Thinking: The Reality Inside

Thinking: The Reality Inside

The Reality Inside coax me from my shell i need a reason to go outside a day not too far from now the purple berries will be covered in frost again the pine cones will hang frozen from the trees there will be no pugnacious buzz of agitated bees but i will remain inside a reality within an ever-changing paradigm Love always, Esha ❤

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He Who Burnt

By Rona Caspi

He then swings like an acient art

He remembers how it was taught in that dark.

Steady and projecting,

The father flew up high.

That child was amused in that very moment,

Air smelled like clement, it goes strong in every movement.

To ascend he felt peace-

To descend it's pure bliss.

To relever again and again,

Icarus stumbles to glide and bend.

"It's near, it's near." The father mumbled.

"You needed to bear, don't ever crumble."

Huge wings finally reached the crept's end.

It's time the tiny has to bent.

Daedalus has never seen,

As the surrounding starts to dim.

"Father already reached the sun.

I can now be his son."

ZONE - LF_Rabbitbyte.Net/Ambnc/ZonePropertiesTalk - Mickey & Chad

ZONE – LF_Rabbitbyte.Net/Ambnc/ZonePropertiesTalk – Mickey & Chad

Chad: This solution, FORMZ, it will change the face of Real Estate? Mickey: The solvent done on earth lots can out of biomechanical system will and have proven to restructure the chemical alignment and biological make-up, by using micro-engineering and cyberlocative, this refactoring with the ZONE technology will change the face of Real Estate–yes. Chad: and is this all that Starport: ZONE is…

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maybe i’m too hopeful for a dead man

— hanuel-is-scy

Spoken vs. Written Word

(draft)

the written word

seems to convey thoughts

in a much better way

than speech.

one can spend hours

adjusting their vessel for emotion

when writing,

they allow their pen to spill secrets.

when spoken,

one has but a second

to build words

and construct sentences.

thinking about tone,

delivery,

pitch--

an exhausting task.**

there is so much room

for misinterpretation

when one cannot manage

the delivery of words.

when scratching the paper

with ink-stained tips,

thought has time to seep

into the folds of the mind.

what happens though,

when one can't even find the words

to speak or write

to begin with?

when words fail,

what becomes the new vessel?

or is one forced

to remain silent?

Spilling Thoughts

(like ink on parchment)

writing.

a way to put emotions

on paper.

to paint feelings

with words

and sounds.

to illustrate experiences

with tears

and brushes.

why is it

that these words

relieve so much pain?

cutting it out

of my chest,

pulling a sword

from a stone.

an impossible feat

only ink

can achieve.

although sometimes,

not even a pen can dislodge

the feelings wedged

between my ribs.

Soft Jealousy

(or is it longing?)

As much as I love to see them,

through the windows of the screen

I can't stand seeing them together,

shoulders and arms touching,

leaning against one another.

I wish I was there,

too much to be able

to look and laugh with them

through the other end of the barrier.

I miss them too much

to be able to enjoy their time together.

Maybe soon I'll be there,

sandwiched in the middle.

Inked

I write better on paper

because my inscriptions

are not daunted

by a blinking cursor,

but live on ink:

where dashed words are like dead timber on the embankment, now irrelevant--

but still visible, still within hand's reach;

A glint of hope,

just incase I lose the stream of words

to the undercurrent they call "imposter syndrome"

-Kimberlee Tan, 10th April 2:56AM GMT

She walks.

Gloomy halls,

-empty, dim, with a small glistening.

Smells of musty books take over.

She feels free, as she looks out the window to see flowers. Lavishing.

She’s learning more about her and who she wants to be.

-Plants + earth.

It’s a start.

Third Time’s A Charm

Twice my exit left

showcased an incalculable fury

white-hot lightning striking you down,

rendering you mute.

I remained unashamed,

only hungry for answers

and you purposely evading fault,

starved me out.

Number threes’ retreat —

a phasewalk

a ghostly goodbye

my phone line cut dead.

Thrice your cowardice encumbered you

none more so than the last,

sisterhood has not become you,

your old patterns nauseatingly repetitive,

My faults pale in comparison.

Sutured Wounds

I wasn’t expecting that remembering it all

would feel so raw

even after all this time,

to suddenly realize

I miss you

as much as it pains me to admit it.

I question my nostalgia.

My memories of you are muddy —

except for your eyes,

those I wish to forget the most,

such clear recognition of remorse,

tears I was too indifferent to wipe away

and you,

begging me to stay.

I don’t regret much,

merely wondering these days,

your well-being mysterious to me,

mine apparently better off from our catastrophe;

throughout these recollections

a sorrow plagues me,

I unknowingly,

quietly grieving our disturbing adolescence.

Only children back then

pretending to be grown,

after the hell we’d seen,

the firsthand unkindness and cruelty,

ironically,

our commodious enemies were not others,

but ourselves and each other —

your finger pointed at me,

two fingers pointed back at you,

and all your half-truths in-between.

Yes,

I ponder the old days.

I look over my shoulder,

scanning strangers in our hometown,

in the cars passing by 101 bound,

anticipating the day I will face what branded me

“Not good enough!”

that scarred the heart

I’ve so carefully rearranged anew,

you were a gun forced in my hand.

I’d cock and release the fury at your command,

my personified bullet wound.

Now,

as a rule much revered,

my heart remains ready,

deadlocked and steady

on the chance of our entwining paths.

Fate may see it fit

and I’ll pray for the strength to survey you

without bitterness or shame

because we were only kids.

You fell victim to your demons,

and I was a victim of you.

You,

only a boy with vast dreams,

a man’s vice upon me.

I,

desperate to be seen,

a girl as naive as you allowed me to be.

The Ocean

(hopefully this doesn't come off as mindless optimism, but I was dragging a stick down the beach during vacation and thought of this)

((also yes, another draft that may never be edited))

how poetic is it

drawing a line in the sand

only for it to be washed away

into the sea

erased from my mind

erased from history

maybe you can look at life

like the sea

admire its beauty

as you are reminded that

your impact

is only to be washed away

it brings comfort to some

knowing that their mistakes

mean nothing

it brings despair to others

knowing that their actions

have no impact

maybe instead

we can look out over the sea

and let it lap at our minds

slowly

drawing us in

with its receding tides

we, champions

I'm sorry Mr. Rosewater I wouldn't share the breakfast of champions with my own daughter-- you gotta earn that shit. learn that shit. take the weakest parts of yourself and burn that shit-- we ain't born with shit no wish shit; talent in abundance--

water is life. tears are a life lived, I’d rather be the one eating than a smear on a bib-- as the depression slides home. not safe! black magic to black tragic--

the floodgates are ajar like a lion’s jaw; forever the thorn in the lion’s paw; in awe of a truth so raw you don’t gotta lie first to make it hurt when you say it- but for real it depends how you play it soothsayer, booth slayer, all game no player-- no god, no prayers-- just teeth and crashing hands and sharp words that are worse when whispered but feel better when yelled. another strange fruit another strange bell. ding. ding. ding. Pavlov is both god and the pope to capitalism, to hate-- but what they can’t take is what’s in my upright black fist: my fate.  

Midnight Car Rides

(a really rough draft that I may never finish)

sounds

warping around my ears

flowing past like the wind

across the hood of a car

words

passing my face

like the soft rumble of waves

it just serves as background noise

music

drowning thoughts

rippling through the air

like a rock in a pond

the lights

flickering across

my eyelids

closed down by an invisible weight

the seat

vibrates under me

shaking, shaking, shaking

lulling to peace

a feeling in the stomach

settling in the bottom

hunger, anxiety, loneliness?

a strangely pleasant sensation

a chill in my bones

metal on my fingers

metal in my ears

iron on my tongue

fabric moves against skin

a noise that blends with the tug of hair

from the ponytail keeping strands

away from the nape of my neck

the radiator pours

hot air onto my skin

i relish in the warmth

wrapping me in an embrace

carbonation hits my tongue

as a paper straw rubs against

my lips, my teeth

sending shivers down my spine

bad fast food

lingers in my mouth

grease and burnt fries

stuck between gums

the grease stains

my fingers are slicked with oil

my tongue picks up the aftertaste

the seat has spots from grease

the gravel crunches under rubber

the road bending in waves

a ballon in my gut

as the sea underneath me moves

behind the glass

color blends together

lines blurring

straight edges curling into one another

light catches on a mirror

scattering it onto the dashboard

a million fragments

dying the car in colors

as we move down the highway

i feel a sense of peace

that i drown myself in

letting my thoughts pass

like the cars on the other side of the street

2021 Freestyle series #9: 🤹🏿‍♂️🏃🏿‍♂️ nothin = somethin ➖ X

started from the bottom now I eat ceilings for breakfast I am selected like eddie gordo in tekken grew up neglected I felt pathetic but its empathetic hurting others while you hurting is human I get it   emotional wounds kill the quickest boy you can bet it stop the bleeding art the antiseptic tatted over scars pain is eclectic   it took getting my whole mental dissected then reconnected to take the first step its up to you to know  what moves to make inner peace is a jewel no on can take promises you make is no one can break but you sirens and lights so blue dude talkin bout “Freeze don’t move” his demeanor is white like donnie darko not office space the type to call you boy and tell you learn your place all they see is your skin you don’t have no face have you in jail; no space waiting on the fools who pressed pause to press play   you stopped trying to count the days then they stand in court and lie and they cousin is the judge working your case yeah your heart’s on your sleeve but up its an ace pull the boot straps up tighten the lace its time to quicken the pace its time to go take something break something make something out of nothin trapped by debt and consumption in the white man’s enterprise dirt under my finger nails t ears in my eyes nothing in my stomach and all they got to eat is lies my baby’s cries acapella trauma unplugged got flowers in my attic demons in my cellar just another black fella ducking the hang mans rope and the church's definition of hope

Freedom

You told me that you had to be your own Sun, in your own words. Unfortunately, I am consuming your every thought and, to you, it seems as if this is a restriction on you. I do apologize for being on your mind constantly, the last thing I ever wanted to do was hinder you.

You told me that, in order to be on your journey later on, you cannot be held down by anything. I know where you want to go and end up, but I am wondering when you will finally do as you say. You have made up your mind what the path to freedom is in your lifetime.

I am telling you, that you consume my thoughts, similar just as you said I do to yours. I do understand how much you love me, how much you care for me, seeing how it can turn into some sort of obsession. It plagued me for months because all I wanted to do was love you, but I knew that was no good for either me or you; my eternal and unwavering love should only go to someone who shall return it in full. I have loved you as much as you have allowed, as much as you have loved me... For the first time, I have not "love bombed" someone, pushing them away before it begins with too anxious of attachment. Loving you has bestowed upon me the greatest lesson- how to love. How to love... that's appropriate and proper.

I am telling you, that thank you for warning me so that I try my best not to have fallen in love with you. You have taught me to better love myself, better take care of myself, and better prepare myself for the future.

You told me how I needed you right now. And it felt like if I didn't need you, you would have left. Is that true? Please, do not stay if you do not want to. I feel in my heart you still want to stay, but the more you stay you feel as if you are going to stray. Stray from where you're destined to go and who you're to be, but also you do not truly wish to be with me.

I'm telling you, dingus. It's okay. My love is overwhelming and fulfilling, and people know when they're meant to be and when they're not. Choosing to stay and making things work is true love, and what we have is true. But it is not what your fate.

I am telling, my love. I am truly loving you. But I deserve someone who doesn't make me complete (I make myself complete on my own), rather someone who can achieve all they can with me and grow successfully. And I wish it could've been you, I truly, truly do. But I will live on without you just as every other heartbroken person has done until they have loved themselves enough again to move on.

You told me you loved me unconditionally and I cried for hours. I shall love you for eternity, wishing you the best wholeheartedly. If your freedom is free from me, then let that be. You being free sets me free, too, to find who I'm meant to be-and be with.

From,

A hopeless romantic with too many words in her head

"Countless times many of us are undervalued, underestimated, or, undermined. Don't allow someone else's negative opinions be an imprint on you." M. ShayLèe #writing, #wellbeing, #writer, #writers, #writingcommunity, #freestyle, #learn, #billionairemindset, #mindbodyspirit, #mindful, #howto, #positivemindset,#positiveattitude, #positivelife, #learning, #billionairelifestyle, #positivequotes, #write, #photographerlife, #positivity, #lifelessons, #bloggerlife, #creativeminds, #mentor, #affirmations, #lifecoaching, #skills, #hustle, #writeaway, #millionairemindset https://www.instagram.com/p/CM10a9UhbJ_/?igshid=1j3ckgv9ylg1c

Voice

I have mine

You have yours

May we use them 

To their 

Fucking 

Fullest