I do write poems, but I have never considered myself a poet- constantly contemplating with unapologetic language; trying to masterfully hide my blurs behind the curtain of my loyal words.
I’m generally a thinker. One who questions. One who seeks. One who sometimes cannot be silent.
What happens around me provokes me- the things people tend to do, and those things they ignore and choose not to do instead. And also the things I’m forced to do- both those I love and those I hate, but I turn a blind eye.
All these make me think and my head becomes a dungeon harboring rageful thoughts, each crying out loud to be freed, seeking comprehension
Now I know how life is and how people are. People are unbelievable and sometimes life is unpredictable. Days renew themselves, and sometimes they just don’t.
I mean what’s there to wonder, or to be amazed about in this world right now? We all know what’s right and wrong, what’s good and bad.
And we also know how that can change in a matter of seconds. We become perplexed, or rather with rage, everything we have ever known changes. And we are left to suffer the consequences.
To be honest, I loose myself sometimes. And I fight to find myself every time I feel lost. When the world seems strong for me, I tend to confide my thoughts in these words I express. I pour them out, trying so hard to find that lost part of mine, and I beckon it to come back home.
It’s tormenting most times, and very hard. But at least it gets quiet inside and I come to fulfilling realizations.
We all have our strength and weakness, but that doesn’t matter these days.
We are all children of chances, and most people have grown of not taking chances. They just act without hesitation. And that is how men are forged these days. They don’t hesitate to express themselves, both with their words and actions.
So yes, maybe I think too much, or these thoughts tend to spark loneliness, and I’m forced to seek perfection. And belonging. Maybe it’s fear, but what’s there not to be afraid of? Both my fellow men and life itself entwined with the inevitable death.
Thing is, everyone wants peace, love and happiness. And sometimes we fall short and we choose pleasure. We choose silence and survival. But that’s understandable. It’s acceptable. Because the most important thing is how we express ourselves, how we say what we want and go about it.
And that is enough for us, because peace is hard to find and happiness doesn’t always stay with us that long.
But love, even though puzzling sometimes, it keeps us going. And we express ourselves with what we love, and how we choose to love.
We could be afraid, and not even speak sometimes, but when we look at the world and how we care to stop the pain, we just speak. We let it all out. We help those close to us and we give them a reason to believe in something good, something greater than ourselves.
And in the process we are healed. We accept and love once more.