“I think writers are the most narcissistic people. We, I musn't say this, I like many of them, a great many of my friends are writers.” - Sylvia Plath

IDEAL PURPOSE

I’m so scared of failure. I’m scared of the whispers that will tell you I was a waste of time. I’m scared I'll spend all of my time and I will amount to nothing. Isn't to exist to be more than nothing in its very nature? Could my potential outweigh my production? Is it in my nature to be productive? I will just be me. Whatever that may be. There is no guarantee. But I want to matter. Perhaps for narcissistic reasons. If I don't matter to everyone else then why would I matter at all? If I don't make a difference then why should I exist at all? Maybe my purpose is to create someone, rather than something, who exists. Can one not matter only to oneself and that be sufficient?

MEANING OF LIFE

meaning of life

why are we here

whats the good life

and what does it look like

why do we suffer

would life be better without suffering 

what makes humanity distinct from other mammals

whats the purpose of life -

self-serving to the whole of humanity, to benefit others

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we accept the reality with which we are presented

KNOWLEDGE

Education only provides

The key terms

To unlock

The knowledge

You already possessed

UNTITLED

Your voice scratches my soul

Days pass like lies I can't keep

TRAVEL

to travel through space and time? fly on a plane to a new zone with different customs from another path of life. We feel so strongly when we enter other worlds - whether appreciation for our own out of lack of understanding or envy of a simpler or richer lifestyle. To step into a slower passage of time, filled with passive sips and intimate conversation. or to allow yourself to be sucked up by the energy that swirls in the hundreds, millions, of souls darting around you in search of something. this change in time, place and norms is a change in your brain. the connections you make in the external shape your thought patterns. are we simply our surroundings?

RELIGION

maybe every allah, prophet, god and goddess are a facet of the Being, in which every individual experiences a part of the goodness, power and sovereignty that is our creator

SLEEPING THOUGHTS

I’m for once thankful for your snoring 
As it snaps my brain back to reality
And out of the garish and anxious state it slips into each night when the lights go out
It’s as if the lights are also turned off upstairs in my brain 
And the doors are locked and shop is closed
The workers are no longer there to tidy up and keep things in order
With nobody to sort my thoughts they creep out of catalogues
With nobody to dust the shelves, words and ideas slither out of place
They dance in new pairings and create casualties of peace piece by piece 
Memories and questions that had been sealed away slip into the foreground to fool around
They tango together, taking turns leading and warping into each other
The dance overtakes me as I fall asleep
Until your loud snore sounds the alarm that reality has not been altered 
And all of a sudden these thoughts reprimand themselves and return to order 

I AM NOT UNIQUE

I share the thoughts of many

Some here and others there

With everyone I can agree and disagree 

For that is the nature of humanity

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If you cannot find likeness with another

Then you do not know them truly

Or yourself entirely

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To better know one's self

One must study the other

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For only through comparison

Do we find definition and clarity

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I see your insanity

And I recognize my own humanity

In each other we find humility

And a bit of serendipity

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The fragile ego is all we have

Until we see beyond the self

And accept our responsibility

To each and every other

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For if every action 

There is an equal and opposite

Reaction

Then what action

Will you take

What difference

Can you make

I can vow not to hate

I can acknowledge

My mistake

For privilege

Is not the greatest fate

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LOVE POEM

I have a hard time listening
When you read aloud to me
I prefer to watch
Your face lights up and crinkles
You add the personality to poetry
And aren't afraid to say
You don't know a word
Normally I would cringe
When one bends back the book spine
But with you, I watch happily
And listen to your empathy
For the man in the love poem
Who is waiting for his wife at home

A TIDY MIND

A tidy mind Is sprung forth

From a messy home 

Thoughts go in boxes 

Categorized 

To give space 

For new thoughts

To roam the halls

Since I’m stuck

In this room

Full of chaos

A room of one's own

Is all that you own

A mind of your own

So keep it tidy

And sort the chaos