What Else Should I Say?

This.

I write when I'm sad cause I'm pretty busy when I'm happy.

I Will Die Happy

In the forest of green, I ought to see the brown. Everyone restless to see the moon, I wanted a hindrance promised by the clouds. A fury hidden beneath me, I was the bearer of the burning crown. Turning the leaves in the ashes of nature, I found solace in the cracks of drought. My eyes were a curse, mind as well, Was I trapped in a spellbound? With the desire of another wound, I peeked inside my hatred profound. Relics of my happiness unalive, Made me suffer the pain they gave me throughout. Unaware of the path I'll choose, 'I will die happy' I vowed.

~ark

My own work disgusts me, at times. I find it flat, I find the words that had depth now are as shallow as a children's pool. I look to the right, and then to the left: so many other of us here and there, their poems with hard-to-read fonts, and crazy weird background colors. Big ones, 10k+ ones, think they are fools. But I see the magic, I see the struggle, the courage, the craziness, the sadness, the reflection in the mirror—blurred. The writing is good, but my eyes are dull—addicted to the aesthetic, to the trend, to the dopamine cycle, to the movement—how do I break this cycle? I'm being swallowed by it! I want to me the same, and to fight the norm. I want to inform, to conform, to deform, and then to destroy everything. I want to be real, to open a way, to see and be seen, and to become, and delight in the fact that I am another human being.

Sometimes I don't care about what people think, Because I've already thought about it on their behalf.

~ark

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~ark

Materialism is a lie. It is a delusional lie and it should not be leading the culture. Not when we are spiritual beings.

Gigi Young

Undefined

The noise of the world penetrated within, Settling deep inside,  Trying to stir the dead silence that hung,  Hiding beneath the mask of peace.

I never knew why but a sense of void grew, A hollow too stubborn to consume me and not contain me.

I remained indifferent, a way to run away, Forgetting, remembering, cherishing, regretting, Thoughts like water, flowing through my fingers, trying to cage them.

In this whirlwind of life, The feeling of being lost lingered, The fear of messing up,  The embarrassment of being monotonous,  Being too weak to overcome, being too stubborn to move on.

Forcing myself to understand everything, To make sense, to become understandable. Not being too loud, not too silent, Nothing extreme, to avoid attention.

I kept searching for definitions, A way to find meaning of something in my life, A way to define myself, But maybe,  I was fluid, changing itself with changing places.

Too difficult to be bound by boundaries, Yet too soluble, To completely dissolve in me to feel me To be with me was to be contaminated by me An existence, to be ignored for being a necessity; valued in scarcity, A shape, full, but never whole. A story remembered but never told.

~ark

What Do I Do?

While I dwelled in one of my prayers, I still asked for more. The universe listened closely, Numerous missed calls on my phone. They say, a human ends with diminishing aspirations, But was it coming from my core? What's the point of achieving anything, When my body doesn't belong to my soul, When I don't even belong to myself anymore.

~ark

Plethora of thoughts came to my mind, But I chose not to write. Not because I couldn't find words for the same, But because the paper was unable to carry such pain.

~ark