Wednesday, 9 March 2011

Solid In The Hopeless (in prose)

never felt much solid in the hopeless, they build themselves on fault lines,
they shake themselves down to the ground to bury God in their guts
or their gutters. they say it’s naive to be happy in a world of catastrophes,
you cannot belong to the gravity on this planet and carry humanity
without taking lashes. I’ve been reading books to look for some beautiful sense
of the “I”. I’ve been performing my gender, my sexuality, my race and my non-belief.
I stand up in the place I think I belong as it breaks into earthquakes and the only friction I can’t shake is the infliction of my birthplace. I can’t read history without sucking the pain of the past into my face and wanting to punch some people alive today. Until I find a way to acknowledge the sufferance endured by people oppressed. This is a stone drop, heavy on the past, to kick sandstorms inside those deserted from the idea of what they are. I’m tired of wearing history like the raw colour of tattered skin and a fractured heart snapped from the branch of my chest into the dark of my stomach to dissolve in a puddle of angry acid. these poems are so hard to resolve. there are ways to balance the baggage you happen to travel with and when I find optimism in people, I’m glad to breathe it in because I’m sick of losing tears over heaps of hopeless reasons... and with all the intellectual readings opening wounds I didn’t know existed, I was never blissful in my ignorance I was always too inquisitive... and I want to tell these pessimists that laziness is our enemy and excising our minds with conspiracy theories about how powerless we are is alternative mental slavery. My heart used to be a waiting room without an entrance and it took me years to notice that no one could enter. I was a community of emptiness, confused by the point of living and tied to the exhausting view that I can never make a difference because the majority of people are stupid... basically... I was a self righteous prick and it got to the point I noticed how useless that is. I would criticize anyone who took action, I would have told you your efforts are pointless, the system will counteract them, told you go home and wait for the establishment to collapse on itself and I have no idea how I ever felt this submission would help. I’ve never seen the future set in stone and this prose is not written on any tablets and I haven’t been talking to any burning bushes... I’ve just come to some conclusions that the flaws of others have got to stop depressing me... and I’ve made peace with the lashes that damaged our backs with our history. we can look back but we can’t stay there, we must progress until we can all believe it’s not naive to be happy.

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