About the filters of love, "potential", and Love!

"This is a poem describing the girl I fell hopelessly in love with, as her essence can’t be communicated except in epics Once, there was a girl who was, her energy mesmerized angels, her smile totalled mountains, and her eyes eclipsed the very sun. She was the kind of girl wars would be waged for. Battleships would sink from her mere presence. She was gutsy, outgoing, compassionate and made everyone fall for her. She would take long walks by rivers and fields of flowers, only to return smelling of daisies and the mist of youth. She would invade towns, spreading her blessings upon whomever fortunate enough to stumble upon her. Her giggle would stir up storms, only to vanish by the echo of her greetings. She was life, and she gave life to the people around her, so vibrant, so magnificent that the very fabric of time and space fell for her and the world as we know it came to a freakish halt. God then reversed the flow of time and put that girl in the one place her light-presumably- would never shine again… Egypt. The girl found herself trapped… She tried to glow, to break free, but her shackles were well placed, restraining her every move. That prison that bounded her made her forget who she really was, a miracle. So strong that even in the darkest catacombs of humanity she still glows a faint dim light giving away what’s contained, making those who cross her path yearn for her oasis after a hot pilgrimage in the blazing deserts. And yet, she knows not… She thinks herself a normal being…" Quoted.

About the vacuum of emptiness, and the extremes needed to hold steady!

Minions, I'm dancing around the fringes of sanity.All days are vacant, but some are so empty they become vacuum pulling me in. On days like this, I walk by nail polish remover bottles and yearn to wander the burning rivers of drinking them, type on my keyboard and imagine the short storm of smashing it against the glass of the displays, climb a ladder to reach high shelves and imagine the freedom compacted in a moment of falling, look at my screen and just yearn to the effortless distraction of hitting my head against it so hard I would maybe finally lose consciousness, don the masks for people and fantasize the deceiving power of hurting them.... and then I'm asked of how I am. On days like this, it nearly breaks my mind creating the black hole needed to suck all the yearning for extreme in, then brace every cell in place and squeeze out an "I'm bored" or an "I'm good" or a "Same old, same old." I self devour.

About prisons.

Minions,I can't breath! Some days, I'm overcome with ferocious basic need to fly, just to jump out of the viscosity of my thoughts and fly, through light air, open air, air that does not cling pulling me back into the swamps of my head, air that does not weigh me down. I am overcome by a ferocious, basic, animalistic, vital for survival need to fly, to the point that my shoulder bones tingle with the anticipation of wings sprouting any moment, to the point that my heart cracks loudly with disappointment every time wings don't. I am overcome by a ferocious, basic, animalisitc, vital for survival, heart hitching, lungs constricting, muscles tightening need to fly, to the point that every inch I don't gain in flight is added to the lumps in my throat that quickly ascend to tears in my eyes.... and then even those are kept prisoners not provided or providing release; to the point that every second I don't take off turns into years' rust sealing the grip of my chains further. Minions, I can't breath, it's too heavy being locked in here. I need to fly. 

About the stifling vastness.

Minions, I come to you estranged. I find it more less intimate everyday talking to you. Despite once thinking that was as bad as it could possibly get, I am getting worse. I find it less in my ability to remember what feeling is like, what is happy, excited, sad or overwhelmed was, how to communicate anything but surface smiles and questions. Lying caring, sympathy, devotion, passion, love have been the fall back plan for so long I really don't know if anything I think I feel is real or not any more. Emotions are all reduced to nothing but rings of themselves; *Tin* guilt *tin* meh *tin* love *tin* meh *tin* sympathy *tin* meh. Everything is so fleeting, and absolutely nothing leaves a lasting emotional impression, nothing did for quite some time now. Minions, some days I am so overcome with a fantasy of hitting my head against the wall so bad that the only thing that stops me is the contrast between how light my head is in that fantasy, and how heavy and painful it is in reality. Does anyone ever know themselves right? Is there real truth or just perceived notions of it? I am undone. Minions, I find it more less intimate everyday talking to you, myself, in the search of some sort of solid ground I managed to lose even my sense of self. I find a mental bump every time I use the pronoun I, like without completing a sentence or saying anything but "I" I'm lying. I have no clue what that "I" is. I can't circumvent using it though. Out of body experiences always seemed like an intriguing concept, maybe that;s only when there's a back to body finale to it. I lost all my homes down to the very basic of mental one. I don't feel so good. Minions, bye for now.

About organs of perception, deniable truth and hurt!

When asked why my emotional moments are always tied with words, I say the same thing I say when someone says a truth about me I did not choose to share myself, "That's not true!"
It is
I then thought about it, why words hurt, heal, or matter in the first place. I think my heart has ears, my head ears have always been bad, lots of doctors have been up in their business, they say they produce too much wax, that they close themselves off voluntarily.. I think that's why my heart grew some of its own. The thing is with ears that far inside, and this is scientifically proven, they over-compensate for the hushed voices with heightened sensitivity... They hear EVERYTHING, the lies in I love you, the self involvement in I miss you, the distinct tone difference between social and caring... They have long robbed me of comfortable lies, they have further robbed me of trusting truth when they hear it.. My heart has been hurt by its ears over and over that bad sounds shatter it because it believes them, good words shatter it because it can't. My head ears have always been bad, lots of doctors have been up in their business, they say they produce too much wax, that they close themselves off voluntarily... Head ears were smart... The heart is comically known to lack smarts, mine adheres to that stereotype like I walk the lines of cages I try to hide in forgetting the spaces between the bars are not sound proof...

About islands, oceans you can walk on and bedrooms!

Minions! I come to you stupefied... I don't understand what it is to grow out. I've seen it a million times, a human is in a disadvantage, the human reaches out, communicates the problem and they receive assistance, they accept it like extensions are second nature, like the apparent limits of our bodies are a mirage, like in truth humanity is a multi faced, limbed, minded, world covering entity; one that I am banned from. I don't understand looking for shelter in someone else's compassion, dropping self sustenance enough to confess a default lack of wholeness. I do not understand the ease of promoting the nooks of your puzzle piece edges, or what you had for lunch or how you exude love. I have spent a lifetime being the no man who is an island, I have been stormed back in every time I tested the water temperature with my toes, I am always on the outside flailing against the current to be sucked in while wishing I could give in to it. I have always been peacefully lonely, gloriously sufficient.... I have always been a very well painted exterior and a well furnished reception space, I have always feared my bedrooms to the point of leaving them fester with monsters. I have never understood the appeal of joining hands.... I still stand before it mystified. Finding that the oceans surrounding you are walk-able should have been a moment of ecstasy... it's a reflection of my paralysed limbs instead. Turns out I was always pulled in, not pushed back, turns out no one can push anyone back, turns out I am my monsters all along. Minions, I need to face the monsters first... 

About the shrinkage of will and self destructiveness!

Minions! I come to you with my soul knotted into a million tiny shards. There's something very terrifying about saying things you don't mean, something estranging from your own skin, lips, vocal cords, tongue.... like being in a car right before an accident, I shrink to let another person take over, shrink beyond my yelling at her to stop, shrink beyond my ability to connect, shrink from the massive terror of seeing something precious being destroyed due to nothing but cowardice or fear, my heart got ripped out. I have other people inside, and they imprison me, they stop my words, choke me mid sentences, they roam the muscles of my hands and stop them from extending, they stand on the corners of my eyes and stop them expressing, they block the tear ducts, they tie the tongue, they tighten my cage everyday... I am scared, and even though this has happened a million times before, I never before cared about the consequences... this time I can't live with them... I am scared to the point of pushing away everything I love enough to get scared of losing. Minions, numb is no longer ok, emptiness is no longer safe and love is no longer transient... help me on a killing spree.

About overdosing, automation and the danger of not drowning!

Minions! My ever patient and accepting open arms.... I come to you burned out. Talking is the single most exhausting activity in the world. Some days, I wonder if words are as magical as I always see them to be; they have a critical turning point, where they turn from colourful meaningful connecting threads into mindless repetitive noises, they remind me very much of the bubbles that I drew coming out of fish underwater when I was little, with the flat glass like eyes that have no more depth than a mirror. There is emotional danger in not remembering conversations from days on end, something feels very isolating in words that rise and fall in just my mouth, words that didn't travel the corners of my existence to get out... While some days words offer hanging bridges to the nooks of our souls, mostly, to transient people they just build huge barricades between our skin and whatever lies inside it... Those guarding words exhaust me to no end, they are like sand in my furnaces... listening to something while not seeing the resonance of it in the people's eyes jolts my fear so many times a day, too many times to the point of numbness. Minions, offer me meaningful silence over the depth-less words a hundred times over before I go automated.... help me through somehow.

About the me that got lost in you and the me you lead me to!

I can't find words! I want to weave words of waiting, of slowly watching the once vibrant fibres of your heart turn into scar tissue, but then I remember that you are at the end of my lines and my heart comes alive again. I want to speak of the constant buzz of feelings at the back of every mundane life thought and how exhausting they are, but then I flow with them all the way to you and stop; the very thought of you has become the home of all my thoughts, like mundane is not so boring with you there, like you there right next to all the "me"s in my head is the most natural thing in the world. I want to speak of the frightening intensity of all my thoughts, I want to speak of the sharp edges of my feelings, and the blinding glare of all this new, but then you take my hand in exploring and it all just becomes milder, not because the light dimmed out or the edges were dulled, but because your entity is my shield! I can't find the words because I am too busy hanging on the edges of yours; I can't find the words because all the corners that used to collect the shards of me have been occupied by you.  All I want to share now is you, all I want to say is you, all I want to connect to is you. The three small letters of the word "you" have gained the weight of my heart ever since they wore you! You are enough... Minions, you're going to have to share my spaces 

About the strumming of my chords in alternation and the loops of fantasy!

Minions! I come to you at the last possible expansion of the stitches that keep all my chocked mouths closed. Hope is at its essence a play with words, it adds a myriad of layers to every minor insignificant event in our lives, it makes signs out of every spoken word. Deflated hope is also one of the main reasons our hearts turn into a mess of shards as we grow older instead of the slippery smooth of their origins. I soar me up with no regard to the lack of any safety net, with no regard to the gleaming blades below, and even though there is no gravity inside, I spin around myself in so many loops that I create my very own gravitational centre, bringing me down from the height of hope to the stagnant pool of my blades, in the most pleasant excruciating pain my heart had ever squeezed through; pleasant with the temporarily undone knots, excruciating with all the new shards formed and remoulded into semi function. Minions, never before have you wanted out this bad, never before have I wanted you to be; yet now.... now I can barely keep you in, even with all the will power I can muster. I want to allow all my colours loose, be seen, judged even if I am to be found inadequate, this is the one time I can't fathom the possibility of another silent passing through! Minions, validate yourself, and in due time, you *will* be let fly to your callings as you please.

About the shrinkage of words that lead to shrinkage of worlds, and half deliveries!

Minions! I am selfish. Connecting to others is a strong driving force to human behaviour, it is a need; I have never had that need satisfied. I am too vain to risk showing people my cracks, I can't connect without showing them. Instead of focusing on all the things I want to say, I drown myself in all the ways I could say them but won't! I break and rearrange the letters a thousand times; I play with synonyms and admire the beauty of antonyms! I dance with words till I lose the urgency of saying them, then I wake up, sweating, tired and as always disconnected....  If I use "like" instead of "burn with love", then I can test the waters... if I use "tired" instead of "maddeningly lonely" I can disguise my weakness, if I use "No" instead of "I have been waiting a thousand years to say Yes!" I keep my walls up... I use words that are always half burning with the deepest conviction of their meanings, the fire gets put out by fake half jokes and I fizzle instead of ignite! Minions, deliver me out of halves. 

About the confinement of my skin, and the sealed doors!

Minions! I come to you jaded. It blows my mind how my internal worlds could be falling apart into new realities while being completely still on the outside, talking, joking, being "social". Lonely is when I can vividly see me banging my head and fists at the solid surface of my skin from the inside while the soft skin of the outside remains composed; as if my cells are bound together by melded iron and steel instead of organic matter; as if my physical borders are riddled with armed forces. I wanted to yell out things that wouldn't even fight against the lumps of my throat, so I settled for another defeated sigh. Today I typed what I didn't want to say... today I fell out of denial and into a razor sharp new reality... today I melted, solidified into a new mould, and lied. Minions, help me find the door back to denial, it was kinder to my heart. 

About trust and the inches of our faith!

Minions! I come to you in my loosest grasp of myself yet. As humans, our wanting feels most pressing when the possibility of it satisfied is strongest; we are the most hungry at the sight of food, and we struggle to convey with most, almost hopeless, sincerity when we recognize fitting docks for our bridges. As humans, we are driven the most into corners by losing those close possibilities from our almost grasping hands; at the culmination of my struggling to connect with all the matter of my hand stretched full, an inch of space persists, one that can only be closed by free falling out of all my familiar, out of denials, comfort zones, and "white" lies.... my chains ring out in protest to moving their rust.  Heights have always unsettled me, not for fear of falling, rather due to the tightening of the chains of my not being able to simply fly off! People who understand have always unsettled me, not for all the space covered, rather due to the tightening of the chains that can only be broken with my eyes closed and senses sealed, due to the one inch that still needs covering! Minions, I don't really know....

About the sine waves, the scattering of my parts and the truths!

Minions! I come to you rapidly alternating internal explosions with implosions..... I spend my days building boxes, perfecting the walls, looking over the cracks with content smiles, rattling the bars and pulling on the chains to make sure everything is secure and then panic when I find out I'm on the inside! I then proceed to cower into denial, imagining how easy it would be to bring the boxes down when I want to, how I am in full control, and how I don't mind them in the first place..... and then panic when I realize, I lie. Having the heart of me all but beat out of my wide open chest one second, then slowing into a worked trudge against the caving in of that same chest walls the next; I feel as if every cell of me is me, pacing the floors of my head, banging their heads against its walls, stubbing their toes and clenching their fists, stomping their legs and rocking on the balls of their feet, biting their nails and twisting their hands to all the shapes they could and could not be.... maddening with search for the lines between truth and comforting lies, lies and truths we hope are so. Minions, colour me braver so I can handle it, then face me head on, and most important, rock me into sleep! 

About the pretty of assemtry, and mental resonance!

I've always preferred pretty to beautiful, always loved things that existed despite themselves rather than because of them. There is something so inherently resonant in all things that hold their own with all their imperfections. My favourite bracelet is a rosary missing a bead, it was in a stall, separated, declared to be of less value, to me though, the missing bead is a speed bump; a simple glance towards my wrist breaks me out of the automation of everyday life and into memories of hot weather, good company, places that had soul and how I enthusiastically declared my eternal love for the unbalanced rosary. There's something very distant about sleek perfect things, things that are too smooth for memories or soul to latch onto and grow, things that are so full of themselves that there is no room for connections, things that are too shiny to show anything but a reflection! There's an instinctive bond between souls with all their indents, grooves, nooks, scar tissue and rough patches and things that feel like they have had their share of life too. If not for the areas of compromise and shape shifting in us, how can we make contact? If not for the small value-diminishing faults in industry, how can you see each thing for it's irreplaceable own? If not for our scars, how could we be ourselves?! Minions, we're OK. 

About detachment, my mysteries, and the sharp and the dull!

Minions! It's been so long... I am again alone enough to turn inside, to turn to you my ever supportive figments of imagination. I've always felt a certain affinity to incomplete things, things that should be symmetrical but are not.... I've also always kept myself to myself, never wading in to further than up my ankles, never to my knees much less my heart. Looking in now is like looking through tens of old filters, windows, murky waters and years' debris. I can't see me no matter how many cobwebs I blow, and after a certain threshold of sharpness to my feelings, their cuts become too swift and clean for me to notice! If I can't see, or feel me.... then what is a lie and what is truth, to myself or to my people. Are my extended hands sincere? My bridges have proven themselves flimsy time and time again, no matter how sturdy I think I've built them, they fall apart with the first sign of time wearing, with all the work invested, I never add anything but the bare minimum of emotional involvement, I build my bridges on salt..... Minions, help me face you properly... lay me out clearer, and for once, cement my salt! 

About the winds that went stale!

Minions! I hate pickles. there is something very melancholic in the way pickles are made, pushed into tight spaces, submerged in salt and vinegar and acid, having the water dry out of you and replaced by the pungent vichyssoise of burning chemicals..... no wonder they emerge in colours close to those of imagined zombies! There is something very eerie about the slow character of the process of making pickles, time has a frightening effect on things kept tight, though it seems an oxymoron, the slow passing of time is the most powerful accelerator to the festering of things under our skin. For some reason, the expression "put a lid on it" reminds me of pickle jars; I used to talk a lot, I used to express and connect and share, granted not all but the important things.... now I just put a lid on it. It's easy to turn the green clear of a cucumber into a dead swamp of a pickle, you just need to add feelings that burn and put a lid on it. To turn the healthy pink of my heart to a muddy swamp of fear, add salty constrictions and put a lid on it. It used to be easy to wade through the lakes of my mind, now I get stuck in the stifling stale air... and I still put a lid on it. Minions, open me up before I shrivel into a zombie coloured lidded jar. 

About the rooms and drawers!

Minions! I come to you exasperated. I find my self breathing out "I don't know" quite often, which only serves to wondering what exactly don't I know. I lose track of my questions to the point I don't realize I'm walking tight ropes till I reach their ends... if I could build pillow bridges between the rooms of my head, I could maybe find my questions and only then get past my "I don't know" sighs. Minions, connect me clearer!

About communication, mouth jails and shaky bridges!

Minions, I come to you extended to a self enforced halt! I have watched my heart boil and spill over in the spaces of my chest a million times over, a kind of spilling over that mysteriously and quickly turns into upward avalanches of words that unconventionally choose to go up stream clutching to the grooves and specific indentations of my vocal cords. Most of the times my head gets jealous, why are those words so big, why do they try so hard to be spoken, what is it that makes them brim with layers and fold themselves to fill the shoes of their meanings and surpass the depth less surfaces of their letters... why don't the brain words go up in flames too... and in those most of times, the head, in what might be its only senseless childish act of petty sabotage, stops those avalanches... halts them at the very tips of my tongue and watches them tumble over each other in hollow victory! In terms of myself, I am the hesitant head whose fear of burning out is wrapped in petty jealousy, I am the heart that keeps expanding only to suddenly shrink and ooze all its light out... I am a guru of ajar doors and words just barely left unspoken! Minions, expand the overlapping of courage and cowardice of my warring halves, align me with me and as ever be there! 

About facades, obsessive behavioural patterns and shape-shifting pills!

Minions! I come to you on a shaky psyche. When someone is chronically scared, things and people that make them safe become addictive and escaping becomes as instinctive as it is demoralizing. Fear becomes an underlying propeller of everything that is perceived as "me"! Sometimes I hate it when people call my name, it builds more walls when I say yes, it makes a liar out of me when I say yes...... Minions, you need to be undone!