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Try Human

I press my palm on a dream and I turn the world off to hear its heartbeat. It is still alive tonight, as it was lifetimes ago. It doesn’t age and it doesn’t stop, it flows and extends its limbs as far as we want it to. It dances with our shadows and shelters our egos, until we gather enough courage to pick it up, dress it warm and elope with it.

I place my dream next to me every night, and I listen to it hum a melody as I plan our departure, our great adventure. I get light headed and my plans grow too loud for a night in love with silence, so i pull the covers over our heads and i turn on a flashlight. We practice accents and personas, we imagine vast fields of green and northern lights over our heads. We trek volcanoes and we float in sky reflecting waters. Heartbeats and breaths grow deeper and softer, we sink lower into the wilderness of light within us, until we can no longer hear our own doubts and fears. We leap out of the night and into a surreal world.

I peek onto the lives of those surrounding me and I wish I could show them their own little dreams hiding beneath their voices and under their beds, with heartbeats as strong as drums but muffled with an unnecessary vicious reality. I watch my days pass and I fear that i could someday forget where my own dream resides, but i write to remind myself that mine exists in this space i have created as soon as i realized how powerful reality is. I saved my dream and I practiced reality to the best of my knowledge, and though i still fail sometimes, and though i lose myself often; I know where to find myself once and again.

I know that wonder strikes even the best of us, and that awe fills the heart of every human who allows it passage. I know that we are never really ready to let go, and that bloody knuckles and broken wrists are signs of strength to some. We have needs beyond our grasp, and we are human beyond our control. We live as though we are here for ever, as though we have nothing to lose. We live looking back, and looking forward. We tuck our dreams away for the good days when we can actually have time for them. Except may be we shouldn’t wait. Except maybe eloping right now is giving your self the best life you will ever know. Maybe all you need, right here and right now is to let go of doubt, fear and judgement, and wake to a life completely made for you.


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Birthday: Twenty Four 

Here I am, above a city, beneath a universe of stars and by the shore of familiar faces and lovely hearts. Somehow I am hurt, somehow it wasn’t as easy as I expected it to be. Sometimes the softest hearts hurt you and you have to learn how to love better, bigger and deeper.

I am still when I am beside him when he looks at me and smiles. We have adventures we are yet to take and tales we are bound to tell.

I shed skin, and I undress thoughts. I am myself and somebody else. I peer through the night and look for that person I want to become. I brave through the years and I break down limits and walls, I am closer to uncovering the ruin. I am almost the self I thought I would be. I run across images and memories, my muscles are rubbed and the knots untied, and slowly my body heals. Slowly my mind bends itself back to its proper form.

Twenty four Octobers today. Twenty four years of life bestowed upon my meager and frail soul. Twenty four years of attempting to figure out why all this happens. Why was I born out of ruin in a city taking its first breath after a civil war? and a world so sick it still needs healing.

One more year, and another shot at kindness. Another attempt for smoothing out the harshness of expectations, one more year of practice on how to become a better human being.

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Comfort Space

I peer out of this room, and suddenly nobody remembers my name. Suddenly four birthdays have passed since I last had a dream. Suddenly, I did not know where I had been. 

Friends and family attempt to make life easier, and sometimes they do. But for the most part, things get tough, the world gets heavy, and reality gets messy. So you bring together forces of nature and some technology in hopes of becoming a person good at living. You look at people a little more gently, and you judge a little less too. You smile more intently, and your words become fewer too. You are summed up by the kindness you put out because not much of it is out there around you. Not much goodness, at least not as much as you hoped you’d see. 

You learn that waking up is mandatory, and going to sleep is a vacation. You listen to the world in its fullness and in its hollow spaces, and you’re silence is echoed through. Rainfall gets romantic, in the literary sense and in the realistic one. Some people are hurt by the rain when you get to fall in love. Some people are not like you, and they have different perceptions of the world. They do however get to love too. 

I step back into my room, and I realize nothing ever stops and waits for me to be ready. All that time, it has passed, and somebody may have put it to better use than I have. Nothing seizes, nobody rests. The motion is continuous and all we’ve got to do is pack up nice, put on some sturdy boots, stand up straight and simply move. 

I hug my comfort to sleep, and I push the blankets below our feet. Tomorrow will be a better day.

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It happens while I least expect it, when I hit my solid state. It happens as I start believing that that dark maze was my forever home. It happens as I am naked and neglected, mistaking myself for a less than magic being.
Confused and bent, I thought I wasn’t going to stand tall again.
One crack at a time I hear bones mending, and veins connecting and intersecting. I suddenly stand, feet to the floor, a thrust of muscles zapping strength up my skeleton and a charge into my heart. It beats and I am myself again. It beats and I am no longer a failure; no longer beaten down. It beats and I am above the toxic city again. It beats my body into fire and crystal. My mind sets itself aflame and lights take me again. I thought I wasn’t able but I am. I thought I was numb but sedation subsides; yet I remain.
I remain after the storms and the earthquakes. I remain under rocks and inside oceans. I remain even when I want to disappear. I am invincible even when I think myself invisible. I am strong beyond my need.
Only when I almost destroyed myself and my surroundings did I feel the spark. Only when I believed in nothing at all but myself did I remember how it felt to be in love. Only when I closed all portals outside of my self and looked within did I trip over my very own core; my heart. Only when I stopped struggling, I found myself afloat.
I am not mad, I am not stuck. I am not down and I am never soluble. I do not melt and I do not fear this world. I am not slacking anymore. There is only me and my might right here, there is everything I am yet to become; there is this day and this moment. There is the magic and the human, there is the surreal and the fact. There I am again; taking what’s my own.

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Let my poem live

I have erased more than 16 full texts by now and I still find every word I write ridiculous to the bone, it bothers me. Sentences are like insects they crawl in asymmetric lines and bug me. I am disgusted by my melancholic metaphors and self fulfilling messages. I have finally become too pretentious for my own sake. It’s no literary pleasure, it’s literary vomit that i have been producing lately. I am shocked that nobody has slapped some sense into my hard head yet. But considering my seclusion loving character, i must discipline my own performance.
Spare me the lectures of my elders and my peers’ experienced opinions. They read my posts and think they have the power to now sum up my personality traits into sane or pathological patterns of self dysmorphia. I do not write for an audience I write because I don’t speak so well. I can’t make much sense vocally. So there goes, not art just convenience, another way of practical living; survival.
A rant; perhaps. Artistic rebellion; perhaps. There I go with my lyrical worship attempt. Again.
I must lay off the music, the books and the unsupervised freedom of expression. Unsanitary unnecessary classification of my human experience. I am a suggestive sensual and anarchic case of shy and dismissive femininity. I am so full of words I am a poem overflowing into rhythmic confession. Dear lord I beg thee, let me cause no harm and feel no hurt for I am an inconclusive case of human contradiction.
Forgive me and Forgive thee for an imperfect design. Forgive and watch a beauty so extraordinary peel through the shredded failure of human impotence. Forgive, and let my poem live.

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 I’m shedding off my masks, I’m standing bare foot on charcoal grounds, and my hair smells of moist breezes and forgotten lands. I gaze the horizons for my home, my long lost haven, but the wonderland I’m in is of my own making. My skin is damp and my palms are sweaty, there is nothing left in this world for me.

I try to physically look back at the roads I’ve trodden, and I have made so many wrong turns my neck began to ache. My own footsteps wore me down. So I stand my ground and the burning sensation in the soles of my feet is proof of my long journey, and a sign that I should lay in the shade for a while.

Above me is sky and below me is over heated earth, I am life here and I am the movement, I am the variable and I am the catalyst. Whatever I do today will change this world I’m in.

Being the old person I am today, has never defined me, for my youth has been well taken care of. I gave my youth away to a child well deserving, a hopeful prospect for humanity. Yet, I am old today, and this land is as forgotten as I am, and my hair is as grey as the ashes my road has become. The books I have written, and the thoughts I have shared are the life I lived. I lived inside my books and through my words. The more complicated my journey got, the more exhilarating and expressive my phrases became. I existed in my characters, and in their choices. I loved what they loved and despised what they did. I have lived so many lives I can hardly keep count.

So today, I am shedding my masks and I am exposing the marks on my face, my eyes have a thousand stories to tell and my soul is an ancient one. This home I am searching for is taking form the faster I walk. I do want the shade and I definitely want to rest, but the home I’m looking for cannot wait. So I gain more pace and I look ahead, for nothing has ever slowed me down, and today neither age nor the world will as well.

As I push the gate open, I am out of breath, my knees feel weak and my head is light, yet my heart functions and beats like it has never before. But I can’t help but begin falling to the ground; out of the blue his hands reach for mine and he tells me I have done a good job. He pulls me up and leads me in. As I step inside, my hair regains its color, my hands become smooth again, and youth slams itself upon me. He whispers my story ends here, and now I can live on forever through my books. I nod with consent and close my eyes. A few seconds later I open a thousand pair of eyes all at once and through them, I never died.

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What they dont teach us…

She put some of her perfume on me and she smiled, you are way beyond your years dear she said. When a few hours back i was described as one of the best things anyone could call you: genuine.
Genuine, telling the truth and meaning it with no false pretences. This has become rare apparently.
Maybe between all the sorrow, disappointment, pain and double standards lay reality. Reality will shred us apart and drain us into either depressed intellectuals or shallow idiots.
Whichever side you end up in is a result of a harsh truth. Nothing lasts, not even you.
We long for some certainty. We seek it even in our darkest hours. The certainty tames us and is reason for us to deal with life on some condition that we will be payed back.
But experience and thoughtfulness kill certainty and breed its opposite.
There we feel the chill, the coldness of reality and sheer humanity. We want to hold on to anything whether emotion, a person, an idea or a state of mind. We seek to define ourselves through them.
The fragility of being human wrecks us because we sheild it with pride. We sheild with so many facades until we lose touch completely.
Until someone or something comes along and tells you to release yourself. There you find those sheilds falling to the ground, you start feeling your fragility again and it terrifies you.
To realize that it is okay to be a fragile human, to need and long for value, to find yourself in the midst of horror standing your ground and owning up to your nature, to split yourself from all others and realize your value to yourself and to others; to absolutely rid yourself of the weight of the world and reality is what they dont teach us in schools, and what our parents failed to show us.
So maybe in a small corner in your soul hides an innocence maybe a belief or a truth. Find that and create.