lost & confused...

It starts with the little shocks. I find something. I see something. And I realize there’s this whole world out there that I don’t know anything about. What takes me aback is that it’s such a familiar world, yet such a down and dirty, even filthy, imperfect side of the world that I know and I had no idea that something like that could exist. I live in my own little world. I always have. I like it here. People tell me some day it’s going to break me. I’ve been broken plenty times, but I always manage to concoct my vision of my own little ‘perfect’ world. Perhaps I should say illusion – not vision. But it isn’t an illusion to me, because it is what my world is to me.

Am I confusing you? Don’t worry, I’m confusing myself.

I always had trouble finding my identity, holding my own. I’ve had my troubles, my hard times, my dark times. And perhaps, I’ve always been aware of this dark world lurking just behind my own ‘perfect’ little one. When I really look at it, it’s so complex, so ugly. No one likes ugly things, but when you’re forced to see them, you’re forced to acknowledge them also. It makes my world seem like the pristine, pure white innocence of a child’s fantasy world. I feel like an immature little kid with hardly any experience of this world. And you know what scares me the most? A part of me wants to see that ugliness. Maybe even experience it. Why? For wisdom’s sake.

Then it hits me. Maybe all of you live with the reality of that ugliness. Maybe it’s just ugly because I lock myself in my own little world. But then I like it here. Yes, I realize I’m repeating myself but what do you expect me to do? Open the bolts? Let the demons loose? IN HERE?? Why would I?

True, I want to do some good in this world. I see the suffering, the sorrow and grief. All that depravity in humanity. Great, now I’m rhyming – but yea, I see all that yet not this ‘other’ side to the world I’ve grown up in?? Am I just too oblivious?

What am I really on about?

Well, look, for instance, I know people cheat in a relationship. I’ve seen in the movies, etc. But really, how about real life?? How about how absolutely, insanely wrong that is? I have no idea. I hope I never do. I’m a loyalty person. But can you really imagine what a dirty thing that is without experiencing it? And that’s just the simplest of the ugly things.

Sorry, I’m straying – no pun intended.

This being unaware of this whole side of the world makes me feel oh-so small and oh-so lost…

Then there’s all the questions.

I can’t list all the questions – there are so many.

Every step I take, I hesitate, but they aren’t shaky steps. Every move I make, I make myself confident but I’m not sure what I’m doing, where it’s going. I’ve got it all planned out, but I know so very well how plans can go horribly wrong. Turn so completely onto another path. Can I ever know, can I ever be sure? Probably not.

I’m scared.

I’m scared I might make a mistake. And one single mistake and it’s over for me.

I’ve made my share of mistakes. I’ve dealt myself with countless blows; I’ve felt like my life just might be at its worst, the lowest of the low. I’ve stumbled, I’ve fallen.

And I’ve gotten up.

And now I’ve got everything at stake. My career, my trust, my heart, my life…

I just can’t afford another mistake.

It scares me, not knowing where things are going. It scares me to know there’s so much out there that I’m not even aware of. So much so close to home. It scares me thinking maybe the reasons I stumbled are related to that ugliness just beneath the veneer that I’m not aware of.

I can’t know everything but can’t I at least open my eyes? So I can defend myself?

It scares me that I’m down to my last chance. It scares me that, were I a cat, this is my ninth life.

Maybe it’s not fair of me to rant on about it, after all, I’ve had all nine lives. All those chances.

Maybe it’s not fair of me to tell you, when some of you are perhaps in a worse place than I am.

Maybe I just want someone to tell me it’s okay to be wrong. To stumble, once in a while.

But then again, that would be a lie. And lies are part of that ugliness of that ‘other’ world, aren’t they?

~ 2326hrs / 10 September 2010

fury...

The flame that licks,

Coaxing you into it’s warmth,

Slowly murmuring you into a simmer,

Then embracing you to the rage,

Finally… finally…

Exploding…

Unleashing that fire...

The same could be said of passion.

The same could be said of anger.

Mine is the milder of the two.

Anger.

At the world, at large.

Because, you cannot change it.

Would you try again....?

Would you burn with these flames...?

Or will you let them cool...

Would you ride away with the tide...?

[Anj original, 0024hrs / 13.05.2010]

"poetry - through the eyes of a mere mortal"

Poetry, as is,

Song of nature,

Unfettered, a realm only He sees...

Such,

The ebb and tide of oceans

Far & wide,

Their melodic symphony,

Driving but life itself...

Whispers of a forest,

Evergreen,

It’s beckoning magic,

The music of rainfall...

Captured forever by mankind,

By the one tool within their feeble reaches...

Words,

Words, to hold,

To describe, to paint...

Hoping, daring,

To preserve, to withstand,

The all destructive hurdle, of time...

Poetry, in it’s purest,

As the innocence abound, within a child’s eyes,

Unpracticed,

The cascades of a virgin waterfall,

Untaught...

Poetry, in it’s essence...

Unlearned,

Not the firm stroke of an artist’s brush,

Yet, the whisper-touch of a mere mortal soul...

The poetry within my heart...

Strokes of an era long past,

That simply do not belong hither...

Nor does, this ephemeral heart...

*

[an Anj original, 0015hrs / 04 April 2010]

your world & mine...

Darkness engulfs me. Night makes me part of it.

The moon hides; a specter behind the November clouds.

The curtain falls, swishing in the dead silence of the night. I creep back down, under my covers – reds and creams… whites and roses… and I wonder… if I should go into the world of sleep, where thoughts don’t clash over each other, where there can be no reality to face. Yet I know I cannot – I’ve had far more than my dose already.

I lie on my back, staring at the mahogany crossings on the white ceiling wondering if dead silence truly has a rhythm… like the one that I can hear right now…

In your world, silence has no rhythm; silence… is just silence, right?

In your world, I used to be a writer. I used to be a poet.

I used to be so many things.

Then… then I lost myself.

Life’s a funny thing. You know that there are worse things in the world that could probably never happen to you. But then…when something unfortunate happens on your life – you forget those others less fortunate than you. You act as though the world’s ended. As though everything’s crashing down on you… as though you’re the unluckiest being in the whole entire world.

Or perhaps, that’s just me…

I was a dreamer once. The faeries, princes, princesses and happily ever after kind of dreamer. The knights, superheroes and true love kind of dreamer.

Then I lost myself.

How do you look at someone and tell what kind of person they are?

How do you talk to someone, how do you listen and judge what kind of characters they possess?

How do you see someone’s actions and tell where their heart truly lies?

How do you look at a world, where everyone dons a coat of paint everyday hiding their real selves and find truth in it?

How do you see something that doesn’t exist?

I was a believer of people once. I used to believe that there was good in everyone, just waiting to be channeled or tapped into. Waiting for someone to find.

I used to believe that people would wash off their coats of paint if they knew they wouldn’t be judged. I used to believe that truth…meant freedom…for everyone…as it did for me…

But then…I lost myself.

So I turn away. And walk out of your world. I shut that gateway, and lock it tight. So that your world can never intrude in mine. So that I shall never lose myself.

Because, in your world, words don’t mean a thing. Because there, verses don’t rhyme with reason.

Because dreams belong to children.

Because… good people are rare…

Because hope is a better friend to despair than is to fruition.

And because…truth rarely exists…

The screech of a tire, the honking of a horn…breaks the rising and falling rhythm of the dead silence in my ears.

In my world, I am a writer. I am a poet. I am a dreamer. I am a believer.

Because in my world, silence has a rhythm.

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Written 0425hrs, 26th October 2009

an A.N.J. Original

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