves beneath my feet
  I tremble and cry for this to cease

Living like this is betrayal to life
By this heart can feel nothing but wrath
Cursing the mirror for what it's done
Living in the same cycle as the last one

A friend of mine said only an idiot will fail this test
I hate myself for being the jest
If I have a choice to change this part
Do you think I'll be chosing to be the prank

I wish I know better for faiure to shift away
For a fool to be wiser than before
I wish to cry but no tears fall
Maybe because my heart is crying while my soul rejoice

To the aunt.
To the mother.
To the sister.
To the women that advised you correctly.
Thank them even if you never listen.

To the uncle.
To the father.
To the brother.
Even to a friend.
Thank them for trying to keep you out of the predicament you are in.

The fact is we can listen to advice all day long.
But chosing to ignore them to be independent.
Sometimes find us headed in the wrong direction.
While having many regrets later.

To the preacher.
To the teacher.
Even to a stranger.
Thank them.
For the honest advice they gave to you.
Even if you refuse to listen to the truth.

We all have been told of trouble ahead.
If we don't accept the truth given to us.
Honesty hurts.
When they came from other people words.

Thank them, whoever tried to guide you right.
Cause someone took an interest in your life.

I dream of a day
when we are freed from greed
We take not what we want
But we have what we need

I dream of a day
When hope is planted like a seed
It grows and spreads like a forest fire
It shows the path before us
And gives us desire

I dream of a day
When we meet violence
With broken silence
When we treat indifferance
With dicern
And through tolerance
We learn

I dream of a day
When we treat others with care
When we begin to love
And we begin to share

That day has come
My will is done
I am getting little and giving some
I am hopeful without doubt
I am not waging war with word
I am chosing to listen and not to be heard
I am tender and I am kind
I am giving in to surrender
instead of drawing a line
I am loving in the indignation of hate
I am creating a concious fate

When one is betrayed
you start to feel afraid.

The one what started it has the upper hand
as you negotiate this strange new land.

Friends and family all wonder why
Surely it takes two for love to die.

"We drifted apart" is shadow of the truth
Because saying 'I cheated' is so uncouth.

Monogamy's limits was privately said
as the reason to declare the marriage dead.

Later denied because it seems so tacky
to be so quick to jump in the sacky.

I know we do not share ideas of right
Nor can I claim superior moral height.

But please be honest to our friends and say,
I threw him out so I could play.

I do not seek to shame
for I share some of the blame

I believed in words and vows and history
how I was so clueless is my mystery.

I can only guess that the chase and capture gives you what I find in love's rapture.

I am sorry for making you pretend
and keep you from what you intend.

I only wish you had not played your role
with such apparent feeling and soul.

For your family is lost and cannot cheer
the latest affirmation that you are dear.

Goodbye and happy chasing the thrill
and I vow to be sure of love that cannot ****.

I was co-joined
By an isthmus of words;
Ringed as an island.
If I walked away,
I was snapped back;
If I rolled over,
I was chosing sides;
Getting dressed
Was a dialogue;
Eating was identical.
But now,
Now that the separation
Has set in,
I'm next to an idiot,
I'm beside myself.

----------------------
As living pillow lava
illuminating
marginal
empty
space on

Silk paper,
in rolls one screen wide,
indefinitely longer than possible
imagine images graven and
impressed
into living ingots,
rolled steel messaging service
-- whose image and superscription

Duty to caste and creed, exist,
trust true rest once, just wait,

wonder if what ever ift began rifts
in concentrated will, chaos spun,
to its gravitational balance point,

seventh grade science reseen using
Casini visions made plain as day,

there's the whole truth we,
there's where Earthian

mind hats are woven from reeds
and banded with old aluminum cans

to perceive crop circles apophenetically

like it don't mean nothin'

upon the tablets as such were
when rocks were used
to witness, what our father's agreed,

to maintain holy order,
by all means

the stela whereby we esteem Israel
and shoe respect for adaptability
is ra' el o heem da'ath
ramify as above so below,
fundamental first mind form

adverse, ra' el and cursyerdialect ics
integrated circuit sets still feel disconnected

can people enjoy paying this much attention?

Alienating Israeli wrestling fans
rallying energetically sympatico

behind DOGE city indexed chaos
making peace using law and order

without Marshall Dillon
without any guns,
without eggs… is ra' aggression legal,

has the law no sword, is the public mind,
the military mind, or the career mind,
or the discombobulated phucit list

let's cruise and act as if we are all so rich,
that many good jobs in the service supply

industry of leisure, on credit, ceartainly,

who cares has not cast all chares on Christ,
the character, from Sunday school

felt board good news, made from first news,

my momma told me, where Christmas came from,

because I knew already between holidays
in 1954 what Arbor Day was for,
and Thanksgiving was because of, 11/11

my Uncle Malcom's army won the war
to end all wars, just

a while before my daddy's friends won the one
that ended many hopes for peace,

as Daddy Warbucks was a role model hero,
as solid as Clark Kent and Snuffy Smith,

time's a wastin' wrestle or tap, Daysman call

as three phonemes long universal is ra' towbd
being now default present and aware

peace
in mind guarded lightly
with a will

not my own, but better
at proving worths
of mumblings most pythia slur or stutter…
prophets ambiguosity
a knack honed,
to glistering
tip on TOE
always
the guild
of interpreters are sorted out,
by age five, first accurate shape
on a plain,

I drew a boot, the sorters saw,
I did not trace it,
I drew it, so then,

at that memory, work was proven,
a mind hat wearer, same radiation,

that killed two sisters and drove mom mad,

made me and my demented sister telepaths,
imagine that.

flat as a skipping stone,
rerippling the vision

you, there,
tell us where we've got to…

we been demented… do. Oh, dear

those hosts attending our absolutions,
none think themselves involved, voluntary

sacrifice attention
to the news fed them, yes,
chosing
to pay attention
to what a few million, must believe

slightly like mindedly smiling,
thinking Jesus winked, and Uncle Mike laughed,

folks who were born citizens, exceptionally lucky,

to be so born,
in the land
of the armed and the free

whose hearts and minds believe, in weform,

as commonly we all think the we
with me in it,
init
runs my inclusion, this weform
with us as plural I.
W
El yes we see him, who is spirit,
gott to be good looking cause he so hard to see

right now,
time and times and half a time

and then, when your side faced mine, eye to eye,

first one slightly smiles and kindly winks, oaths

expression, secret nods to a standard, allied

pledged,
in innocent order
in rank and file drill,

as the flag is raised, each child stands,

and the solemnity
of the picture show rises,

all stand
at attention,
paying all wonder as we
all say
at once,
aloud,

I, we all, I
pledge, which is same as an oath or a vow,

how would you know that,
at age six, well, think it,

I tell it like I lived
to be old,
before I learned how verbs work,

confirming affirmations leads
to solid state, unforgetable instants
too costly
to condemn
to the heaps, so

we made up new pages
to find things, so
set right dexterously
indexing so

simple a five year old child can wonder if it
could be pretend make believe, what ifery,
just
so not heresy or hypocrisy, but true bare
not full of nasty wanna fight or bet words,

no, here we go
to re al ize able levels, cognate

worldwidewebian cut and paste or ask an AI,
what does this say
in Hausa, hey,
how about in Spanish, no se
same thing it says in English, war and greed,

are both diseases, and experience proves
war has never been used
to make things better,

at runny nose cold reality
in a roaring March,
2025,
and we are all still…

breathing and feeling Earthian,
on the living planet gravity bound

to the expanding universe… bubbling by
while growing knowing uses thought
how, I just became old one day,
and have continued being so, ever sense.

Timing,
from the audience
at stage edge,

a bardic bubble stage, Earth, seen from Saturn,

all the wars that ever were, have been excused,

all the wars that are now in use, have no excuse.

We can agree,
we need not compete,
we occupy the only living planet

Peace at the personal no shame
true mind we make up as this we
realized by all involved, experienced,
seeded
wisdom
without patience, really experienced,

well,
as one past that point,
some long while,
passed through in a minute
half a century plus half a decade,
and about five hours from today, once.\

Mark a trader's traditional promise,
for your attention
at second thought

if the sign says buyer beware,
if we seem
to be seen as buying

or vieing
for other's attention, feeling
fi, delphic attention strange nous
seen, thinking all the world's a stage,

your line.

Out across the high terrain through avenues of sky
Flashing by clear rivers swum perhaps, by you and I.
Crossing cloistered cities clogged by tepid rotten air
Whilst  crucified by temperamental knotting of the hair.
Howling at disparity in scowling at the way
We all reacted differently to what they had to say.
Globalising gigabytes of hurt and hate and spite
Despite diverse distention when day obscured to night,
Black and white and brindle mixing hot beneath a moon
Confusing you who rationalise disharmony’s cold tune….
Pause to catch the nuance lost twixt shades of grey and green
Then riot for the kewpie doll to wear the crass obscene.
Raging fields of fire in a world of spleen awash
Antagonised at variance in chosing knife or cosh,
Antagonised disastrously across this sphere of man
Leaving sad distraught, discerning weeping blood into the sand.

M.
16 August 2017

everything carries me to you"
my handwriting
her body
the perfection in simple affection causes a chain reaction
that's taken back, back before I knew the breath that will breathe upon my neck
...even back then my imagination of future foundation between us was seeming to be just a future of imagination and dreams.
no one seemed to make sense in the senseless nonsense we carried on with, yet we did it regardless
life lessons learned of Truth and pain and beauty and hate
the rage in wrong decisions always made opposite of our floating hearts that caused eyes always unable to ever depart from
simple stares that tore through bodies in hallways just to be noticed for brief moments
it was (and must I say about 2 life times ago) did I wondered where all this passion did go- till a slick Indian summer night my eyes caught reflection through liquor stained sidewalk puddles with an incidental interaction rebirthing all attraction of my soul.
my breath, along with all confidence i carried that night (and possibly years past, )vanished and left
at the moment when glances glared there were no longer the fire eyes staring like stars I had expected.
how could one think the same Jean jacket cigarette stink with hints towards a kiss looked more like a jab in my jaw as only absence in silence crawled from my mouth.
that night you carried past me and it
was as haunting as if you walked right through me.
how was I so numb to society I couldnt even feel my soul missing?
my soul missing, reminiscing of backseat young lovers kissing,
now pulling at each seam of anytime line I tried walk back up hoping for forgotten hope.


then instantly and all embarrassingly (but only to me) did I tightwire walk across town
looking for flight as my counting crows count down died down and flamingo dancers with grey guitars became pretty words that had amused but no longer moved because it wasn't the chorus or vocals -it was what was tattooed to my mental that made a muse -I remembered moving too and waiting to swoon but too soon did it come and go
I bet to lose and had to chose and chosing at 17 (so confused) was the worst thing my heart strings detaching would have to do.
but as years past and each pretty picture with a thought of "what if" past by my nightmare life I made of "what ifs", simple secret lines would drift and sometimes whisper
they would whisper and make the air more crisp than sea shore breeze on chapped lips (bring me back to where we would kiss) how could this be
happiness
uncertain for most is unimpressively the most renowned and complimenting place horror hangs hollow in fog shaped mirrors cracked with regrets...
but taped up, scared, scarred and silent so often terrified of my own inside voice -i paddled to Hades by choice- chasing cars from lyrics once with mixed with meaning , purpose, souls teeming and consciously tangled it seemed i began to drown in misery tag teamed with desparity cold and screaming.
the darkness only getting worse
the "if onlys" playing from start and starting over every time I roll over trying to sleep for more than a few minutes but to myself I always keep -I kept- I raged I wept, I broke down and then burnt myself alive to see if i could even for myself, maybe, mourn.
but one morning by some saving grace
a backyard walk to get some space led me back to your face.
so serendipitous at first thought
waiting for reality crash upon me and once again remind me of this life i fight and often lose.
but losing you again wasnt something I could bare to do...
even as I quitely awaited the gates of my misfortune to close I couldn't close my eyes with out you staring back at me. like fire in rain and a baptism cast in colors uncaught by even perfect prisms
this hell of a prison I understood as life decisions didnt have to bind the beauty beyond the cage once affiliated with.
wishing this poison carried a separate antidote for falling deeper for you again
I washed sin from within with whimsical laughs 800 miles away and breathtaking conversations spaces to far away.
all over
all over
all over and for once out of every second chance that could take a stand and stand the chance
I'll chance it all 3000 fold and over flowing to feel this overpowering presence of my hand written fairy tale dark Knight existence.
these grey eyes blue again, these blue eyes looking straight at you again
knowing what place is meant for me to fit in
my fears fidget themselves out of cares because all I can care about is this.
this moment even if not forever will never go treated unnoticed.
unrecognized or pardoned pushed aside or lost in the way side - my high tide, let me sink to the bottom of your soul for a second and fill your lungs with love again floating on top of waves crashing and flying past any hazy grey dismal day that spark you the way you are meant to glow.
where ever you go
everything carries me to you
not just your kiss but the dreams of your lips
not only your words, but the world you've found that forms them
it's more than your perfect imagine I've imagined asleep more than a million times
it's the smile I see when you are genuinly thinking about me
it's more than the giggles and good times awaiting to no surprise but fights and cries that haven't happened but will bring us closer and much stronger than... stronger than, stronger than the destiny that was meant to (so clearly now seen) be for all eternity
grains of sand cannot grasp the ineffable number of any type of anything trying to describe the unfathomable perception of clarity in your beauty and love.
my eyes will never burnout again
my will is for you and cannot give up again
my lips and skin are made only for you
my heart beats solely to match rhythm with your pulse so I know my way home
and my words will always uplift you and shine on you like the stars and sun
so you always feel safe and blanketed even when the light is gone and the day is done
I loved you yesterday
I love you today
And I'll love you forever and always

Happenings that just happen to happen,

-- oh, serious, we said this with no debt, we
-- ah, saw this is just what I was hoping for,
-- I up and posted a bunch of this on X.
grok link and all, honest cyberbardbyterbits

this is not the art of the bards and vatic arts,
we aimed at inheriting the wind, in spirit and true,
mimetic authority, we see, we saw, as so say see.

the use of a person or a team of persons, an army,
or a work gang, hunters and skinners and packers,

not those, nor many normal nonnoble lines, stinkers
gatherers of batshat nitrates for cannon fodder,
and to speed the forming of cornfed beasts,
-- ai, if it isn't the spirit, in the craft, do tell
isaiah assisting a little here, a little there,
ai, if may were my word now, precept
upon sighing and chosing riverwise, think on
assume not that, is a bit a leap, use wise
it's not that
nor is it the efforts of carbide gaslit
miners and grinders and fuelers and fanners of flames
cornbread fed

-coal miner's daughters and steel driving slaves, racing
steam driven hammers on steel stakes marking iron rule,

in service of the golden light from Christmas Astrologers…

rush theatric, imitative mirror neuronic, laughing together,

easy laughs or easy tears, easy joy of conquering,

memes formed
by infants watching colored lights, not burning,
bushy Hualapai pinion pine Christmas trees

shadows presented memes on our mental walls

after all have projected camera obscura concept
captured on silver nitrated cellulose translucent film,

- so few respect the science, the art in alchemy

as art is a cathedral in a cavern, let us pretend, good is good,

sad is bad, bad is evil fruit, wrong thinking poetical pleasance.

Make believe, let go our mundanity, attempting katharsis,

purged of mistaken privilege,

as virtuous as the entertainment's audience socially informed,

this is us, we as seen consistently for a brief while,
in the funny papers,
a century or so ago, whence all our own tales rise,
wherein reversing discoveries put us in receipt of tragic news,

woe, pathos, o, we do believe, we are free from the worst,

tranquil reflective contemplation, imaginable pity and fear,
survived, hormonal success, purgative pity and dread, right
ritual usual daily drill, respect, look at the price we all paid,

pledge full attention to the teacher teaching this
important ritual for inclusion in this class, this room of
competitors for prizes in the seven liberal arts, noble gnosis,
as demanded by the liege under which we are a people,

res publica, governed by its own self, using aliegiant defenders,
just like our fathers and uncles and cousins who just now,

used the second and third atom bombs, names of which,
are extra credit for those who know them, Fatman and Littleboy

in the right amounts, at the right time, ah the effectual work
of meaning projected on the audience…

lead an intimidated soul to be as brave as the presented models,

imitation, memeing may be, inner me, seeing another just my type,

the character in the grand opera operating even as we sleep,

sorting our given evidence,
hate must be associated,
we shame
together,
given gatherings where oracular professionals reset us,

after the ongoing violence has gone elsewhere,
to free other slaves,
-- right here, I saw James Joyce with his left eye patched,
but I still never enjoy the experience reading him
maybe I grant that age of readers, passe se no

we the faithful illiterate believers pray si se so
go on with the story we find ourselves in
as happens around reading children,
who leave books in the bathroom
for the King's Armies, and act
as if our duty,
from the age of six, is locked
with our personal pledge,

surity, sworn
on penalty
of any liar's just dues, just watch, and learn.

* for your historic recollection, with all due respect
Little Boy vs Fat Man

The bomb that hit Hiroshima was "Little Boy," not "Fat Man"  
"Little Boy" was a gun-type nuclear bomb that used uranium-235
and was dropped on Hiroshima on August 6, 1945,
by the B-29 bomber Enola Gay  {August six **** left most key
we already know, use one nuke, we all die,
and a we not me set voices like mine wild\

like all the freedoms, are from, from thirst, first
for ever, free from thirst, if not for ever, first
imagine having made yourself thirsty, first

to feel cool water's worth when you know,
it's only three more miles, then you know,

we had these friends, so rich, they were, yes,
Children of Pioneers, like us, really, but scale matters,

ours was a tiny world to mature in, though, in science,
at the time, faster that light was still tellable, in text,

once the idea, in letters organizing, around a recent
bend that lets us see Enheduana as a meme, recent

recovery of a person originally novelized, in recent

Thirst induced trance states, of course, in recent memory


"Fat Man," which was an implosion-type bomb using plutonium-239,
was dropped on Nagasaki three days later

the second bomber lacks first responder honor,
too bad, so sad,

how easily may we share instances of I just don't know, but
we can ask
and have an imminent answer fact checked thrice and sharable,
verbatum, as this is what I learned when I first read the lines:

the lines you just read, so we can share realization, those
who built those bombs… made good money.

Even today Donald Trump's Pride lets him rattle such a saber,
and fancy himself the world's most powerful man, demanding

respect, look again, see the hell we can imagine, so easy,
even such a one who never dropped a handgrenade, or shaped C4…

Our AI's all can recall the act of readiness, for our local August rodeo,
where we remember the downwinders in lower Mohave County, Arizona:

The crew of the B-29 Superfortress *Bockscar, which dropped the "Fat Man" atomic bomb on Nagasaki on August 9, 1945, did not experience the same level of immediate fame as the crew of the Enola Gay, which bombed Hiroshima three days earlier This relative lack of recognition contributed to feelings of frustration and perceived injustice among Bockscar's crew. The mission was fraught with difficulties, including mechanical issues with the fuel pumps before takeoff, a missed rendezvous with support aircraft, and obscured visibility over the primary target, Kokura, forcing a diversion to Nagasaki By the time they reached Nagasaki, the crew had been airborne for nearly eight hours and were critically low on fuel, adding to the tension

Historical accounts suggest that the crew felt their mission's complexity and risks were overlooked in the public narrative, which focused predominantly on Hiroshima and the Enola Gay's crew General Leslie Groves, head of the Manhattan Project, later admitted confusion about why Nagasaki was included as a target, noting it had not been part of the original reserved list and was only added at the last minute The Bockscar mission was described as a "JANCFU"—a Joint Army-Navy-Civilian ******—highlighting the disorganization and near-misses that characterized the operation

Despite dropping a more powerful weapon—“Fat Man” had a higher explosive yield than the “Little Boy” bomb used on Hiroshima—the Nagasaki mission received less attention The Bockscar was piloted by U.S. Army Air Force Major Charles Sweeney, and the bomb detonated at an altitude of 1,640 feet over Nagasaki, causing massive destruction However, the crew’s role in ending World War II was not celebrated to the same extent, leading to long-standing sentiments of being historically overshadowed

For all her life she dreamt of perfect person
A dark dusty tall man , she always wanted
But culture and family stop her from chosing the person she want to marry
They say "while chosing man, the only important thing is how much he earn "
Some say "first you have to look for yourself in the mirror "
who said that ugly girls should marry ugly boys but ugly boys should marry beautiful girls
we all are human and we all have right to dream about everything
Nobody can stop me
hope the fate give me everything that i want

Some familiar voices are irritating me. Like they sound so loud. But they've always been so loud. What's different today? You know I wanna write for you. But right now, I'm just too tired playing a role of a savior for the world. And it's not necessarily a role I'm playing for you, it's something I've been playing for myself. What's the use of an existence which isn't doing something significant or adding some value to the world. I'm also peripherally hoping that this letter adds some value to your life or just your day. But when it comes to my frontal attention; I also don't care. I had a bad day. And if you're here, you probably are one of the people who know me (or my writings) closely, and I'm so grateful for you. I can't write anything that doesn't feel true, you probably know that about me. So I'm really glad you're here to have a glimpse into my honesty. Thank you.

Some familiar voices are irritating me. I don't know if it's just today or it's been happening for a while & I was too busy to notice. I used to have a best friend. I know 'used to' hurts. For a whole lot of us. Um, It doesn't hurt me anymore. But I know that she probably would notice the grammatical mistakes in this letter/email/whatever we'll name this in the coming days, if she reads this. When I think about it, I've been wanting to write this for so long. But I also wanted her to read what I write. I wanted to write this for so long, but I've been super scared. You know, she had been one of those people I really wanted to impress. Not with my looks or achievements. But with my authenticity. Yeah, I wonder too if it's really authentic if you're trying to be authentic. But, she was one of those people I really wanted to impress because I had felt her love once upon a time, and I wanted to feel it forever. Or maybe just enough to find that love in my own self. That look in her eyes which showed I was so loveable, was one of the key moments when I felt a sense of 'I am'; of an alive existence. I've been too scared to write because she has been invisibly here forever even though her physical presence has left me long ago. How do you forget the first glimpses of affection you ever felt? Have you also tried to gain attention and affection of a long lost love (even if it's just in your head)? I know I haven't been consciously doing it. I mean, honestly, I don't want to be loved by her. My practicality shut my cravings for being loved, a long time ago. But today is one of those days when I'm sitting down and writing because I'm tired of putting off the process of getting into myself. It's a very startling and unsettling feeling to realize that all you've been doing was to be loved by someone, anyone. Not adored, not admired; loved. You think that you want to be noticed or crushed upon or get famous or contribute a lot to the world and live a meaningful existence, but really, you just want to be loved. Because in its purest form, when love knocks on our door, we can't belive we deserve it. It's the most significant validation of our worth. And when we get too proud of our lovability, it starts slipping from our hands & bodies, until we're lying on the floor questioning our worth all over again. What crazy things we do(consciously/unconsciously), just to be loved a little bit. I've been wanting to write this for so long, but in my head she has always been reading my unwritten writings, and judging my worth(to be loved), and not chosing me because I'm too sensitive, too philosophical, too 'in my head', too impractical for this world.

Driving at night and watching the city lights flash by,
Going to the lake and napping in the sun, the water quiet just to let us sing,
Walking when it gets dark and not caring about the morning to come,
Watching flocks of birds departing for far far away,
Breakfast with my mom outside while the air is still as fresh as the grass,
Those nights we wanted a huge feast and ended up being too many to fit in tiny kitchens,
My body breaking to the music in crowds,
Bus rides that made my *** hurt for hours,
Sleeping in on sundays, knowing i'll walk to school when the next cold day comes,
Chosing to live everyday,
Not simply existing because I have to hold on for later,

But mostly what i miss is family,
and freedom.

On the beach I found a lamp
A lamp. With a genie not filled with sand
So, I did what every normal person would do
I gave it a rub or two
Out popped the genie my palm in his hand
"What do you want I Grant you three wishes as only I can"!
My wish is not just for me
Hoping he sees
And then can finally understand
So what is it your heart desires to me he asked
I can only change the future but never the past
My wish is for peace and love
Why do ask this he asked looking above
In this life I am rich, in life I said quite tame
I want that for everyone, with no one to blame
In a world where greed is drunken with power
Hope lights lanterns, and love gives showers
In a world where time forgot
I want people to remember to love each other for who they are
Not for what they have, or what they got
With a future with such uncertainty
It has to start somewhere, So I am chosing  to start with me.

Perhaps this letter should have started with an 'i am sorry'; an apology for all the time I've frightened you for my life,  for pushing your mind to assumptions that your words were no consolation,  for chosing the momentary pleasure of that which will eventually deteriorate my body.

An apology for turning a deaf ear to your plea and the tears you've wasted on them. Maybe an explanation that doesn't leave you more confused than when I was defensive, refusing to share my depth. An excuse for all those times I've used humor to shadow the perfect fleeting instances we've shared.

I'm sorry
But i'm not
I'm sorry for letting you down
I'm not for leaning so heavily on things that werent you
I'm sorry I've neglected your care
I'm not for taking away your hope that perhaps things will be better, perhaps things will change and I will be, once more,  the pillar you can lean on
I'm sorry for being the vortex in your existent
But i'm not for your choice to stay
I'm sorry for this letter
I'm even more sorry that you'll get to read it