Processing Awareness

That Little Breeze

I sat a while blind,
Deaf, numb, mute.
Killed by my own heart.

Heavy air on summers days
Pushed sweat out the pores
In the still air, I can’t feel its presence

Keeping me clinging on, I know
I need to move, and I do, almost.
The sweltering, the weight, too much!

Stand and walk! In that instance,
The faintest breeze brushes the droplets
Formed through my skin to save my life

Relieving, releasing, comforting,
Wakening my senses
The touch, of nothing I can see, pushing against me

Run, perhaps soon, so this breeze grows stronger
To hear shushing, limbs pulsing blood
Open my mouth and sing, or maybe scream –

~IW~

 

This writing thing and stuff

1170 posts pending. 263 drafts.
What do?
Many a word there to find a place for.

 

It is this category thing screwing with me isn’t it?
I cannot recall why I put ALL my fucking posts as pending, though I think it was to try become vaguely more organised in it. That was the original intention of creating a blog over three (four?) years back, to have a place to put the poems and subconscious babble in some sort of coherent album type thing.

Now it is done, I don’t know if I should ‘undone’ it, or republish shit, or move along and let them be.

Though, one thing I DO know is blogging changed me and my relationship with people and the world, more than I imagined it could.
(for better hopefully, though in moments creating misery swinging oft toward elation…ffs. 😉 )

Another three years then?

Another thing –

I started posting some of the poetry on Instagram (It is fun a little, Kinda) :

 

Yes I realise I cropped it like a novice Instagrammer – that would be because I am one.

IW

 

Price Tags

I know you see me, on the other side of our oblivion.
Curiosity knows no bounds, and though we put ourselves aside to walk another day without sight, we still wish to know.

Inside the dark, under the covers of your eyes I shift passed your view and you push my image aside answering to the voices you hear full well.
But those ones in your head? Like mine? The sounding echo off the wall between your spirit and mine, that never needed to be built except for preservation of sanity.

Tell me my dear, are you sane now?
Are you content? I know you are. I understand this sanity as one day passes to the next, as normality drives you mad.
It is what you wanted isn’t it?

Isn’t it?
To be content. To be sane. To be somehow normal and live a normal life.

To be happy.

Are you happy without answering to my voice? Does your heart race as fast as your despair consumes you? Does confusion darken your horizon as deeply as epiphany emblazons your truth? Does passion swell inside your soul as it does inside your garments? Is your sword held at the ready as tightly as your will and lack thereof is held at guard?

The choices we make do not always come with the price tag attached.

IW