introversion – sixty five

 

Intimacy is still possible,
with people who hate one another,
this often happens,
when you stare in the mirror long enough,
what’s different then,
in being enthralled and appalled at once,
reconciling and irreconcilable,
in a union of secret eloping with your inner most bits.

W.E.

introversion -sixty four

Oh the thought,
of being twice inside myself,
unrecognisable to my eye’s eye,
so alone I can’t ever know anything but the depth of a pale stare,
of everything that was the colour blue,
turned to a blank whisper of semblance.

Nothing,
no remembrance,
except He,
amongst the perishables,
a recanting syncopation of heart pulse,
and counting litanies on phalanges,
in that epiphany of knowing,
that the decorative’s of this world are non existent,
the simplest of pleasures,
be it the breath of an infant,
or a ground coffee bean,
irrelevant,
as you reconcile with your innateness,
that is, to deny being source-less,
and lose the amnesia you had,
clear the fog of being mad,
that your endless chase to be seen,
stopped you from seeing what deserved to be seen,
and being madly instead.

What bounty He might be,
if I only took my allotted place as I should,
forge my soul with fire, hammer and fire,
until the mere mention of it cuts me down.

W.E.

introversion – fifty three


I like lonely things,
no, I’m obsessed with them.

When everyone is chasing the tail end of importance,
clawing at finding semblance,
I’m content to eat the crumbs of their efforts,
or so I tell myself.

Perhaps I love all this solitude,
because it makes me the only isolated thing,
in a world that is so magnetised to each other,
in a backdrop so filled with noise,
it is hard to stand out.

W.E.

 

introversion – fifty two

 

There’s only so much I can contain. I believe every introvert feels the need to come out of the cocoon, much like every extrovert want’s to eventually recluse.

Our souls don’t differ much. Despite what the world wants to keep feeding us, wish-washing our natures apart from each other, convincing the masses we are all separate from each other, that we’re such unique individuals.

We’re not!

We’re all sinew and love, all marrow and anger. We’re eyes, skin, sense and breath, and we all need peace and chaos to remind ourselves of our extremes, to remind ourselves the middle path is always more beautiful.

I’ve been quietly building myself up, and men my age are telling me, enough is enough, to let go.

I’m trying so hard to shed this shell, and my skin is aching to dance with this raging sun.

W.E.