Up — shooting through a plane of anxiety,
Swirling neurons spasm and thrash and trash my body.
Down, up, up, down, ascending severity
I pray to all deities: Allah, Krishna, God, please.
In between known and unknown, life and death,
Relying on periodic updates, in-flight service,
The quickening of pulse, the shortening of breath,
Extremities shutting down as reason falls into the crevice.
The mind cannot concentrate
On this task or that;
We instead pontificate
Like a maze-crazed rat:
Have I gained too much weight,
Do people think I’m fat?
I cannot go on an in-person date,
Who am I?
I ask this question sometimes, but not as often as I should.
It’s healthy, I think, to ponder existence
As if it were a fig tree
Or a melody
If there is a definitive answer to “Who am I?” then does that make me stale, outdated, a lie?
Is to stand by
While others define you for you.
Am I the creation of two parents?
One afraid to let go,
One afraid to be alone,
Both afraid of seeing who they really are
(Which is beautiful)
Or am I manufactured by…
Obnoxious noises scratch and claw at the pavement,
Searching for the last morsel of nutrients.
Tweets bounce off the walls like… well, like misguided birds.
A cacophony of sound that’s not all too pleasant on the ears or the palette.
It swirls and eddies like wistful mist,
Clouding any reflections we might hope to see.
A drum beats, but it’s so far out of time
That I think the drummer has become incoherent in the interludes.
All it does is add to the droning, drowning dozens who are dying without a brief glimpse
Beyond the mist
Beyond the heaviness
Quick: In 3 seconds or less
Determine where you are
Right here, right now.
Didn’t get it right, did ya?
You see, the brain is so advanced
It has no choice but to take it all in —
The lightning pulses of information
That strobe in your neurons like
An epileptic rage of data
And all for what purpose?
To make the unknown something not itself:
To remedy the tragedy of past deeds or of
Futures unexperienced, but still felt?
Or to make sure you never see
beyond the simulation
And bear witness to your ever-present being
WebMD entices me to be my own doctor
To locate the pain and navigate my brain
And come up with a clear diagnosis,
One that offers a pretty grim prognosis;
I work myself up into a tizzy
I grow nauseous, I get dizzy
Yet I have no medical degree,
Just trusty old WebMD
Which is conveniently free
Kinda like most new sources, you see
They feed us their agendas, sell us lies
And most of us wonder who’s stupid enough to buy
Yet it’s us who are the suckers
Who suckle at the teet of those fuckers
Religiously ascribing to…
You sigh in your sleep
And my heart melts with the sound
Your secrets and sanctity I shall keep;
Past my expiration date, I’ll still be around.
Because you’re worth it, damn it,
Even on the days when you can’t see.
Your lips, your hips, I confess, I cannot quit;
I’m in love with everything you aspire to be.
I’m also in love with everything you mean to me,
Protector, guide, mentor, lover, partner, mate.
Together, you and I dive deep below the blue sea
And emerge, reborn, into our inevitable fate.
I will be with you…
Imagine if your heart was trapped behind a wall
Made up of phrases, big words and small.
Things that were said, or were thought but not spoken.
Things that left you scared, shattered, and broken.
Whispers from your parents, unsure of their children
Complaints from your teachers, you’re a tiresome burden
Peers screech and sneer and name-call
Your internal dialogue careens into freefall
“You’re worthless.” “You’re useless.” “You’re less, less, less.”
These raw materials would turn that wall into a mess.
There was an adhesive to hold it all together.
Any attempt to breach with love or freedom it…
After these nine-plus months, we all want some semblance of this thing called control, right? The ability to feel like the next day will be okay, and the day after that and so on.
I’m here to tell you it’s folly. A false wish that will never be fulfilled. Sorry.
Throughout 2020, we have so badly yearned to put our faith in…well, something. Anything, really. But the institutions we turn to in times of crisis and discomfort— government, family members, doctors — have either let us down or been too swamped to keep from burnout. …