Absent.

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Dear stranger,

Your opinion of me

Is about as misplaced

As the. Dot

In this sentence

 

– O.D. ©2020

 

Art by: Aenami

 

 

 

Morbid Curiosity.

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When the curtain lifts

You play the part of the victim

Sharing sob stories with anyone willing to lend an ear

You tell them how much you’ve struggled

How much you’ve failed at overcoming life’s obstacles.

 

You tell them how much you appreciate having them around

You make it clear how you would be lost without them

Through your meticulously curated vulnerability

You advertise honesty, harmony

And the promise of stability.

 

And of course, a willing listener eats it all up

Charmed by your words,

Feeling power as you cement their worth.

I’m almost tempted to say I feel sorry for them.

Almost.

Because they don’t know you; the real you

Not like I do.

 

See, you’re not the victim you claim to be;

No, far from it. You’re a predator, the worst kind,

You don’t lurk in the grass but hide in plain sight.

You take the truth, and if it fails to illicit –

The intended reaction, you mould it –

By God, you mould it, as much as possible,

Till it unquestionably does.

 

You pretend to be weak and vulnerable

To pacify and to placate,

Till those that choose to listen

Begin to believe defending you is not beyond reason.

 

Connection, or whatever your misguided mind chooses to call it

Isn’t about deepening bonds, not to you,

Your endgame is establishing power over those around you,

It’s what gets you off, isn’t it?

Switching roles on those you’ve baited into trusting you,

Twisting the narrative is a given

If it means your agenda is fulfilled.

 

You push and you probe because lord knows,

You need to know everything, to be a step ahead,

A testament to your fear of being irrelevant

Your sob stories (I would have you know)

Mean nothing to me,

Your conquests doubly so.

 

You will continue to think you know me

You will continue to think you have everyone fooled

God-willing you eventually gain enough sense

To question why I keep you around despite.

It’s not to beat you at your own game, that’s ridiculous,

A single fool within our midst is more than enough.

Never in my life would I have thought –

I’d come across someone so lost.

I am not ashamed to admit

I have kept you around for purely selfish reasons

You’re a particularly rare breed on the spectrum of the deluded

Makes me curious to see how it all ends.

 

– O.D. ©2020

 

Art by: snatti89

 

 

LIVE.

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Time, to you, can be viewed as a straight line

Somehow going somewhere.

Relish in my way of thought for a bit

And you will perchance see how I visualize it.

Time, to me, is a complex knot

Entangled, never moving;

Stuck in the same spot.

 

What you’ve concluded as the passage of time

Is instead, a single moment.

A single moment that has stayed the same with no change.

There has never been a then, just a now.

The futility of my curiosity towards what comes next

Has only been rewarded by my newfound ability

To suppress unchecked inquisitiveness.

 

You speak highly about a life long-lived

Based on a metric dictated 

By a terrestrial unit of measurement.

It takes the lifespan of a mayfly

To give you much-needed perspective.

You only think you live long

Because the world is full of things that die faster.

 

It’s just like me, isn’t it?

To break everything down to its fundamentals.

I wish my way of thinking could be described as a gimmick;

That would most certainly help your psycho-analysis.

But go ahead and ask me, the answer is always a constant

Days? Months? Weeks? Apart from herding everyone in mutual directions

All mean nothing to me.

 

Day and night? Right. It’s a relay

And Earth’s residents are simply taking turns with the sun.

You can ritualize the process of the earth moving on an invisible rotisserie

For as long as you please, but to then expect me

To give it nearly as much weight as you do?

Well, you’re the one who’s always going on about fate

Would it be too much to ask if I leave that part to you?

 

– O.D. ©2020

 

Art by: kevron2001

 

 

 

 

Fleeting.

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I spoke to the void, it spoke back.

How? some might ask. Well,

When you’ve made a habit of speaking to nothing for as long as I have

Your whispers are bound to eventually reverberate into echoes

That, in due time, re-introduce themselves back to you.

 

Is this me? Wishing this hard to be proven wrong.

Wasting time fantasizing about a lucid embrace entangling itself with actuality

It’s a nightmare,

When you assume what you love has left you behind.

Its hell,

When reality testifies on how tight you clutch yourself at night

Bridging fleeting connections with phantoms as fragile as the tender veil 

Blanketing your world of illusion.

 

You can’t lose something that was never there;

Mend your broken heart, young warrior,

Do not hold yourself bound to a love

That finds itself forever fleeing with the first shades of dawn.

 

– O.D. ©2019

 

Art by: snatti89

 

I’m thinking of putting out a voice note in the form of a status update. If anyone is interested in the idea please let me know.

Warped.

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You can gaze into the mirror for as long as you please

Cultivating a deluge of self-love rituals

Revel in how well you tell yourself you’re amazing.

 

But that amounts to nothing

When the moment you cross the periphery of your home

You treat others lesser than trash;

… Lesser than you.

 

– O.D. ©2019

 

Art by: snatti89

 

His/Hers.

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I’ve grooved through familiar tunes.

I’ve been entranced by the same pitch –

– the same dance, many times over.

How am I the pessimist

For simply knowing how it ends?

 

– O.D. ©2019

 

Art by: Aenami

 

 

Overclocked.

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The clock hands wind themselves into an unending spiral,

Fast-forward and they look like rotor blades

Levitating whichever moment they are bound to.

I don’t speak in jest when I lace my words into an elaborate analogy 

That better accentuates how fast time flies.

 

We live through the same time yet we run a race in different lanes

Try to peer into mine and all you’ll see, is me,

Playing skip rope with what you best understand as the finish line.

I write the best I have to offer with mirrors as a recipient;

These words are me, 

If asked to look at someone, and use them as a muse;

Who else would it be?

 

I discard the limitations of feasibility with each beat

 The swiftness of my ink runs in parallel with a shooting star

Don’t be snared by the how, but by the why,

Try not to judge my self-appraisal

You learn to be an expert at navigating your own thoughts and emotions 

When you’re a refugee in the realm of a narcissist.

And that’s about as much backstory you’ll get out of me

From this incremental dose of poetry. 

 

– O.D. ©2019

 

Art by: Aenami

 

Love yourself fiercely, but not at the cost of basic human dignity ❤

Alter.

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Solitude often feeds eventual madness,

Jeez, you’re telling me …..

Being uncompromising with my authenticity

Often means, I lose friends faster than I make them.

 

Sticking to my identity is a conscious decision

Staying true to myself despite the circumstances 

Means I end up disappointing someone regardless

It means in the eyes of those around me I sometimes come across as selfish

An acceptable casualty I’m willing to contend with 

Even as I get noteworthy push-back from outside influences.

 

Many are quick to steer you, quick to try and build harmony 

In a way that makes them feel good.

I question the validity

Of people founding terms which they believe are definitive enough

For anyone who they believe to be morally upright.

Respectfully denying their embrace, by default, brands you the next Führer.

 

Because harmony obviously means submission,

Harmony – if their position is to be entertained – is putting your free will on hold

Leaving choices on what’s best for you in their capable hands.  

 

You assume a position you have not earned

You trust me and immediately think I trust you

Yet you have no knowledge of how little I trust my own shadow.

My seclusion from much of what the world has to offer

Is a natural conclusion born of multiple cycles

Helping me formulate what I want

To be me, outside of you.

 

– O.D. ©2019

 

Art by: Aenami

 

 

 

R—each.

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My one wish with regards to this

Is, quite simply, that what I pour

Through the bits and pieces

Making what you call my poetry

Percolates, through each page,

An unconventional filtering process

That subsequently permits my words to settle –

At the very bottom: the final page,

Of my journal, clearer,

Your thoughts and mine, aligned,

All in the comfort of a more formative design.

 

– O.D. ©2019

 

Art by: Aenami

 

 

Reminder No.789

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My mind often finds itself lost

Between the space running in parallel

With the time that keeps us apart. 

 

Depending on where you and I stand

These words will no doubt come across different.

When I share my story, my intention is not to harvest your pity.

No, not when I can do that exceptionally well on my own.

 

Nine out of ten dentists have nothing for this cavity

Naturally, It’s not a teeth thing,

It is instead, the emptiness I keep hidden within.

A void I shamelessly fill with material desires that do nothing

In the mending of my soul.

 

Took a long time to understand what strength means to me

It’s not the relentlessness of one’s conviction,

Or having hope that is absolute or concrete.

Strength begins in the admittance of weakness.

 

Strength, to me, is having the courage to be kind

To others and yourself

Despite having no incentive to do so

At all.

 

– O.D. ©2019

 

Art by: Aenami