introversion – seventy four

Being alone is only quietude to the outer world.

In reality there is nothing quiet about being alone.

Your mind is amplified, and the cacophony of noise is deafening.

Your soul begins to speak to your heart and the conversation is loud and outrageous.

The difference is, you choose the music, the setting, the volume and intensity.

If people who are outwardly loud knew the inside of us, they’d flee in terror.

-Wesam El dahabi

Irrespective of natural predisposition to introversion,
for some of us, it becomes a conscious choice.

Unbound by what nature wants,
we forge our way inwards past its reservations for us,
to kingdoms of our own accord.

The folly is not on one who lives there,
imaginary as it may be,
but for the one who hasn’t the conceivability,
worse yet,
who hasn’t the will.

W.E.

Self inflicted lonliness

A cure is not required,

when the world is accustomed to hyper sanity,

free me then,

unshackle me from society’s insistence,

that I must breathe like you,

if im accustomed to holding my breath,

and drowning in solitude,

your hyper sanity is hyper sanitised,

and I’m a vagabond of self inflicted loneliness.

W.E.

#poetry

Empowerment


You become larger than you are,
swollen with vernacular and prose,
happy to contain and implode.

You empower yourself by having so much to say,
but in dignity holding your tongue,
by making knowledge your staple,
and sanctifying it all in your lungs.

A hold of breath,
a pause before a thought,
reducing yourself to rubble,
your ego, to naught.

All this plenitude inside,
fit for kings and queens,
quietly content, utterly observant,
hidden and unseen.

W.E.

10,000 hours of introversion

See free s

 #and s

I’ve done my 10,000 hours,
in so many things,
that I don’t know what I want to be any more.

I’ve written words,
my ticket most likely to hell fire,
fought until it is now second nature,
beaten the skin of a drum with fervour,

  • and now hear, see anrsnd feel everything,
  • in rhythm and meter,sc

everything, everything, everything.ss

I’ve served, oh howss I have s4erved,
the appetites of men who cannot get enough,d, ex x t5 es
oddly, I never served a woman stricken by the same addictions.
Fattening their wallets,
fattening their bellies,
giving them pieces of me,
at the expense of my own dreams.

I’ve fixed and broken things,
mechanical things,
until pulling apart,
and putting back together,
is default,
I always want to know the crux of things,
the crux of me,
mostly,
sometimes, I leave scars.

I’ve been alone,
in probably the longest calculation of man hours I can fathom,
for myself at least,
that there is my legacy,
of nothingness.

I’ve done 10,000 hours tenfold,
actually 344712 to be exact,
of that, I can easily be classed as elite,
but that is not what I hold my head high with,
that is not what I want to pass on to my children.

Is that what I want to pass on to humanity?
How, to perfect being alone?

I can calculate every waking hour I’ve been alive,
even if were spent in activity,
even with people,
and relegate them all as being alone,
because, I was always somewhat disconnected,
outside of my body looking downward at what was transpiring,
even when alone,
I’m away from myself,
outside of myself,
viewing this mass of man hours,
of waste, sinew and coagulation,
trying to figure out,
contrary to what I believe,
if I am THAT alone,
I haven’t mastered introversion,
until the second self ceases to exist.

Perhaps my children will want the same aversion,
perhaps this is old, old money,
a pass down,
nay, an inheritance of immeasurable proportions,
and like an ungrateful child who didn’t establish it,
I am squandering its value.

Is this a sellable commodity,
teaching others how to comfortably be alone,
or is this a sacred relic,
I should choose who I pass on to?

Perhaps, I just haven’t done enough hours to figure that one out.

W.E.

The surety of insecurity

insecure

You’ve never seen cowardice as grand as mine,
because I hide so well behind brawn and fist,
you’ve never come across a dream like smell,
a mask of perfume lest pungency you whiff.

A distraction, diversion, slight of the hand,
because my struggles you wouldn’t understand,
I swagger with prose and confidence grand,
to keep you from seeing this fragile man.

It’s easy to be brave to stand up with valour,
to show the world the battles you’ve won,
but vulnerability and standing in birds eye view,
is the war that will have you become, undone.

I am the best introvert,
hiding is most definitely my art,
and I am the best extrovert,
when I fear I will fall apart.

Come gather then,
witness me in all my glory aflame,
Afraid, and childlike,
meek, that you’d know my name.

But admit it, haven’t I painted for you,
an image that will haunt your marrow,
I doubt you’ll ever long for confidence and bravery,
perhaps now, you’re softened, to the man alone in sorrow.

W.E.