i come from,
attics of alone where all i can do is look down,
breathless howls of dialogue,
anthems of longing that have turned into walls of rejection
hymns of solitude that paint the air thick with tension
my ballad of alone is not the same as the wail of loneliness
one, is a cry for freedom, the other is a cry for belonging
they are neither each other.
i come from paranoia held in a clenched jaw
suffocation disguised as shelter
simply, not knowing better
naivety, innocence and fear gelled together
alone, is a learned state as much as an inherited one,
taught as much as it is genetic
obedience as much as it is heretic
not when insaan derives from the word uns
‘human being’ from ‘intimacy’
ironically the intimacy between two to create one
our sociability dependant on our humanity
it’s no surprise i can mechanically feel utter empathy
but at the same time can switch it off
and it not be from the pits of me
but from a position of insincerity
but isn’t that higher functionality?
to be aware of such detail in acuity?
access to inaccessible emotional faculties?
or should I be thrown in a mental facility?
i come from confusion
an ineptitude to accept
insatiability of knowledge and curiosity
addiction to ‘what if’
but bathing in ‘Be, and it is’.
i come from the faucet of love
and that will never run dry
but it will always ask why
force me to retrace my steps
with all the voices i’ve come to accept
as my acquaintances in archaeology,
to know my genealogy
not only to know where I come from
but where i’m going.
W.E.
lonerloaner 