You ain’t shit (we ain’t shit)

Big goals, huge targets and all that go getter stuff,
the motivational speaker snake oil,
the performance coach mantras,
all do fuck all if you don’t comprehend the reality and meaning of it all.

The purpose of a larger than life goal is to understand your smallness,
not to mantra dumb shit.

It’s to make humility your staple,
to show you how insignificant you are in the grand scheme of things.

And here we are,
2019 and cunts with a vocabulary that doesn’t extend past their thumbs are telling you that you matter so much.

Well you don’t,
you’re gonna die and rot with the best of them,
because guess what,
as we said,
the world is bigger than you and doesn’t care for your insignificance.

So,
does that mean you become a hopeless despot?
Fuck no!
Have those fuck off big goals but in the right context.

Know your worth doesn’t mean you’re worth alot,
it means know how worthless you are amongst the sea of other worthless beings that will all find their allotted time waiting for them.

Basically,
if you want to live your life from one post and feed to the next,
one update and story to the next,
panting for the next drip feed,
then suck it up and eat the pain that comes with it.

W.E.

Dear grief – 26

Dear grief 26,
I haven’t seen Dad in three years,
this morning, before dawn,
I got to smell him,
and hold him,
and feel his silken strands of hair on my face.
It hurt so much more than I thought it would.
I wept, and thirteen hours later as I write this,
I weep.
It’s taken my eyelids this long to break their silence,
my throat, this long to burst from its cage.
Now there’s rage,
shame, not guilt,
that I didn’t bow more,
kiss your hand more,
massage your feet more,
just a whole lot lack of more.
Waves of hate inside me,
towards me,
and there’s no recompense,
no console.
There he is abundantly graceful amongst God’s servants and here I am drowning in sin.
There really is no rest for the wicked,
that gnaw of your soul,
taking notes,
like a stenographer of your deeds,
tattooed in your heart,
beating between your lobes,
ringing,
reminding,
that grief is not ‘a thing with feathers’,
it’s a fucking jumbo jet with engines ablaze.
Fuck, I haven’t cried this much in a day ever.
You’re the best fucking man I’ll never be.
W.E.

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.

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.