the-wave1

[the-wave1]

RESILIENCE:

We must never cease to meet with the deepest components of our existence.

We must delve at the depths of both the placid and rageful seas.

Rediscover and make amends with the qualities of our being.

Persevere at no end, that way no drought or flood may bring inadequate conditions in preserving the equilibrium of your spirit.

Never break or allow absence to utter thoughts and intentions of destruction,

or make cause of any hindrance to your own unique and concise circumstance.

Forever dive deep into all that you are,

and in the probable event that your own business may become infiltrated with the negotiations mediocrity and falsely followed self destructive events of the mind or the physical realm may present to you-

By meeting at every beginning and end of your nature and doing so with much awareness.

Then nothing in this world or the temporary and formidable thoughts of the mind, shall break away at the state of your being.

#writers #poetry #dark #light #motivation

[the-wave1]

Nothing beats a broken man.

Broken can't be beat again.

All of this,

The light, the love-

The life we seem to cherish,

It's all something I can't cease to think of.

But there it goes, again and again.

The waves of emotion that I can't pipe down again.

It's something, a heavy strong endless void.

A darkness that can't be named.

Not out of fear, insecurity, or doubt.

But truthfully of an unknowing pain.

Something deep inside me that bears a chain.

It has me asking questions like why? And for how long.

How far can a sunken ship continue to seek the sun?

How many more masks can he bring?

How many more songs are there left to sing?

There it is, that's the thing.

The eyes, the watchers all around.

But I say "what, what is it?" There's no one to be found.

I look and look, but then I realize.

The pain, the pressure, that I'm feeling inside.

Is the product of the mass game of what I bring.

The image of a sharp and sound man, suited to the nines.

Made to be brought down by nothing, not even the lines.

The remarks, the jokes aside.

What can I do, there's nowhere to hide.

It's me, I'm the microscope man...

They've crawled up inside.

My mind it's racing, my thoughts they're chasing.

A reason to keep going, a reason to keep wishing.

That the box I'm put in and the place I'm held captive.

That one day I will be free, away from the captions.

I want real, a reality made by me.

But how can there be real, if I can't even be me?

I get so angry inside and want to shout at the ceiling.

Why, why me God. I can't stop feeling. It's me, us, or them.

They tell me to live for others.

But why do so, I try and understand-

But they never even bother.

I may ask and be one there for another and act accordingly.

Yet, if I were in need-

They would say, "oh please, you're being boring."

I say, "How so, or what do you mean?"

They say just stand there and be part of our team.

I look 'round and wonder, what team am I on?

I realize my mistake in thinking what my purpose is.

It's to parade around as a mascot or circus.

It's me, the decoration, the title, the name.

It's me, dare I say- I'm the jacket with seams.

I'm worn, and torn, to protect what they dream.

But when it comes to me, they say "what's in it for me?"

I can't do this, the lies, the games.

I want real man. When will I be free?

-the wave

[the-wave1]

I'm your typical attractive man, known for my sharp and intense eyes and good solid anatomy. Many would classify me under the edgy jock type with an introverted approach to attending new and uncharted territory-whether that be a job, a social gathering, or class lecture.

So with that said, there grows an abundant amount of interest from my peers having my physical appearance be what most would desire and so many expect that a guy like me would want to sleep around, be in the crowd, and be that typical frat jock type that people would expect at their first glance of me. However, I'm the one that would rather be observing everything around me in a nook of a corner in a coffee shop at 5 in the morning. Listening to the coffee grinder as it prepares to begin queuing esspresso for the old man that always gets the americano with no cream, the young woman who is always on the phone complaining about her next office meeting, the kid waiting for their 8am class to start a block away at their school since their mom works as a janitor every morning for a firm and can't take him to school at 8am, the quirky coffee team talking about their wild Saturday night and all the pot they smoked, and the one in the bunch that never seems entertained by that sort of banter. That is me, the observer- listening and watching all around while pretending to scroll through social media and sip on my black dark roast brew. I have an infatuation with listening to all the world's around me. The aspirations, the life obstacles, the upcoming wedding plans, the road trip fantasies, the petty drama that no one can seem to remove themselves of, etc. I watch and listen because the worlds around me help to escape the constant spiral of questions and loudness of the silence in my thoughts, the darkness of my past, and the pressures of my peers' expectations of me. Since I look the type to have everything together and must have it so easy since I can iron a shirt everyday for work and lend an ear to someone in need, no one seeks to observe my world. The world of a man lost at sea, the sea of chaos that is pressure, expectation, the silient healing of childhood trauma, the overestimating family that just knows I'll get it done since I have always been the one none ever had to worry about. I'm here to share my story, as the man in the corner- always reading each scene. This is me.

-the wave