Self inflicted anxiety and depression

Feeble is the mind,
of he who thinks they posses the power,
to effectuate the outcomes of time,
as if to say they control its ravages or its fortunes.

In that comprehension,
they are bound by simpleness,
and we are obligated to remind each other of,
that is,
to point clearly to its draining nature,
and how anxiety and depression,
are both born of it.

Come then my brother,
know well my sister,
sons and daughter,
to what will offer you comfort and peace,
that is,
from times shackles be released.

Wesam El dahabi

Erasure is easier

 

 

I’ve driven myself insane with aspiration,
and now without anxiety or misstep,
at the drop of a hat,
I’d wipe all I’ve become conditioned to know,
if it meant a moment with divinity.

In other words,
a maturing thought that pulsates,
that is the catalyst to accelerated achievement,
will have to mean erasure.

A vanishing if you will,
from myself,
this self that does nothing but accumulate waste,
until the toxicity becomes default.

The dragging nature of growth,
doesn’t appeal,
as time juxtaposes my reconciliation,
and mocks my milestones.

Time is having its way with me,
and disappearing appears to be,
the only way to disarm it.

Ironic that I’ve become,
the ammunition against myself,
in the same breath,
poison and antidote,
at odds,
in the minds courtroom.

Some call it schizophrenia,
perhaps bi-polar,
a thousand more names and labels,
man will forever find an excuse,
for dealing with their state.

Still, erasure is easier.

Wesam El dahabi

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.

Serenade me into a haunting

Maybe I’m too romantically inclined.
Is it too much to be asked,
to be ruined in mind,
wretchedly unfixed in state,
mad with inability,
irreconcilable,
scathing walls for a scent of the past.
Ah what a little neuroticism does for the soul.

 

If you can’t at all be haunted by something,
I fail to see how you could pique my interest.
It’s not that I want to heal you either,
but I do want my own misery to be reciprocated.
That kind of companionship,
the secrets,
the guarded chastity inspite of the allure,
wets the palate with prose.

W.E.

introversion – sixty

 

It comes in throes,
it reaps before it sows,
irrespective of season,
uncaring for reason,
pulling at the clutches of your existence,
it reminds you,
loneliness is all you know.

Why then,
try your hand at social contracts,
and the social ever contracts,
until the squeeze makes you feel,
like you don’t feel at all.

W.E.

 

how to fix yourself fast


I hate myself,
but I don’t tell that to the world,
not especially in the way I walk and conduct myself.

There has to be a level of appreciation you owe,
gratitude you display,
whether you direct it to God,
or are tangling with notion of direction,
you aren’t worthy of pity,
the world owes you nothing,
this battle with self hate is there,
as a constant reminder,
call it a dangling carrot,
to aim for better.

Just because you arrange your indignation in rows,
just because you can be more broken than everyone around you,
be a little more hateful of the things you can control instead,
things inside you,
like the burning ball in your throat,
that you can’t contain,
the sweat in your palms that clenches your fists,
the vile between your teeth that seethes,
your shoulders,
and how far you extend your palm,
let all that rage and all that hurt,
force you to find fault in yourself,
and from it,
learn to soothe and embalm.

W.E.