Quiet rapport

I’m patient like that.

Where others will demand and hold you to account,
I know vulnerability waits for a soul to be ripe with sincerity before it spreads itself,
before it undresses.

I know that if I bottle my anxiety and show a face of indifference,
I run the risk of losing many,
but the ones that see with the eye of their heart also know me from a thousand thousands.

I’m patient like that,
because I know where I’m from and how I’ve travelled to be here is beyond just forty two years of worldly existence.

I’m not just matter and that’s what matters,
but I never let that matter to the point that it’s all that matters.

We matter said no one of intelligence and worth except who think their lives are but a series of what people owe them.

I’m still patient for them.
Waiting for their poems to undo themselves.

I’m always a poem away from myself.

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

Unlearning yourself 


​Hands up if this is default,

hands up if the guilt of self scrutiny stops you,

none of this bloat and fodder,

no fluff, no bullshit, no other.
Nothing can pull you from you,

without an ounce of arrogance,

or delusion,

still,

seeing yourself in the third person is the anchor,

you have no false allusions.
Reading yourself like a scrupulous editor,

with interest and utter diligence,

with critique and endearment,

trying to cipher significance.
All this noise and chatter,

it feels so right to want to sever my head,

there’s too much squawking,

there’s too much vying,

my souls aching to be read.
W.E.
Picture not mine 

Unliking yourself

What do you find at the end of it all,
at cutting out bits,
attaching more,
trial fits,
Frankenstein gore.

Alot of loneliness,
inside loneliness,
inside an outer display of comical amicability.

Buoyant temporality,
until the newer version of you,
drags the older down,
to stand on his shoulders for a breath.

Fucken savages we are.

W.E.

introversion – thirty one


introversionthirtyone introversion – thirty one

until your palate
is indifferent to vinegar or honey
you still have work to do

until the bitterness stops passing your lips
your body still needs to be deprived

until your heart abandons ill thought
there’s punishment yet to met out

-W.E.

a premature death to the outer
leads to life of the inner
how else am I to address
this vile sinner

the sincere makes no excuse of his condition
until the reality of your sin tastes so foul to you
that you no longer can palate the sweetness
of anything.

-W.E.

Introversion Impulses – 1

The only way for me to connect with you is to disconnect from myself, now that can’t happen, it’s taken me this long to get some current running through my veins, to find a stillness in a swamp bed where all my pungency can lay dormant, and you, with your optimistic rays of sunshine want to disturb all that, bring to surface stenches that I had buried, awaken angels that I slayed, who slayed my demons, who slayed my soul, who slayed the me, the I, the carnality of breath, the inhalation of certainty, the rigidity of polarity, that space in between, I created it, I ploughed its fields and toiled its soil until it became soft enough to nestle there and all you want to do is bring those poles together, light my extremities with union, voltify my mind until it burns to a crumb, what little of it left there is, you with your happiness want to bring a smile to my face, for what, what possible reason, why, who sent you, what do you want from me, you lie, you have ulterior motives, I don’t believe you, leave me alone, I’m fine, I can’t breath with you in the room, I created this room with just enough space, enough oxygen for one, you’ll die being in here with me…. away, away, away, can’t you see my act of kindness?
-W.E.


The above will be my new series on introversion.
The last post for the introversion series was introversion thirty. Short poems, anecdotes, musings, thoughts etc. I may continue another series but for now, the new format will be impulsive, immediate thoughts.
Whenever I get a chance I will pen it, in the above style, unbroken, with little regard for punctuation, grammar or writing rules. They will be exactly as you see them, random, raw and real and time sensitive. They cannot be conjured and planned. They will just be expunged. I hope you enjoy.

-W.E.

Introversion – thirty

introversion302

Were it not for the spectacle of extroversion,
I would have committed suicide a long time ago.
But there are no creative ways to die that have
inspired me yet.

So I died on the outside, to the world I am dead,
 and live on abundantly, on inside instead.

-W.E.

It would be much easier to leave me be,
Forget my existence, ignore your attempts at civility.
Don’t question yourself, with your soul plea,
Ignore your heart, get off your knees.

I’m numb to it all, I don’t feel anything more,
I’m struggling even, my children to adore.
I’m barren and empty, stricken and sore,
I have no enigma, I have no lore.

Nothing to offer, nothing to take,
No heart swell, no heart ache.
Mindless and cold, still as a lake,
Slumber escapes me, forever awake.

-W.E.