This world is a tool of manipulation for the imagination.
A delusional atmosphere-
captivated, intrigued, mesmerized intoxicated,
with false purpose and corrupted intentions –
a burning flaming yearning to seize,
The harmfully overrated,
This world is full of kings and queens who will blind your eyes and steal your dreams
Our reality is a travesty.
How unfortunate that human beings have evolved incapable of poccessing the trait of empathy.
Why must miserable people
force others to bask in the bitterness of their toxic mindset, gaping hole of a soul, and buzzkill of a company?
Why are the adults who were too weak to chase their own dreams always the ones attempting to
convince children who aren’t even theirs that their visions are impractical, illogical, unfathomable or impossible?
Why are you always critiquing what you don’t understand?
Does the movement of my feet striving rapidly onwards confidently against the concrete offend you?
Does it intimidate you?
My intention is to provoke you to recognize your own power.
If you had acknowledged it prior,
You wouldn’t have to compare yourself to anyone else to begin with.
When was the last time you looked at your reflection and felt
The veins in the crevasse of our necks amplify in pulsation,
at the mere notion of firmly gripping into the deluded fantasy of social confirmation.
Lips are shriveled to the core from an intense dehydration,
consumed with desperation –
to receive an ounce, of false acclamation.
Drops of thirst voyage to the rim of our chin
in the form of salivation
splashing against the concrete –
reaching their reserved destination.
Our souls collapse into the ocean depths –
burdened by thought formations,
as we’re held in isolation…
accompanied solely by monochrome flashbacks of humiliation of what we could’ve should’ve done
and who we could’ve should’ve been
But never dared to conquer our own reality because the world made us believe
We weren’t worthy.
We weren’t enough.
You are nothing but pretentious.
Who gave you the right to exist with confidence?
How dare you offend my ignorance and insecurity purposely
by loving yourself?
Oh my god,
what are you doing?
Following your heart?
Exposing your talent?
Refusing to remain silent?
Asserting your dominance?
Your logic is flawed for believing that you are not.
Who do you think you are?
Walking around with your head held high?
No, that’s not how you’re supposed to live.
you’re supposed to let the world’s cruelty and mind numbing negativity
slowly but slowly eat you alive.
How dare you rise above our hateful remarks and make something extraordinary of yourself?
Making an impact? Influencing?
Contributing to something potentially revolutionary by taking
complete and utter control of your mind, soul, heart, and body?
How dare you have the audacity to
approach the microphone as if what you have to say
may actually be significant.
What are you doing?
Who are you fooling?
You will never make it.
I know what they meant to say was –
she’s intelligent, ambitious, determined and motivated.
She’s rebellious for entirely going against what society had taught us,
all that the world previously manipulated us to believing how we should exist.
What a …
Foreign human being.
Can’t be unseen.
Can’t be unheard.
They go to bed thinking,
their life away
involuntary inflation and deflation of the chest in rapid fluctuations,
meditation isn’t of the slightest intimidation
for the amplifying frustration –
even poisoned bloodstreams can sense the elation, deprivation.
Our cranium spontaneously com-busts
into the brightest of flames –
with urgent inclination to correct sins prior to earth’s inevitable deterioration.
From years to decades in duration
consumed with self-evaluation,
escapes of equivocation
only to tragically result in disingenuous creation.
One last sigh of hesitation,
escapes as our pupil’s dilate …
at the sudden realization,
We were never destined to gasp for air simply to embrace invalid authentication.
Carnation coated butterflies flutter to fill the void within –
serving as a representation,
of our natural desire to caress the deluded fascination behind every infatuation.
Blame it on our forsaken souls, stubborn to refrain the temptation of eternally expecting a notification,
eagerly anticipating the arrival of yet another trivial conversation,
marking the confirmation of our existence by the sound of a minor vibration.
Setting suns and tick-tick-ticking clocks progress as we have yet to encounter the revelation.
Everybody’s talking but nobody is listening.
This is not communication.
We have a world of people with concealed aspiration lingering among skeletons in their closet in fear of embracing the glory of resistance.
Why? Because mediocrity is not just applauded, but given a standing ovation.
We must set a proper declaration before our bones inevitably decay from expiration.
This an entirely fictional land of our misconceptions, a temporary simulation,
the potentially bright side of the situation that we will hopefully, eventually wake up from this hallucination.
Please, stop sleeping.