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hanisjazil / April 17, 2014

Past, present and future,

The holy trinity of time.

Every stitched and frayed suture,

Bears bittersweet brine.

In stillness can you then only find,

A soothing voice, gentle and kind;

If the present remains a cruel gift,

Pay no heed to its burning sting.

So just let go and watch it drift,

Against the wind, in eternal swing.

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April 17, 2014 in Poetry / Prose / Art / Creative / Musings.

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Poetry

I remember a simpler time, where things weren't half as complicated as they are. A time where your world was so small that the only people that existed was your family and maybe a few friends from school. Simpler times, but time changes everything. You're older now, and having spent so much time trying to figure out how to be normal and how to find your place in this world has had you asking all the wrong questions, and getting all the wrong answers. You figure you'll find your place in the world when people allow it for you. If people love and accept you, then you would know for sure that your presence is appreciated and celebrated, and not just tolerated. If people tell you that you're special, and maybe even do things that make you feel that way, then surely you indeed are special, and deserve a place in this world. But then what happens if and when they stop. What happens when people think only about their own needs, their own feelings, and their own hopes and dreams. What happens if, after all this time trying to please everyone in your life, you realize that nobody is pleased, and you're just continually sinking in the swamp of disapproval. If your life were to end today, all you'd leave with is disappointment and regret, because you tried balancing all of it, to the very best your ability only to realize that because you tried, nobody sees it. Any of it. They only see parts of it, and that's never enough. Only you see the whole picture. Only you know how you really struggle to keep things afloat and keep yourself from drowning, alone. At this point of time the revelation hits you. Maybe you're the only person who really cares about you, and you haven't been doing a good job at it. You deserve to be loved. You deserve to be appreciated. You deserve a place in this world, and you dont have to fight for it. Nobody else should tell you or make you feel any other way about it.

There are so many stories, and so many voices, inside and outside. On the outside, you hear whispers, and you catch subtle looks of disapproval, and sometimes even disgust. The misunderstandings keeps you awake at night. You struggle with trying to be the person you think people want you to be, and the person you really are. You think that just because people dont understand you, and dont like you, that you're the one that's wrong- a mistake even. On the inside, the voices tell you everything except what you want to hear. They tell you that you'll never belong here. People will never see you for who you are, and even if they did, they wouldn't accept or understand you. You're just too different, and different isn't always a good thing. Not usually anyway. People judge you, as harsh as they come, based on their own warped worldviews. You're equally blessed, and equally cursed, to have seen what you have seen. They don't understand, and they probably never will. You need to know that. You need to accept that. You need to know and accept that you are, and always will be, more than the world and it's people can accept, understand, and even love. There are just so many stories, and so many voices. We can't all be invisible- not all the time, and not all at once.

We go to places. We meet people. Some dreams are more vivid, and more real than others. Some are foggy and ambiguous. I wonder, sometimes, about what dreams are made of. Maybe it's our weary minds trying to make sense of the world, and our experiences. Maybe it's something else. Maybe we live a different life each time we go to bed, in a different reality altogether. Everything is short lived, but it doesn't feel that way because you don't know that it's all a dream. You feel like you've been here, literally, your entire life. Maybe it's all about the memories. What if you woke up today, and today is the first day of your life. What if yesterday never existed, and everything you think you remember was implanted in your head. Articifical memories, of sorts. So many possibilities, yet the greatest tragedy is to wake up one day and not wonder about these things, or anything anymore. To live life status quo and accept everything that comes your way. To give up fighting for more, or to accept the pain and suffering as part of life. Stagnation is a slow, long suffering process. You had yesterday. You may not have tomorrow. You have today. Live, today. Sleep all day, if that's what makes you happy. Drink some tea, take a walk, read a book, or do it all. Achievement and success is not all there is to life. Life isn't a party on friday night. It's waking up on a Saturday morning. You start anew everyday, ready to write the next page of your story. Like waking up from a dream.

Nevermind that you keep messing up over and over. Nevermind that you are so horrible at expressing yourself that nobody actually knows who you really are, because you're always painting the wrong picture. It's okay if people think the worst about you. It's okay if you haven't figured out how to blend in, after all this time. It's just one world. It's okay to mess up in this one. Close your eyes. Take a trip into another world. There are so many. They are endless. You can fly, as high as you want. You can swim with the fishes. You can run. Run from the world that you know. The world that has trapped you in a reoccurring nightmare. A world that has gotten too real. You wish you could slow things down. You wish you could speed up some other things. People exist, and then they don't. Flowers wither and die. Poetry are not always sweet melodies. They are often screams inside the minds of silent people. Don't fret. There are other worlds. Close your eyes, and find your dreams. Find your way. There are other worlds to dance in.

We write about what we see, what we hear, and what we feel. We write it as it is, for us, and hope that when others read what we write, our experiences makes sense for them. Sometimes it does, and sometimes it doesn't. There are times where your story is nobody else's but yours. Times where what you write is only understood and accepted by you, and only you. There are stories that you read, and try your very best to understand, but find yourself unable to. Every story is different. It is written differently, and read differently. Our entire life is a story, or many stories. Some get through life not having anyone understand their stories. Some live a life of being misunderstood, while some live a life of misunderstanding. People are judgemental. People are naive. Put the two together, and no one else's worldview matters other than your own. People have different notions and concepts of many things, like justice, empathy, or even love, but attitudes don't always predict behavior. We should know that by now. The only predictable thing about life, and people, is our unpredictability. So much can change in an instant, and that is what gives us hope. That is why we choose to keep writing our stories, hoping that one day, someone will read them right, as they should be read.

It's a long journey. A tough walk. Sometimes you stumble and fall, and you just don't have the strength to get up. Sometimes you need to crawl, just to keep going. Elbows and knees deep in gravel, it cuts you, and you bleed. It hurts, but not as much as it would if you didn't go forward. Keep going forward, keep moving, you tell yourself. You've convinced yourself that there's something worthwhile at the end of it all, but every time you fall, you question everything all over again. You wonder if we really do have a purpose, or are we just passing the time. Do people really stay, are do they all eventually pass by. Every time you think you've got some part of life figured out, it comes around and gets you. People get up, before you, while you're in the dirt, and they move on. They're empathetic, sympathetic even, but they go. They all do. You're left behind. You're no stranger to these feelings, and you know somewhere deep down you'll be able to muster the strength and the courage to get up, but you don't want to. Not now, at least. You choose to linger, just a little while more, in the darkness. Don't know until when, or if you'll really get up, but nothing feels better than fading into the dark when all you've known is darkness. When you're gone, all you want people to remember is that you were all love. So full of it, yet never knowing how to.

Sometimes, it gets confusing. Sometimes, it gets messy. Sometimes you forget what you're supposed to do. Sometimes you even forget who you are, or who you're supposed to be. There are so many possibilities, and not all the same, be it the journey or the destination. Sometimes it gets tiring. So tiring. Everything is heavy, and you just want to stop. You want put everything down, there, by the road, and close your eyes, just for a little while. But you're afraid. You're afraid that if you close your eyes, you wouldn't open them again, and even if you did, you wouldn't be able to start moving again. Maybe we're fortunate. Time makes that decision for us. We can't stop time. We're always chasing time. Time doesn't wait for anyone, or anything. Feels like we're always falling behind. Maybe because we are. Maybe not all questions need answering. Maybe only the ones that really matter. If only we knew which. Life is difficult. Wasn't meant to be easy, in any way, or at any point. Getting lost is just one part of it. The struggle is how we grow. Defeat is a huge part of it, and we must be ready to embrace it, when, not if it comes. Some days will be darker, and they will come when you're at your lowest. Learn to live not only in the light, to but also appreciate the darkness. You're different, and you will always be.

We are not victims. We are not mere survivors. We are warriors, and champions in our own right. We have bested the struggles, and overcome all the odds that have been stacked against us, and continue to be. We have fallen. Over and over, we have fallen, but still we stand. We pick ourselves up, over and over, and we walk. We continue. We press on. We fight, even in times where it feels like all is lost, and that there is no point in going on. We go on. We move past defeats, to more defeats. We surrender, and we give in, from time to time, because that's okay. It is okay to fall. It is okay to fail. It is okay to rest. We get up, when we're ready, and we take up arms once more. We continue to fight. We are not victims, or mere survivors. We are warriors, and champions. Few will hear of or know of our struggles. The battles go unnoticed, and the war is silent. You know. We know. We'll continue. Always remember that there is always another story that's not told. Not yet, we can hope, but that's not always possible. It's likely you'll go through life being misread and misunderstood, because, so often, your voice drowns in the noise of the world. Don't worry. You'll never have to explain yourself to yourself.

It is said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing, over and over again, and expecting a different outcome. Sometimes you do different things, but it seems like all paths lead to the same place, like there's no escaping it. There's no escaping you. You just go deeper. You find that there are new depths to your thoughts and feelings you didn't know about. The thoughts in your head race about. More to feel. More to kill. Parts of yourself, that is. The world has, in some way, made you cold. The tragedy of it all is that you will never stop believing, because you are who you are. No matter how sad, or how down, or how bleak or dark the world seems, you won't stop believing that someday, the sun will rise for you. You can't. It's what's keeping you alive- the hope that someday someone, or some people, will see you for who you really are, and love you for it. No more bullying, no more discriminating, no more criticizing, and no more misunderstanding. They'll see you, and know you, and love you. To know that someday, you won't have to feel like an outsider every second of your life anymore- that is what keeps you going, although barely. You're dragging your feet at this point. You want to give up but you can't. You're still hoping and wishing for that day where you finally go home to acceptance and love. A day where you can put all your baggage down. Remove all your masks. A day where you can breathe and finally just be you without fear or anxiety about whether you're being too weird or not socially acceptable. A day where you no longer feel like the biggest weirdo whenever you're with people. A day where you can be you, and feel normal, at the same time. A day where you no longer have to explain yourself to people, and they wouldn't expect you to. People can just love you, just like that. A day, where you'll actually feel like you deserve to be loved, just like anyone and everyone else.

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