You go through life doing a lot of things;
School, work, relationships,
Vacations, hearing neat speeches,
Learning new skills, that get old
Finding a niche
Forming an opinion
Feeling sad for others; getting annoyed by others
Feeling attacked, developing a case to live
Doing productive stuff while watching the clock tick
When really, there’s nothing that’s truly interesting
… besides maybe flicking a rubber band with the fingers
Or doing the happy baby yoga pose
‘Till it gets old, and then you have to look for other new fun things to do
Like hanging off the side of the bed
Or tracking the movement of the clouds ’till it gets boring, and then you have to move on to do some more unless things… at least useless according to some,
When actually, there’s nothing that’s profound that’s interesting out there. God? Boring. Religion? Blahhh. Job? A waste of time. Relationships? Overrated. Shopping? Wtf…
Licking fingers? Yes!
Monkey talk? Wooo whoo!
Bananas? Uh huhhh!
In the news yesterday, a girl accidentally killed her sister carelessly while drunk driving. She sounded apathetic when she talked. I felt sharp anger towards her. I thought she didn’t deserve this world nor this life anymore. She was a disgrace to society; a murderer of her own innocent sister. She seemed to sound crazy when she talked. She looked emotionless; it was as if she was possessed. She’s the type that no one will ever understand. She’s probably hurt. This world is full of hurt. Full of walking souls; miserable, in pain. In the end, I wanted to give her a hug. I imagined the faraway and numb look on her face.
I wanted to go home and hug my little sister. I’d give up a limb for her.
I got confronted at the bus stop several weeks back. It wasn’t a big deal but I still recall how I chose to remain silent and composed while the bus driver laughed.
I got yelled by the same guy for a mistake he made while he was inattentive. I’m sure he realized his mistake and felt bad afterwards, but I still got hurt.
When my mom yells at me due to frustrations in her own life, I know she’s not the perpetrator and nor am I the victim. I just know that sometimes we get treated as people’s punching bags. Sometimes it hurts being passive; people really may not know how sensitive I really am inside. It hurts me, and my eyes moisten in the silence amid darkness. But the sounds of crickets at night whisper to me that they really do know. My sensitivity is as clear as daylight; it really isn’t something that I could ever hide very well. Yet I understand why we get treated as punching bags. The perpetrators are hurting as much as the victims themselves. Everybody’s swimming in a sea of hurt. A dead man killed on the cross is a hurtful sight that’s inspired an entire religion. We’re all just walking around carrying our own stories and burdens. It’s a quiet world if we just let our minds hush. It’s a loving world if we just look into each other’s teary eyes.
She can only be so open with someone who loves her so
So when he feeds her this love, she loves in return
Giving back each ounce of it, giving more than what she can give
To keep him alive and breathing;
knowing that she is his sole purpose
his newfound religion, his reason, his addiction
And to touch her, taste her is not a mere wish
It’s a dire need
And the only way to exist
Hot air nags and tugs the burning skin. Just cut through all the nonsense and dive in. Power swim across this deceivingly peaceful shark tank. Plunge away from every little thing. Rinse away the pain and the anxiety. Motor your way through life. Just keep swimming.
Swim for survival.
Swim to breathe.
Swim to finally be.
Four laps to fifty, swim to infinity.
Swim to be free; you don’t belong to anybody. Swim like the fish; scaled, slippery and eyes focused. Swim in a world that’s completely blue; blue skies and blue ground, as they rotate round and round. Head up, head down.
One two three, four five six. Life is numerical, life is simple.
Soul is the body, and the body is powerful, almighty,
Instinct becomes the new religion.
Life becomes real.
There’s no reservations and no denial; there’s just the pure and sacred holy truth.
You’re an animal,
teeth gritted and skin bared.
The only thing you smell is sex and survival.
The only thing that matters is to just keep swimming, keep breathing.