My father used to bring home kites
from Pakistan,
made out of colorful paper
and thin sticks.

Mine was pink and blue,
and caught my eye as soon
as it was taken out.
It was beautiful,
and i imagined it soaring through
the skies,
viewable from all the houses in town.

The yarn was grey,
and had minuscule shards of glass
woven within it.
My father told me that it was for kite fighting,
the way they used to do it from the rooftops
of the villages.

One would fly the kite
and the other would be in charge of the spool.
Together, they would change altitudes
and attempt to cut other kite strings.
The last kite left in the air would be the winner.

And my mind would run to those rooftops,
the very sand ridden rooftops he had described.
Imaginarily controlling the kite
with a friend handling the spool behind me.
Together winning the kite fighter crown,
and my father being proud of his only son.

All while i lay in bed,
with a grand imagination,
and not a single clue
on how to make the last thought a reality.

Yassou, I say to you in poetry,
To the 'Alive Poets' Society',
Here is one for your fantasies,
Make love with one feather-erotically,
But with a whole chicken, well, like, *****!
Run that past your thoughts, imaginarily,
Making love like that, immaculately,
Definitely one for your fantasies,
Using a whole chicken, well, like, *****!
Yassou, one of the 'Alive Poets' Society'!

Its dark. Buzzing of voices zoom and echo about the tunnel. Quacking and rumbling are my insides until churned splat into roadkill. Even the vultures prefer not to feast upon my limp, ****** corpse.

I'm not me anymore, I can't remember what she was like. I read somewhere that memory loss can develop from Depression, otherwise I've developed a subconscious talent for suppressing meaningless occurrences. Bravo.

Death couldn't save me, be lucky if It could. Combine Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd along with Where is My Mind by The Pixies to generally summarize the agony i feel.
Teen angst and un-satisfaction.
A crave unfed, a thirst unquenched.
I've been beaten to the point where I enjoy it, I practically lust for it.

Life and happiness are imaginarily irrelevant. I don't want it, I never did.
I want to feel, whatever. I've been numb for too long. Almost a year by September.

Dear God, spare me will ya?
I forget, I'm an Atheist.

I’m so afraid to transform
Away from what I know
Or what I think I know
Into something I don’t
Something foreign
I must protect
That for which is known
And has been known
For if I choose to dive in
If I choose to go where my body says yes but my mind says no
Who will I be?

Surely not who I think I am
So then why the distress?
Why the anxiety?
Mind aka the hesitation
Surely knows me best
But I know it doesn’t
So behind the mind I am
Feeling the hesitancy
…So the hesi isn’t me

I already am
And I have no definition
I cannot be defined
Because who I am isn’t known
It can’t be written down
It can’t be explained
There aren’t words
Because I can transform
I can shift
My reality alters into what intrigues my mind and thus my body needs
So holding onto a definition of me doesn’t make sense
*** it’s only 1 definition
In the midst of multiple definitions
It’s open ended
My definitions continue to come to fruition
I am the seed
Sprouting into the fruit
Becoming a tree
Becoming what it desires to become
There is no definition
To what I am
For I am what feels right to become
And what feels right has no label
No, those don’t feel right
Because labels mean definition
And I can’t be defined
I have physical characteristics
I have thoughts
I have morals
But I have no definition
I can’t be defined
Only refined
And I will re-find out my definition every time I allow myself to transform n fruition
That’s how I am then defined
Not by my past, ego-defined definition of myself
But by each step forward past that definition
I am re defined
And I grow
And I continue to grow
So my consciousness rises and rises far above my head for which it currently resides
Or hides
Or desires to get out of but is held back by that initial definition of myself

But who am I?
I can’t be defined
I can’t be explained
Well I can
But only by the most recent medium of growth I so choose to allow happen
So technically my definition is everything up to the present moment
We stay ahead of our definitions
It’s behind us
Holding us up
Like a wall
To fall back on if we need
But also to block us from creating a larger definition, a stronger wall
Yet it’s not really blocking us because it’s behind us

---The same thing that props us up is the same thing we choose to put in front of us and thus imaginarily holds us back---

There is nothing blocking us from going forward
It’s an open canvas
Blank space to create
The definition continues
Your wall gets stronger
It doesn’t stop at a certain point
…Well it can
If you let it
…But that means you stopped experiencing
You stopped experimenting
You stopped growing
And you can now be ultimately defined
Your chapter is over
You’ve become a word
Something with a definitive answer
Strictly defined
Easy to remember
A flash card of sorts
Easily memorized
Boring
Done

Don’t be done
Don’t become a word
Written over and done with
Tucked away
Redefine your definition
So you’re never done
You can never be written about and clearly defined
Until you physically are no longer here
Then when you are done here
Your definition is so long
Your definition is so hard to describe
You are no longer a word
But you are the dictionary

They will try to make you a word
Try to put you in a box
This is who you are
And if they know who you are
They can manipulate you
They can set laws to keep you you
They can create boundaries status quo’s and social norms to keep you you
Because the external world will change, and if you remain static, fixed within, if you remain in definition, you will stay inside the box for which the greater powers have created
*** when we are internally bound by definition, we too are bound by the definitions of society
And we can no longer enjoy the game
We succumb to the game
We succumb to the rules set on us
And when we succumb
We are controlled
We are no longer free

So do not succumb
Don’t be complacent
You are not bound
You cannot be defined
Only redefined  

Make them upset
Make them struggle
*** while they waste their time trying to define
You continue to redefine
And you stay ahead of the game
While the pons are chasing
Trying to keep up
*** now you’re not just playing the game, you’re winning

Poetry
Silence
And so loud
Screams of joy and agony
Even whispers too
Living loud
Imaginarily
Poetry can do

It's true! All my lovers died.
Failure to meet the fantasy contrived.
Fabricated identities swept aside.
Only a reality in which to abide.

Really, to no surprise;
I find myself lonely.
My rouse, casted disguise.
Imaginary 'only'.
My bastion of 'lies'.
Who is the 'phony'?
Rose-tinted eyes.

They get nothing from me.
Nary even the tiniest glint.
I reward them with apathy.
They dutifully serve this stint.

Hoarding, another's mint.
My failures in me.
Covetous greed and glint.
Desire for a possibility.
Promises to keep, I didn't.
Failure to accept reality.
Unreciprocated emails, sent.

Love is the drug I'm looking for.
Fabrications manifest to adore.
An imaginarily brokered store.
Yet, inside is where i need more.

Instead of an ideal killed by reality.

There is, in the bath, not time, but moments
That stretch out with transparent reflections,
So days echo through splashes and silence.
Dreams, memories and conversations
Stream, imaginarily from the tap;
The gushing senses rushing into descent
To dive downwards, down from the gaping gap.
There is, in the bath, not time, but moments.
Fears festering in depths and splashes heard
In this wet pit where memory filthies
Words with worries and shapeless world with words.
Then stand, streaming steam and vapour leaving,
Those thoughts forgotten beyond believing.

I’ve invited myself in
To an imagination *******
Gonna get me sum
And give it my best
In the beautiful man fest
I’ve created just for me
Imaginarily
I go as far as it can
In every fantasy