Monday, December 14, 2020

Words Can’t Be Worthless!

 

we need assessment or understanding or reach. I need you to meet me, as opposed to me meeting you, it centers around me. such seabirds such functionality—while I can’t be influenced. so rough a patch such mirrors in a den so many lion-alligators. a griffin in tales a human riddle or a remarkable woman. sentences leave much in debate. I wonder while walking. I see such confusion, such room for clarity. you gave me x, I received adolescence, it was a visceral experience. (I met a soul. she was repulsed. I hadn’t done much. I met another. we met with friction. she said I was too confident.) how has it become so much in dice where discomfort means the other is wrong? so subtle in dynamite such a curse in blood while a man is traveling his road. those maps are old. they don’t display back travels. I desire something up to date. “Such a hassle. So much a problem. While I can never hear him.” I met a woman, some rare thinker. she got under my helmet. we dance at times, something filled with feelings, while I ache for going silent. those troubled skies—those grounds couching up roots—or to see a sunflower growing in concrete cracks. a man to his studies a woman to her legacy while both are dissatisfied. we need assessment or understanding or reach. she reminds me of emotion, such razor depth commotion, while seeing her is uncomfortable. so much a confession where it hurts deeply, for something is understated; by friction in waves by caves in understanding as to realize we have a right to our feelings. to sell autonomy while vying autonomy where egalitarians must respect one’s freedoms. petals to soil. sap to bark. ants running wildly once disturbed. so diligent so careful so cautious! it becomes its elements it becomes caustic it defends self when no one is around. it argues inside it laughs in private it’s literally too evolved—for earth or work or spouse! (she becomes childlike when feeling insecure, so adorable, I forget she’s totally devious. I then get angry where manipulation is loud but I take pride in seeing, nonetheless.)   

I’d Save The Reader Years

    The beat becomes sickness. A long crucible—a drilling ecstasy. I was losing focus, feeling forbidden, if to self, if to mirrors. So curs...