A Trippy Existence

I create puns. That are no less meaningful as they are fun

How YODO before YOLO is a derivation of existential philosophy, you would not want to know.

We wrap ourselves in the sceneries of our own minds

Analyze, theorize, rethink, rewind

Sharpening a skill called 'critical thinking' we end up using against ourselves

How these internal sceneries translate into something to tumble out into the real world

Is one question into which I dare to not delve

It is a constant contradiction

If it is not capable of being faffed about, it isn't deep.

If you don't see multiple perspectives, you are not capable of having one of your own.

There is no good or bad. But you still must make up your mind. Have an opinion or you are disowned

I want to explore but not get lost

I want to find meaning in finding meaning in everything else.

Someone please get to the sense in nonsense.

Time flies by as we talk and theorize and explore

It is a constantly conflicting decision about whether I should do up the room before opening the door

For people to see. But someone tell me please

That what lies beyond will not kill me

I need to know if I should prepare for living or an artsy funeral

Where we will discuss the philosophy of existence

In the absence of mine.

Brave

Be brave. Stand straight.

Some shoulders have borne worse weights.

Still do. In the sighs and shrugs

Of unbroken backs but deadened minds.

Yearly the lines grow and sag.

Don’t hurt them, you say.

Don’t be selfish. Be brave.

Bravery was for the guns and grenades that shattered minds and their peace.

Bravery was for those who wrote and spoke and marched.

Pushed against odds, that are to you just ink forms printed on earmarked pages.

They’re just stories passed through ages.

Bravery is not for simpletons like you.

They say. Or you think they do.

Be brave. You say.

On days when one drop squeezes out

As opposed to the floods that have, but of late, come to a stop.

Girls don’t cry. You say.

Be brave.

Some shoulders have borne worse weights.

Don’t worry. It won’t bite.

Don’t be so scared. It’s all in your head.

Don’t be a child. Your words fall dead

On numb ears. Because it’s just one of those days

When just a bark startles a panicked craze.

When the silent noises won’t stop.

Buzzing. Screaming. Drumming.

What an oddity of a human. They say.

Wear a wall on your face.

Be brave.

Don’t be afraid to be speak. But don’t speak stupid.

You won’t find meaning in it, will you?

Don’t be afraid to be yourself. But can’t you be just a little better?

You will always invalidate me in the end.

I will never be your soldier.

I am the sheltered commoner.

No storm

Ever reaches me that you see

Except those inside me. Unseen

I sing no songs of bravery for me.

In a world where singular battles are unseen unlike the greater war

I am your weak little child

That is all you see.

Be brave

Is your only advice to me.

Hello

I have a tendency to justify everything.
Like when I told someone I don't eat beef and immediately followed it with "It's not that I am religious. I just don't like cows. They look...um....gross."
Like when someone points out an eccentricity of mine and I begin psychoanalyzing my behavior in front of them till the awkward silence tells me to stop.
Like now.
By all means I shouldn't have to justify writing a blog but knowing myself, I still will.
I will make excuses saying that a blog is the best way for me to document my work and preferably motivate me to work in the first place. It is just a way for me to put out my amateur explorations of art in the world.
I may also then reveal that sometimes, I write. I think too much and then weave those thoughts into rhyme and in moments of utter irrationality like this, delude myself into thinking that they are worthwhile to be seen. You see, I am the closeted poet.
I am not going to pretend I think my words may mean something to people other than me, but hiding them still feels like a loss.
Thus. This.
Hello.