I was only a boy,
when I learned to swallow my voice.
I kept mute,
not because I wanted to be silver tongued,
but because I wanted to be musk breathed.
that it was merely my presence
that would lure them to me.
a mouth full of silver,
and a bellyful of musk,
my absence keeps them as far as possible.
is a burden,
the antithesis to my sanity.
And yet I am obliged,
to be utterly in service,
ever the servant.
more than what my heart can contain,
with intensity that only tames with violence
and I taper my temperament,
to continue to be unnoticed.
My youth has a reoccurring theme and what echoes the most is its ordinariness. Contrary to clichéd thought, I believe ordinariness in those primitive stages of growth are what allow imagination to thrive.
One doesn’t need a wretched childhood or an upbringing that dances around psychological trauma to be creative or inspired, to be able to achieve a goal for the pure satisfaction of completion.
Sometimes, its all that emptiness, and freedom to roam as wildly as possible in your own world, inside yourself, with no threat, nor external persuasion that allows you to comfortably nestle into a unique niche and make sure the world knows just how extraordinary you are.