Tag: alone

Introversion – seventy nine

Introversion – seventy nine

A floor,
a wall,
and light that leaks in.

At times, I don’t even want to share myself with furniture.

Solitude with all the groans of a house is enough,
an intimacy of unspeakable proportions.

Ghosts of longing that open and close doors as they wish,
secrets that don’t pass their lips.

This house has an echo of women who have clawed at my skin for a piece of my soul,

ironically making me turn further inwards to flee from myself,
stay somewhere that I can control.

This light that leaks in,
a reminder that I have fissures that open without warning,
bursting with unspeakable sin.

Let this be a warning to my heart,
don’t let them near you,
remain in that room alone!

Insist on your intuition over their appetite,
insist on your vision over their illusions,
insist on your solitude over their lust,
sit in so much stillness,
alone in that empty room,
and be one with the dust.

The souls that endear you will inevitably be near you,
without formality and necessity for introduction,

we were created from an ether in the pre-world,
our souls will always find each other in this world and the next.

W.E.

Am I selfish for not wanting to share myself?

The gist of tye above poem is an apology of sorts,

try as I may, I often disappear into myself,
ironically away from my Self.

That oft gnawing awareness of the faults you harbour,
that slip between your fingers of guilty frivolity,
drowns you in a tug of war,
of second guessing yourself,

and that’s why I recluse,
it becomes a bit too much to swathe in a world of ‘sureness’, people vying to be the first one to be right.

What does it matter who gets to the end first,
if the journey was filled with dishonourable disregard.

There is a way,
I believe it to be quietude and seclusion,
introversion and accountability,
a slowing down rather than speeding up.

I’ve found myself just as many times as I have veered off the path,
only in the cocoon of solitude,
only ever alone.

I have never read of a man of worth or a woman of magnitude that has needed the masses to prop them up and I think it is deep in that wisdom we can find what society so desperately needs.

I will put this post up on my stories as a poll,
I’d like to hear your comments below on the above, even if in private.

Vulnerability

 

In an ideal world, if we weren’t so impatient, if we slowed down to at least be able to appreciate the lather of people as they come to maturation,
perhaps we’d equally be as mature to accept their vulnerability.

HOWEVER, we’re not mature or developed enough.
It’s sexy, it’s trendy, it makes for good conversation fodder, but the reality is that dealing with a fuck up and loving them in all their insecurities, their vileness, and more so than loving them, but nailing an idea of loyalty into their soul, that you’re always going to be around is not something you find that easily.

In a world where flickering between connection and disconnection has never been easier, vulnerability remains taboo and I won’t believe anyone who says otherwise.

I’m abandoned more than ten times a day and that’s merely in basic exchanges, it’s no wonder I and others like me shut the world out to our innermost realities.
W.E.

 

Undisturb

It may be sincere, but it’s still invasive.

To pry a door open when all outward signs display its reluctance,
expresses quite clearly your persistence to chaos.

Some things shouldn’t be awakened,
some things shouldn’t be disturbed,
lurking may be a soul that’s too far broken,
and your ears may be filled, with a shrill that can’t be unheard.

Leave people where they want to be,
wait at the door patiently,
some doors don’t want to be opened,
irrespective of you having a key.

I’ve told you I’m too far fetched of too far fetched,
this solitude demeanour is on my being etched,
irreconcilable introversion,
A banished soul, a distant wretch.

W.E.

Un-enough

It doesn’t matter what anyone says or does, they can’t place their fingers deep enough inside of you to make you feel loved. How can they, when hating yourself tastes like home.

When it overwhelms anyone’s attempt to get close to you.

And so you settle, you find the most noble person you can and reciprocate enough love to keep them happy. At times, you surprise yourself and give more, but you reconcile that within yourself to meaning nothing, it’s just the right thing to do.

I don’t know where this resistance came from, this rejection of love and receiving it anyway.

I don’t know why it’s a sad bliss to want to be alone and unloved, to spare people of the effort, of heartbreak and hurt.

This logic infused with over sensitivity is the most absurd cocktail for living. Yearning and rejecting people at once.

UN-enough | Wesam El dahabi

Feeling all and nothing at once.

I like things,
that make me not know how to feel,
or make me feel everything at once.

Contradictory things,
and nothing.

My introversion depends on it,
there’s a crosswire somewhere,
alone is my cocoon,
yet I apparently need my intellect to get there,
that’s at least what Myers says.

But this is more,
or maybe God chose an optional extra for me,
means I throw out the category I’m meant to be in,
and am switched on by a feeling,
or a signal that I was meant to feel something yet didn’t,
to activate my withdrawal to silence.

I don’t know how not to feel,
even about the sinisterism of all things interconnected and unimportant,
rippling off other things,
mundane as it may seem,
it carries with it a history of influence,
a DNA of repurcussion,
inescapable tragedy and elation from ancestors.

There’s nuance to notice,
I said ‘that make me not know how to feel’, I didn’t say ‘that confuse me’,
I’m glad my soul structures it this way,
I’m rarely confused,
I’ve spent too much time inside to be confused.

My liking them,
these things that make me not know how to feel,
or tsunami me with feelings,
are gene codes for comprehension,
there is no being without them,
every body feels them,
I’m just constantly micro managing them,
and no one likes a micro manager,
except when they’re confused.

W.E.

I’m not socially awkward, I’m socially unwilling

Sometimes I wish I could dance with the rest of you,
but to waltz into conformity,
leaves me two left feet awkward,
stumbling over myself to find a foot in mediocrity.

I’ve been guilty of looking down on others,
and what a bitter lesson it is,
to taste my own bile,
and stare straight at a victim in their eyes.

I’ve no boat big enough,
to carry my remorse out to sea,
the most restless winds,
won’t blow my shame away.

So when I see how easily,
everyone makes the same mistakes,
it hurts to be reminded,
to have a replay reel of who I am inside,
flickering perpetually,
a self fulfilling prophecy is inevitable,
if I don’t pretend not to know how to dance.

That’s why I shy away.

I can love with the best of them,
boy can I love,
I can laugh and play,
I fight with a rage so turbulent,
it attracts even those who hate it,
but looking at innocence is too much for me to bare.

This comfort with the quo,
is the mediocrity that pains me,
alas, solitude is a great shackle to wear,
and if all else fails,
a great anchor for this flailing soul that won’t behave itself.

If the boat isn’t large enough,
and the winds aren’t strong enough,
the sea bottom is surely large enough,
to swallow far greater than me,
far worse than me, far better than me.

Here I am all Pharaoh like on display,
waiting to be swallowed whole.

All this,
admittance,
ownership,
accountability,
and still no acceptance.

How then,
did I find solitude in separation,
calm in introversion,
whilst others are out wrestled by urge and inclination?

How do I pause when others impulse?

There are still a few of us,
who shun the outer for the inner,
but society has been a frequent customer,
of the comfort world.

We’ve learned to avoid pain so well,
that we’ll inevitably stagnate and whither,
if people don’t remind us,
that it’s OK to see some ugliness,
some bad shit,
some gross stuff inside you,
not to accept and parade it as acceptance,
and contentment with ones’ self.

Rather, it gives you the incentive to improve,
to learn – in the process – what it takes to get away from all that unsavoury stuff inside.

Any process that allows you that,
will inevitably add value to your character,
be it in a month or twenty years.

Pain is not there to be avoided,
it’s there to jolt us into growth,
a reminder to manage and push through it for adaptation.

Avoidance, only limits exposure,
and lack of exposure leads to oblivious ignorance to a better way.

I recluse,
cocoon into hermit disregard,
to bathe in pain,
because I want to grow.

How’s that for a dance with ones self?

W.E.

Art by Viviana Gonzalez

introversion- seventy five


I didn’t plan this, but I wish I had.
If I had, then I could have arrived much earlier.
Many a breath would I have saved,
many a wasted heart beat,
a dry mouth.

Perhaps I could have not wrestled with so many souls,
with so many egos,
with my own ego.

One of the greatest changes,
I have ever experienced,
is feeling the urge to answer everything,
to not wanting to answer a soul

Perhaps finding You,
means tasting everything that isn’t You,
Your largesse, although not never in need,
is only experienced through my faculty,
by what minuscule it comprehends.

W.E.

happiness myth

And what if I don’t want happiness?
What if purpose, is my calling?
Would I be less joyful,
if meaning and contentment are my aspirations?

If ever a delusion remains,
fed in all its rabid gluttony,
it’s this appetite and scavenging for happiness.
We scathe, like drug fixed fiends,
like un-sacred things.

Selling our identity,
for persona,
cheap whores for mundane,
and temporary thrills.

W.E.

introversion – seventy one

Three AM silence,
is not a healthy way to find your breath.

Depriving ourselves,
of what is normal for others,
awake when they sleep,
awake when they’re awake,
takes its toll on you.

When you think of it,
it’s double the work for half the survival.

That survival is only temporary,
before you use up your heart.

W.E.