But there are no victims here,
just prisoners of choice,
who wear recycled smiles,
and boil inside.

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But there are no victims here,
just prisoners of choice,
who wear recycled smiles,
and boil inside.

It is as cold
as a steel locket,
isolation
loosely hangs
two chains from a collar,
white as bone, worn
from the hours, of nuance
carefully placed by the bedside,
waiting to be opened
polished and willing
as obligatory as peace
before, the inevitable dawn
which beckons us to
repeat, our autumnal fall
from the burdens we carry.
Being sober’s
as overrated
as being drunk—
nobody wins.
You just have to live.
Whatever you decide, do it without the need for validation.
To seek validity is but a farce. It’s like aiming to make a splash in a rain puddle.
A child learns early on whether they care to admit it or not, that their choice is theirs and theirs alone. Nobody really cares more than it takes them to realize, eventually with age, that nobody really cares.
Sure, a mother cares deeply, but only as far as it interrupts her well being.
A father can break his back many times, but only as many times as it serves his cause.
Progression doesn’t come from an audience. Progression comes from within.
Progression comes from love, awareness, and nurture.
And although social media tells a different story from reality, we seek it, crave it, we often need it, but do we really?
Perhaps the greatest lesson we can learn from posting our day to day lives, morality, and hardships is that we are all equally as alone as we are the same—myself included.
Not too long ago, there was a time, it seemed, the world was much larger than we could ever imagine.
Driving cross country felt then like an achievement whereas now—after doing it more than a dozen times—it feels more like a routine I’d rather not admit.
Mostly it’s this that scares me.
Desensitization. It’s this that makes me wonder.
What’s the point?
The point is to treat yourself with the same dignity you would a stranger—a child.
The point is to look beyond life’s blessings, with eyes wide shut, and understand that all will be regardless of whatever validation you seek.
We can learn this by simply looking at a flower bloom. We can understand this by accepting that although, it may seem, the flower dies, another will take its place, as equally and wholly as beautiful as its former.
So whatever you decide, decide knowing, you aren’t as separate as you feel—we are all one.

Your aura
warms my spirit
barefoot in awe
I wonder
whatever tomorrow
brings, today
my love is endless,
as warm
as the white light
which paints
my shadow
onward—
Hayati

Her love
was his compass,
her blessing
his disguise,
in the pale blue light
of moon and
mother night,
her arms, his refuge
from the stormy sky
she spoke to him
like stars,
light years from afar
she held him
as the cosmos
were destined to align

Yes, I knew better
with every fiber of my being
I just couldn’t stop the show
even if I’d wanted to
The dancers danced regardless
while the showmen sang,
underpaid and underdressed
If nothing, I knew better
than to give them validation
or the contents of my soul.

The things I can not change
remind me why I’m here.
They are but the souls
reminder—to stay the course.

If you’re not sure
then pause, wait
and listen to the sounds
of conscious—nothing—ness.
