Soultosoul_with_ivy

Her overlooked humanity, made a rebel out of her,

The situation she was given, she made herself resourceful even so.

Her essence stayed the same, since the beginning, especially through the raging storm.

Made to feel so, yet was never weak or worthless.

Waited it out, build her strength, virtue and intuition.

She was never to be harm, always hope, she was meant for,

So she escaped the burning house, looking for a kinder ground,

Took a long while, but she found a home in herself,

Once overlooked humanity, now she lovingly takes care of.

Decisions and actions have consequences, It just ties things up nicely

That’s what Karma is, I believe.

Even thoughts have consequences, microscopic at first,

but can easily influence the macroscopic world.

All the interactions, even the minute ones, determine the reality a moment or years later.

We all are atoms, agreed.

The chair I sit on, the body I identify with, the keys I type with, the screen you see.

The chair does not make further choices, to be anything but the chair,

Likewise I can only exist as this body, physically at least.

Nonetheless, infinite choices are available to me in this life-time,

to exist as anyone I want to be, anyone I choose to be.

Besides the physical manifestation, the consciousness I have, I am,

I can choose to express in any way I want.

The choice is always available to me, to us.

Mystery song, playing in the background,

I thought it was a love song.

Struck by a blunt force,

Brutally unaware, I was caught up in a Hailstorm.

Mystery song, playing in the background,

It was a hymn of arsenals.

My pink-orange skies, now tainted by a black smear.

Deep in the innocence, found myself at the mercy of the lightning,

Mystery song playing in the background,

I thought it was a love song.

First destroyed, then aware,

No more mystery, it was a ballad of the Hailstorm.

All Hail the Gods of cruelty, desintegrity, thunder and destruction;

The scars can still be found, if you look carefully.

It is a really big world, and even more bigger the universe we perceive.

It is so random, strange, scary, pleasant, unpredictable, familiar and then so unfamiliar, all at the same time.

We all do a really good job at keeping it together,

And if you are here, breathing and still carrying on, you are keeping it together.

When everything is so balanced, that happiness calls for sadness, and life for death,

It takes bravery and courage to keep going on,

It takes strength and wisdom to enjoy what we still have.

In between the start and the end of this soulful chaos,

we are blessed with people, who show us that we can rely on them.

Don’t beat yourself up, we all sometimes, take things for granted,

we all wish we showed a little more gratitude to the person who has our back.

We are saved by their acknowledgement of us,

We know we are loved, when they choose to care for us out of all the others.

Knowing that, even in memory, can carry us to the end of our journey.

Through the tough times and doubts of, if we matter,

Those people and their memories give us a shelter.

I hope you always have a shelter and wish that you can be someone’s shelter.

“Nibble” should not be allowed to be said, heard or written.

Calling projects, “Babies”, give me the hibby-jibbies.

Can anyone say “Jeepers” without a forced thought?

Are people with noisy vehicles alright?

I think, people who use disappearing messages are at best cowards.

I think sunny days are overrated.

I think rainy days are underrated.

I think older people are wiser and funnier.

I use, “I think” a lot.

I use “right” with question mask, so that I can get you to agree, that I am right.

What should I write, why it isn’t coming to me?

Why I am not able to express?

I am consuming enough, then why cant I create?

C.O.D.E is for Collect, Organise, Distill and Express,

Where am I stuck at,

What is hindering me to fulfill the last stage?

I know, I collect a lot,

but collecting without organising is cluttering,

Organizing without distilling is hoarding,

Distilling without expressing is unused potential.

I search and consume, but until l find an outlet to express,

I feel physically and mentally sick.

More dreadful than sitting idly,

I dread sitting on things.

I know, it will all end eventually,

Till then, I give myself purpose, and take care of affairs that matter to me.

I want to finish what I start, so that I can start something else.

I want to resolve the conflict and curiosity in my head,

so that another conflict and curiosity takes hold of me.

Overconsuming makes me feel static, passive and stuck,

When what I want is movement, result and closure.

Does not matter, all important everything,

but matters what, why, and how is something important to me.

I set, reset the narrative as I go,

Once I was a victim, now I hold all the good cards.

“I loved you always”,

“I never really did”;

I have changed the record, more than I can remember.

Self preservation, Young blood, Ego, whatever they call.

Save my face, my esteem, protect my heart or my dignity,

whichever might be the reason,

they had it coming.

I change the cast, however I please,

Some feature or they not,

I am always the Main Character.

The anxiety you have, is to be resolved now,
It is suppose to be worked through presently.
One deep breath at a time might seem too simple,
But every small step takes you away from the anxiety.
You might wait for the perfect moment to be happy,
You might think that fitting into that dress will release your doubts,
It might seem that going to that destination will relieve your worries,
Meeting that perfect someone will be the end of your anxieties.
You might hope that, there won’t be any existential crisis once you achieve all those goals,
You might wonder that the meaning of life would be clear once you blow enough candles.
You realize however, it is not the once in blue moon action that saves you,
But the ones that are taken regularly, consistently;
Learning to manage anxiety is no different than building a muscle, playing guitar,
It takes practice, and you get better than you were, every time you do it again.

I ask myself what worries me,
So the next time I worry, I could rely on the work I do today.
I observe the rise and fall now,
So the pattern recognized can support me up, the next time I fall.

She left me, or I left her
When I chose filthy hands,
Not once but too many times over us.

No wonder she left me,
Maybe I just blinded myself to see if she was still there.

Ashamed, so ashamed of the people I chose over her,
The guilt so immense,
For abandoning hers and to work for their cause.

She saw as they rode my back,
Taking everything they could,
And resenting me when I had nothing they could strip further.

It wasn’t love for them, but hate for her,
Them and I had that in common.

To feel worthless is to choose people who makes you feel worthless,

A self fulfilling prophecy,

You wish upon the shooting star, the very thing you dread.

Too old and beaten to believe in soulmates,

Too cold and indifferent to care for someone else’s self interest,

Too broke and wise to birth a new life,

Rather be stoned to death or burned alive than to be someone’s unpaid help.