We are all a victim of a terrible farce; victims of mass consumption. And, yes, I’m aware how cliche that sounds. Here we go again with the soap-box speech on the sins of greed which seem to be the lubricant of our capitalistic society. But hear me out. Even the definition of consumption has been consumed these days. It’s been chewed up, digested, and thrown up again into something unrecognizable. No longer does consumption define the things we buy and use; it defines the time, the people, the energy, and the ideas. Admit it, the Britneys of today don’t care as much about the Chanel handbags as the Britneys from ten or twenty years ago did, they are more interested in consuming likes, followers, and comments now. They are more concerned with their image based on intangibles than tangibles. Maybe if I had been born a generation earlier, I would care more about my physical life and the people around me than how many hearts this little sermon will get. Maybe I would be able to consume the care behind actions in real life instead of getting hung up on those ignored text messages. But the reality is that nowadays consumption doesn’t mean time or money spent in the “real” world. We have slowly, and unknowingly, begun the transition into a digital state of being. We are bombarded daily with articles all over our feeds on which texts to send, which emails to write, how to set up your profiles, the best photos to post… Our expanded eyes absorb and consume the electronic flickers of text until we’ve become fully-fledged psychologists on the most socially acceptable online conduct possible, all the while ignoring in-person conduct entirely, our faces glued to a screen. So our parents and our bohemian, introverted friends stare at us, wondering; “Do they even hear what I’m saying? How much of their mind is consumed in that other realm?” We start to lose them. Time passes, and they become consumed by lowered expectations. They feel satisfied with a minute conversation with a face lit up by the glow of a phone. They start to move on. We notice too late, are consumed with regret too late, and there is nothing left to be said or done. So, don’t miss out on thanking your parents properly for dinner by being too busy taking photos of the meal for your Instagram followers. Don’t lose the one that loves you to follow and swipe people who have never even heard your laugh. Don’t ignore your friends in time of need to message someone who you will never meet in your actual life. Don’t make the people who care cry for an online world of consumption, full of people who will never see you cry; never hold you when you cry. And let me tell you, once you do breakdown and once you do let that regret consume you, there won’t be any likes or follows. They want to escape, not feel what’s real. And love is the only thing that will consume you for the better.

tell me, how does it feel?

how does it taste, all my wasted love?

is it metallic on your tongue; bitter?

or is it sweeter than honey; warm & thick?

that is my lifeblood you’re gulping down.

i spilled myself endlessly into you,

because i knew you were starving.

but in the end, all you did was take

just like everyone else.

i told you before that i don’t exist here,

this plane is nothing but a temporary state

of complete & utter exploitation.

didn’t you want to save me from him?

but you just took his place.

didn’t you want to watch me sleep?

but you ran away when i opened my eyes.

my essence is ingrained into your everything

like a curse; every web weaved around you

will linger with my scent; my memory.

but me, i am free. alone, but free.

drained, but free.

you gave me nothing but took everything.

and so, i am unmarked by your soul,

& your nerves only react to my name.

I am not an angel, I am not a saint, I am not Jesus.

I am not here to wipe your sweat and tears, or deliver you.

When I listen, it’s not because I exist to cleanse you of your burdens

When I understand, it’s because I’m human, not because I’m holy

Yet you feel like you can’t touch me; you feel dirty in my presence…

Yet you feel like you can’t change; that you aren’t worth salvaging…

Do you want to know my true thoughts?

Do you want to know my true feelings?

I am not an angel; I bite my tongue because I can see your pain.

I am not a saint; I give because I know how it feels to have nothing.

I am not Jesus; the only one who can save you is yourself.

The truth is, I’m just like you. That’s why I try to understand you.

The truth is, I am in pain and I cry. I’m scared, and I lie.

We’re all gonna die. We’re all gonna lose. There’s not much time.

So in this time we have, can we try?

If you feel inspired, don’t put me on a pedestal. 

Don’t say you can’t wake up the way I do; trying to see the good.

You don’t know how much bad I’ve seen.

You don’t know how many times I’ve cried in the dirt;

Ready to curse God and kiss the Devil.

The many times I’ve been so alone in this world I could become invisible.

The injustice and poverty; the violence, the pain, the hurt.

The things I could never tell anyone. No, you don’t know those.

So don’t ever call me an angel, don’t say I’m a snow white canvas;

The truth is I’m battered and weary, covered in dirt and holes.

My battle scars from this life have allotted me this truth;

We’re all gonna die. We’re all gonna lose. There’s not much time.

So in this time we have, can we try?

have you ever wondered, what other people see?

the eyes that lay beyond yourself;

visions that cannot be rented or streamed.

do you ever sit by yourself and think about the fact

that nobody else will ever be able to remember

the exact memory you’re experiencing in that moment?

isn’t it scary to think that no matter how many words we say,

pictures we paint, or songs we play,

there isn’t anyone in this world who can truly understand you.

i think that’s why i always try so hard, to close my eyes

and open them again in someone elses’ head.

because i can understand that fear, and that pain,

of isolation; your own body being a cage of self-awareness,

and at the same time, of resignation and peace.

so, i try to understand the people around me deeply,

and keep my eyes clear, and wide, and maybe i can help

them not to feel how i feel every single day,

knowing that nobody will ever look at me and see my story,

and they probably will also never ask.

but i’m just not the kind of girl who could ever close my eyes,

even when what i could see wasn’t something i should have.

when it was wrong, ugly, dark, dirty;

when it was honest. when it was the truth.

what i see is the promise of this world, and the people i love,

but what i also see is the vile injustice of a planet plagued

by greedy, opportunists, the superficial, fake, liars, violence, hate

and for so long i was able to look without feeling too much,

but i can’t anymore. i can no longer protect the people around me.

i can’t hide what i see. i can’t just silently look at them.

but how can i change the world now? what can i do?

my eyes are heavier everyday, it’s even hard to close them to sleep;

mind buzzing with every single observation…

what can i do, god? this is a curse i was born with,

i just want to make it into a blessing…

why gift someone with the ability to see,

when i have no platform to speak?

don’t waste my time sitting in a booth
staring in my eyes and sharing saliva
over some mutually ordered menu item
that we will both pretend we chose to
be frugal but it’s because it felt good
to order the same thing and be connected,
by talking about some other chick
cuz we both know you don’t care enough
to talk about her by next week
and honey,
we both know I don’t care enough
to listen to you talk about her
for the next ten seconds,
knowing that you’ll never be in a booth
with any of these flavours of the week,
sharing some artery-clogging dish
and laughing at metaphorical language
and don’t think I won’t find another man
to enjoy my sharp wit and penchant for
sharing diner dishes and long eye-contact,
don’t take me for granted any longer,
because I’m a lot rarer than a pretty face.
pass the salt.

since we’ve gotten to this point
i suppose there’s nothing left to hide
is there, so why deny any longer?
the strapping, shadowy figure emerges
apparently coaxed from his cavern
by the mocking tone of these words
& what do you imply by that?
hiding is not something i would ever do.
growls tarantula boy dangerously
you should know better than that
his black, venomous eyes glint from afar,
daring her voice to escalate the moment
calm yourself, i’m not here for a fight
fighting you has always left me dizzy
& in need of a good book & a bath
he interrupts with a vicious laugh
don’t try & tell me you came all this way
just to say hello to an old enemy?
how transparent, parachute.
enemy? the voice, now identified as
a young woman named parachute,
but not so much young mentally,
just physically, & in her general disposition
reliable, as a parachute should be.
tarantula boy wants to reach out
with long nails & snap her neck
at the same time cover her body with his
& allow no one else to look upon it again.
she knows this as well, his paradox
his hatred for her, his reliance on her
his possessive behaviour & his twisted
self-loathing & deep, deep down his
pure hearted, idealistic love.

your knuckles were so warm
repeatedly caressing my skin
it’s all i can remember clearly
bone by bone i memorized
that pattern, that night
deeply stored on file
i’ve imagined us in places
that we never visited or saw
but dreams became grains of sand
next to the sea of your expanse
reality hit my tides
knuckles that made men cry
asleep on my shoulder,
making me softly fall
i love you.
he whispers
show me show me show me!
i want to scream
give me
your heartbeat for a week
your cheek on mine
your thoughts, your fears
your vulnerability isn’t weak
i love you too.
she whispers
he doesn’t know to what extent

perpetualmelancholic:

oh narcissus, narcissus…
you hide your insides like
a sinner hides from sunday.

i know about you narcissus,
how you suckle from every female
until she’s drained dry
& you grow plumper with it,
thick roots with no room for change.

you didn’t understand my echo,
why i wouldn’t let you flower in me
& plant your seeds deeper,
sweet voice & a memory of mama
i swayed you in my waves, i’m sure.

innocent petals surround a toxic center
i pick each one off carefully,
he loves me, he loves me not…
narcissus, oh narcissus…
the flower with the lovely face,
but rotting intestines stain my fingertips.

each petal has fallen & with it,
your defences
& i see you, & i echo
for that’s all i can do, echo my feelings
narcissus, narcissus.

because you only know
how to act in the shadows
because i care that you will
never grow without sunshine
because my voice has been lost in an endless loop of justification
because you and i are destined to hurt each other…

narcissus, narcissus, we echo and echo
& everyone around us amplifies the noise
but i am going deaf & you won’t change.

flower that won’t allow itself to be picked
flower that makes the soil dry & tired
flower that charms, flower that entices
narcissus, drowned in his own reflection
echo, drowned in the sound of her tears.

this morning i took my time getting out of bed,
and as i stretched and rose, i could feel all the blood in my body rush downwards,
leaving me incredibly dizzy and disoriented.
staggering, i managed to make my way to the washroom to look at myself in the steam-stained mirror,
but the person reflected back was barely recognizable as being me.
the eyes were hollow and dull,
the mouth dry and slack,
as if the blood had left my top half dead.
below, however, was filled with a newfound vigor. something surprising.
i felt as if i could run for miles.
so i shook myself from my shock and raced out the door in my favourite silk sleep set, and i began to run;
run past the local grocery,
run past the buzzing cafe,
run past the three churches,
run past the familar schoolyard,
run past the sleepy police office,
straight into the forest between the shadows flickering on the floor and off deep into the mountainside,
and my face was still and my gaze was still.
but my blood was pumping,
pumping, pumping, pumping.

even if we can’t get a perfect translation
don’t you think there’s something
beautiful in the empty space
between meaning and interpretation?
what if we chose to believe
that the vast distance between us
could be something new entirely,
a whole new alphabet.
instead of being scared
let’s feel blessed for this possibility
of hidden meanings and inside jokes
just for us two to understand
this alphabet only we have the key to.