Introversion forty four

introversion-forty-four

 

You’re only as attractive as your last sale.
And humankind struggles to put together an identifiable model of acceptance,
fear, the most successful sales pitch is not only pitched by the sales people, it is pitched by the purchaser, and so the foray of beings so desperate to sell themselves to others as worthy will ironically buy up whatever it is to sell themselves and stay attractive in the eye of the shopper. Most people are shoppers, they can’t help it, they’re conditioned that way.

From birth, the sales pitches begin, you’re bombarded with the messages that you need to purchase stuff to be worthy.
Men, rush to appear dominant, successful, ambitious and driven, women too are buying them same. Women rush to appear beautiful and attractive, physically appealing, whatever it takes, men too rushing to much the same.

Fake lips,
fake eyes,
fake cheeks,
more lies.

Bleached teeth
fake breasts,
fake beards,
fake chests.

Fake money,
fake status,
fake tans,
fake lashes.

Financed cars,
psychologist appointments,
wannabe stars,
perpetual disappointments.

Feathered eyebrows,
both she and he,
blind hearts, dead souls,
physical eyes but they cannot see.

This drudgery,
this misery,
this dichotomy,
of the world being raised on consumer culture,
thus everyone trying to sell ‘me’.

And yet here I am,
a spanner in the works,
here to tell you,
sell nothing,
and consider yourself dirt.

W.E.

When there is no water

when-there-is-no-water

Ablution is performed with water,
water, is a large proportion of our make up,
that, we can agree on.

But when water is unavailable,
the subtlety of our make up becomes apparent,
that we’re fashioned,
by the hand that wishes upon us consciousness,
awe, love and submission,
what else is left,
but an utter admission,
of impurity,
of sin,
so heed this admonition,
and know, your road away from perdition,
is to know the fabric of your soul,
your earthly composition.
W.E.

Overwhelmed with guilt

wave_prints_black_and_white

Overwhelmed with guilt.

I’m cleansed,
I’m forgiven,
the ocean said so,
and I’m running,
with sand between my toes as proof.
That is why I swim so much.

When the heat of your sins burns you,
whips you with a molten blade,
flagellation is an easy task.

So I must,
dip my being into the ocean,
be one with the multiplicity of hydrogen and oxygen,
all of me, and all of it,
what a wondrous love affair,
that it bathes my fear away,
with the loofah of reassurance.

I’m washed, and ready to sin again,
one day, this ocean will dry,
and I will burn,
then, it is you God I beg for pardon and ocean.

W.E.

Entitlement

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Entitlement

If you cannot see,
that the reward for obedience,
is obedience,
then you are void of obedience,
and have no business,
demanding a reward.

Conversely,
even if you are obedient,
seeing your obedience,
is self-aggrandising,
and since you witness yourself so well,
you will be called to account,
against yourself.

And the one rancid in disobedience,
aware of their disobedience,
may just reap the reward you so seek,
from the remorse and brokenness of their state.

W.E.

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the stupor

the-stupor

Look at your feet,
struggling to find cadence,
a balancing act of blame,
and forgiveness.

Won’t you hear my cues,
of devotion and hypocrisy,
as I met out my mettle,
with fervent jealousy.

I puncture  my reality,
so you can see we’re all filled with holes,
so you can stop assuming you’re complete,
that you’re burdened with displaying whole.

There’s no need for all this,
for the bathe in the mud of your thoughts,
know that all this prattling and nonsense,
is a trap, in you’re ego you’re caught.

Drink then a goblet,
a flask or a barrel,
numb out your self,
with sobriety of truth,
knowing it’s your ego that quarrels.

W.E.

infidelity

infideltity
If a bird is rustling away,
in a man’s gutter,
racing to finish it’s nest before the storm,
if a grass blade flicks back dew into the air after being stepped on,
if a car rolls it’s wheel with a nail in it, percussing down the road,
or a child tugs at their mothers dress, unable to speak,
but longing for a suckle,
I hear, see and feel it all, so much at once.

Of the hardest thing to have learned,
is to muffle out this influx of stimuli,
only to relearn how to open it’s floodgates.

I unlearn when ugly is the streaming of happening,
I relearn, when I need to write it all for you to know.

The sight of stringing along a man,
cowardly taking material from him,
in exchange for the faint notion of a proxy security,
is the hardest thing to attempt to un-see,
and yet the most etched image in my mind.

Your gender,
does not give you the right to consume souls.

W.E.