Narcissism claws us to pieces

 

Okay so I get the whole anti social media thing is a thing going around right now. I have friends that are refusing apps, turning off their phones, and closing different social media outputs. But heres my question: Do people really, really think that the social media is what's making people only care about themselves or is it the fact that people only care about themselves what makes social media as seemingly vain as it is? This is a matter of assumed correlations but this cause does not equal this effect. There's no way that because we grew up in a technology rich world that we only care about ourselves, that we don't see the person on the other side when we ARE that person on the other side. Maybe it's because of how far I am, maybe it's because of WHO I am but I don't let technology make me this vain, misconception of a person. I know who I am talking to on a daily basis. I know my intended audience. My audience is not a picture of a mirror and my face looking back at it. My intended audience are those friends and family that I love, those people that I care for, those people that need someone to reach out to them, and I hope to reach out to them when they need it. Yes the world doesn't always have people that work this way but is it because of 140 characters, is it because of pictures of homework and store-bought meals? Or is it because we haven't been taught to think that way? We focus on ourselves. We don't see the bigger picture. Social media has the ability to bring people across the world back together or together for the first time. That doesn't mean social media is the problem. WE ARE THE PROBLEM.

You want a friend? You have to be one.

Drowned in Addiction

 

I drink her in to feel something. Anything,
really sometimes. Without her, I am a
skeleton of who I am supposed to be. But she
treats me better than that. The way she
bops in my glass and
jingles around the ice is a melody to my ears.
She's like the heartbeat of my soul. No matter how
many times I hear that tune, I see her soft
touch or hear her whisper out my name,
I just crave another one.
Another song,
another glass,
another slurred words on a Wednesday afternoon,
another chance to sleepwalk through the entire
month of November.
She is my calling, my craving, my soulmate.
And she eats through me, the more I drink her
down. Her presence is as soothing as melting ice cream
on a blistering summer day. She smells like water and
feels like fire. Her name is Whiskey and
I have never been so addicted.

Ink-Stained Skies

The canister of ink topples and stains the
Sky. The billows of amethyst and
Navy saunters over the evening.
Enticing the world to accompany
The dancers and the makers
Through an overcast show
Surrounded in a land of
Melody and lamplight.

But one wrong turn, on a darkening
Marigold road, those dancers evolve into
Savages. The cobalt clouds riot and
Ransack the twilight. Splotched with
Bruises and blood that soils the face of
Beauty. Daring the world to turn a cheek
But beating mankind down not to.

Behind the suffocating spiral of
Pillows lined with tempests and
Sporadic dreams. The paper of the
Night renders silent as the darkening
Bends ooze and sparkling whispers
Splash over the edge. Waiting for the next
Aspiration to form, the next emotion to
Erupt or the next desire to surge.

Behind Picket Fences

How can you tell her that you know what its like to be her? You've known her for minutes. And in a world as evil as this, you never know what could have happened in her past. You see this girl from the 'burbs thrown into a city and think she was raised on picket fences and happily ever afters. She's seen the way alcohol can lead grown men to ruin their families. She knows the sound of her own plea to make him stop and the need in his eyes as he forces her to realize how unstoppable he can be. She know what a mother looks like after cutting her wrists as she prayed to find the same happily ever afters you are so sure this 'burbs girl witnessed. Yet she had to be the one pumping her mother's stomach as her father watched with a new dismal view of pathetic. And she had to be the one to call the ambulance when she was just as weak against saving her mothers life as she was against her father later in the night.

But you are right... You know how her life worked out. With white picket fences that block out evil and happily ever afters found in the bedroom that screams his name.

Home Rotting Home

 

In the stillness of longing the memories hurt,  

the for sale signs half swinging, 

half screeching in pain.

the windows boarded up

like a mouth stitched shut,

blood running down and 

scars that will always remain.

You left me here on this road

tire screams still visable

as you burned out, 

waiting for me to burn down.

I am shackled to reality

as you wash clean of your blunders

and force me to bite down every last reminiscence. 

You took me by the hand

led me to some far away land

and watched as I drowned

in the dreamland of tomorrow 

and cry the droplets of blood from yesterday.

I FORGOT HOW TO RIGHT BRAIN

 

I realized about a year ago... maybe 2. That the cost of damage control is more than just my sanity. It's the cost of my creativity.

For the last couple years I have been in a stressful, demanding, people pleasing job where I used all my logic and problem solving skills. My left brain must be a beast. I have been analytical, practical, realistic. I have had control, used reason and stayed precise. I followed lists and memos and solved problems on the spot.

But while I did all that: My creativity starved. It stopped eating, stopped functioning. It curled up and disappeared. I stopped being poetic, passionate, vivid, creative. I stopped following my heart and opening myself up. I stopped battling the world and I stopped trying to figure it out.

I was so left-brained, I forgot how to right brain.

I haven't written a poem in years, I haven't done something spontaneously passion in years. I haven't found a never before seen (to me) metaphor in years. And that's all I want. I want it back.

Not to sound full of myself or anything but I have a very strong brain. I am high in both hemispheres: left and right. But what I didn't know is that too much of one will suffocate the other.

Now 2 years after it died, I can't find the on switch. I can't bring the machine it was back to life. So I need to rebuild those muscles, I need to start somewhere. You forget how hard it is to do that after years of stopping. You just remember how EASY it was before and you want that back. At least I do.

But I know, I know its going to take work. But if its just work. That is something I can do. It's something I have always been able to do. I just need to push myself. To break my limits. To stop being lazy and to start being me.

And I know how to do it. It's just like exercising. Write. Every. Day. So I am going to. I want to. Even if its garballed mess for now. It is better than not existing. I just need to force myself to do it. I need to stretch these muscles, I need to go back to the gym. My computer, my notebooks, a free page and an open mind. And I started today.