Poetic genres
A less than imperfect life
✒️SlamPrologue – Love is looking for me
What's gotten into me?
Am I afraid of love?
When did I decide it wasn't for me?
When did I believe myself?
How many years have I been searching for the ephemeral for its ephemeral quality?
What happiness has it brought me?
I turned to the Eternal One while chasing the passengers
This is my normal mode
That's what I know
It's easy, it's habit.
It's easy to be easy
Why is it easier to make someone else's tail come than your own heart?
Is it really as I thought?
Am I really who I thought I was?
Am I really looking for what I want?
But what exactly is it?
Just a little bit of company, perhaps?
No, I'm not looking for love.
It is up to Love to find meImperfect Slam
I accept the company that life puts in my path
But something inside me
No bouge belt
Is there even anything there?
I don't know if it's him I'm indifferent to.
Or, I, who have cultivated my inner self as a garden of apathy.
Within me
Nothing is moving
I'm bored
But at least nothing hurts
And that
It feels good
Because I couldn't bear the suffering any longer.
It's best not to feel anything.
Yet
There are those who want to suffer
To feel something
To remind themselves that they are alive
Not me
The mere distance between me and my breaths creates negative pressure for the icy breath of life, and when it penetrates me, its bite is a sufficient reminder that I am not living enough. And yet, each passing day brings me closer to death, as much as any other, if not more. And I don't want to die with the regret of not having lived enough, because that would be too much… too much…
I'm hesitating.
What word can I use to end this sentence that already perfectly expresses my relationship with myself, so perfectly that any other word would disrupt its balance?
And perhaps that's my fault.
Preventing me from living for an abstraction like the balance of a sequence of words
Forbid me from choosing an imperfect adjective
To place above myself the perfection of an incomplete sentence
This has to stop
I'm going to finish it
…and I don't want to die with the regret of not having lived enough because that would be too… imperfect
It's not ideal, but it's true and it's mine.
But why can't I feel anything yet?Conclusion – Just one life
It hurts to only have a mortal life
But it feels good to only have one death
Am I following, or am I being followed?
✒️regretI no longer know what I'm doing on this Earth
I no longer know where I should hide.
Or should I simply remain silent?
And where to go so you can wander?
And where can I go to get some fresh air?Am I just a simpleton?
Do I follow, or am I being followed?
I don't know anymore?
Or do I know it better than anyone else?With each of my steps
I carry with me all the doubt and the weight of faith
This mountain did not move despite my ordering it to.
She did not throw herself into the sea
I did not bring Atlantis to life.
Not yet, but I know she's there
I know she's waiting for me.
But is she just waiting for me?Am I following, or am I being followed?
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Note exceeds age
✒️regretLook at the horizon
and the pedestrian walking on the waves
Waters where you drown
The one you rejected and refused
Which you didn't want as a keystone
You beg him to be your lifeline
The one you keep stalling
Is the cornerstone
Who flees running across the seaHe is handsome
He is king
He is meI, who am running away from all your problems
Those very ones that you make mine
When you fight for my attention
To force me to listen to your prayers
Those that you address to a god
A god you didn't want
That you have locked up, chained up and beaten
With blows to the head from a baton
Which will be returned to you a thousand times over.
When the harvest comes
I'll be back with a combine harvester
Throw away all this tares
That I will burn to keep myself warm
Because in all truth
I'm telling you
I can't find a single good grain in the Cities
And it's all fire and flames
That I will sink us all.Leave comments
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