They can claim the body
But never the mind.
… Unless the driver,
Falls asleep at the wheel.
– O.D. ©2020
Art by: AngelGanev
Care.
I don’t write to save people
I write to build strength. And with any luck,
Hope that same strength permeates to others,
Encouraging them to save themselves.
– O.D. ©2020
Art by: AngelGanev
Thoughts Like A Theme Park (Part 2)
Thoughts Like A Theme Park (part 1)
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And here is a recording I made for part 2 of this series. I wrote the entire poem below for those that prefer reading as I speak. I hear its more immersive that way.
You could otherwise gaze at the lovely art during the recording, that works too.
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Slow, steady and ever-so routinely,
Words cascade from parts of the universe unseen
Effortlessly drizzling, washing over me
As if my words have gained sentience in an attempt
To deem my vessel unclean.
There are many ways to say what I wish to say
But I only get one chance to say it my way.
A way that bridges me with my understanding of peace
Sometimes I feel I’ve found the answers I seek;
Like I’ve taken a long hard look at life’s tapestry
And from that, know exactly where I fit.
But that’s not how life tends to work, is it?
I balance my inherent strength and vulnerability
In ways reminiscent of a tight rope walker
Trying to maintain inertia — It all gets a little murkier —
As I guard my heart like I know nothing else
Like it’s all I’ve ever felt, I might as well — heart shattered, scattered,
Some pieces find themselves lost under the furniture —
Each time — the part that keeps me alive gets a little smaller.
I love fiercely, consciously, dare I say ridiculously
I love without expecting, I love like no one is watching,
I love because I can — but it’s within this dance
That I’ve begun to understand the limitations of man.
The love of my individuality
And the desire to connect whilst still being me
Oh, the persistent dichotomy, repeatedly unveiling itself in front of me —
This is why — this is why I sling ink to a maddening degree
Why I can’t stop myself from being entranced with this natural high
Why oh why do you do this to me?
The more I get better the more I run the risk of sounding a little crazier.
Erratic in my delivery,
I hit the beat and accompanying piece like I exist within each—
Rib-caged, I am the part that pumps blood;
I don’t believe in fate, but for this, I was certainly made,
And there’s nothing anyone can say to give my thoughts sway.
I lay back — absorbing the moment, wishing to have it framed
It’s the only one like it… and I wish to always have it…
But it’s only in letting it go that I make room for more.
– O.D. ©2020
Art by: SuperPhazed
The Side They (Don’t) Like. (Voiced)
That’s right. I voiced one of my favourite poems. The Side They (Don’t) Like
Thoroughly enjoyed the process and will do more in the future. I copied the poem below so you can read along as I speak.
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I navigate the battlefield pacifying every ill-intender with a collection of Swords
Repeat the prior sentence without the first S
And you’ll bear witness to how it takes a pen, or even less
To bring to attention the distance that exists between you
And the unseen heights of my plateau.
You shout all manner of things yet you know I can’t hear you
You’re all the way over there, and I’m over here
Layman terms for your planet and mine
Perhaps I ought to underline how aligned
I am to the stars. I’m not just another Leo,
I bear an unkempt mane
Thought formation teetering on insane
Why would I roar – when I need only soar,
Break the sky, and from space, re-arrange
My life’s pieces back into place.
Your awkward attempts to wither my flame
Are about as unsightly
As witnessing a giraffe throw up – arduous and long –
Like the time it would take to break down
Exactly where you’re going wrong.
See, with each subsequent step I take
The eye of the storm dilates
With each word, my thoughts levitate,
Marking yet another escape
From the self-sustaining prison
This world makes.
Your taxidermist has been stuffing you with garbage
Meanwhile, I jubilate to my bountiful literary harvest
Far-reaching words are at the tip of my tongue
Much like when I explore all your unseen bits
I promise, I never meant for any of this to sound erotic
It just tends to happen when you make a habit of being honest.
Look how considerate I am,
Even skipping a line to let you catch your breath,
I run in parallel with a calmness
Born from poetry and I being bound in marriage
I called myself a failure, but poetry was not having it
Master of the art, showing me how to repurpose
All of the Ls projected. Flipping them on their axis
Like another casual game of Tetris
Forming a continuous line, that in due time
Cancels itself out.
Still don’t believe in my prowess?
Tread the surface I ink for your enjoyment
A Mobius strip – It doesn’t matter where you begin
With each piece, with each end
I’ll keep you in the perceptual present.
– O.D. ©2020
Art by: AngelGanev
There will be more recordings like this in the future. Mostly depends on the length of the poem itself. I will also record poems I have done in the past; if you have any, in particular, you wish for me to voice please let me know.
Thoughts Like A Theme Park (Part 2) will be coming out tomorrow. For those interested in part 1 you can read it right here
Thoughts Like A Theme Park (Part 1 )
I ruminate over an unearthly amount of time here,
This medium and I bleed into each other,
A testament to our unspoken blood oath.
Quite the task, telling me and my poetry apart,
Honestly, where would you even start?
You would have better luck counting back from infinity.
A glimpse of my thoughts is like ingesting an Albert Hoffmann creation
My world is like looking at a rainbow and seeing colours diverging —
Criss-crossing, Intertwining, binding and colliding.
Absolutely. In my world, reality and I repurpose a rainbow for shibari,
I hear you say, “Well, by that point, It’s no longer a rainbow”
To which I say “Precisely. It’s become something more”
– O.D. ©2020
Art by: SuperPhazed
New series. New stories to share.
Excited to write this set of poems in particular. Stay tuned.
Poetry, To Me (2)
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Poetry.
What is it,
But a sequence of words
Tethered to bring about greater meaning?
What is poetry, but a portal into a world beyond human comprehension?
Each line inked cements its worth,
I graciously place one above the other
Like I’m creating an agate stone.
Wisdom embedded is re-current
Yet it goes unheard —
— Much like the b in subtle —
— Poetry sneaks up on you
With a message — an image,
That takes a moment to notice.
Much like the shape of this entire poem:
“Oh, look. A crooked home”
– O.D. ©2020
Art by: AngelGanev
Zugzwang.
This is one of those poems that serve as my palate cleanser. I feel the urge to shout, but doing that leaves me exhausted. So instead, I just combined past and present frustrations into one amalgamation. After all, writing is what I do best.
Also, there’s a separate recording at the end of this post. A follow up to my last one.
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It goes without saying, right?
That what I say to you
Doesn’t need to make sense
For it to be considered true.
You are bound by the world’s rules
You are at peace with a narrow corridor being
The best representation of your psyche.
I write about me, more than I write about you
I encumber the page with my struggles,
Involuntarily writing your name in the margins
The teacher always told me to show my working.
Lo and behold, that’s where you are,
In the humdrum of the equation; you are the sum of its parts
I seek answers, and yet, to no one’s surprise
You are the number that makes the problem clearer; easier.
I welcome perspective, but yours I would forever take in doses
I’m not being harsh for simply showing the side you so thoroughly wish to see,
Needling me, with your unrestrained insecurities;
You are an insatiable vampire. Feeding off energy.
Trust me, I know mine is a unique treat.
But that drop is all you’ll ever get out of me.
Your words lost their weight a long time ago
Your influence on my life rings hollow.
You can no longer do as you please,
Your attempts to manipulate
Have about as much clinical efficiency as homeotherapy.
Seek your value elsewhere;
You are not my friend.
You are not my family.
You,
Are an example.
– O.D. ©2020
Art by: RHADS
An example of what some might ask? An example of what I don’t want to be associated with. You can’t claim to have a healthy mindset when you make conscious efforts to be toxic. Either you’re stupid, or you think those around you are stupid.
I don’t need drama.
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The recording I promised in the last post. I talk about whats been happening these last few months. Pretty lengthy, check it out if you want:
12 minutes.
Update No.5 *Recording Included*
Small status update.
Indeed, I have a voice too. If you had yet to hear it, well, here it is. There are many other posts I’ve voiced in the past; for those interested.
4 minute listen
– O.D. ©2020
Art by: RHADS
Synchronicity.
I shoot beyond the stars, searching for anything remotely interesting
The path is never straight, I work the bends like Wesley Gibson
To my surprise it’s not yet illegal, having a mind this far-reaching
But that’s the thing about writing — poetry,
It uncovers doors that need opening
Concealing enough wisdom to showcase those that need closing.
Apologies your grace. You have no part to play in this race,
I switch lanes of thought in whichever way gives me the most peace
Clocking laps on my mind’s tartan track with inexplicable ease
But that’s a truth I’m encouraged not to say openly
If these arbiters are to have their way
I would behave appropriately
Adhering to all manner of doctored humility.
Re-direct your attention if my gift rubs you the wrong way
Because in this world, I hardly know how to behave
I let volatile thoughts loose like the gameplay loop of the untitled goose game
You can’t keep it a secret when you have this much talent in spades
In a world that edges you towards monochrome,
I bear a series of colours — emotions, that burrow themselves within me —
— Think Dutch tulip fields — stretching as far as your eyes can see.
With that said, dear reader,
I would like to take this moment to tell you
That this piece won’t end with a profound lesson
I won’t lie and tell you I’m losing sleep over what’s happening
I owe you more than that.
There is no message. No virtue signalling.
In this specific moment. All I care about is us, and this simple the truth:
“You read what I had to say. And for that, I love you”
– O.D. ©2020
Art by: mrssEclipse
Mirage.
Spare a moment stranger, take a walk in my shoes,
Look through my eyes; see life the same way I do.
Past my lenses, tell me what you see,
Apart from your mind playing tricks on you.
– O.D. ©2020
Art by: AngelGanev
*RANT INCOMING*
“No, you don’t know what people are thinking or feeling. Stop embarrassing yourself”
Sometimes people are prone to make assumptions on how those around them feel or think based on what they feel and think. It’s a gamble that sometimes results in someone’s assumptions being wrong or in the worst-case scenario, destructive.
In cognitive behavioural therapy, this habit is referred to as a mind-reading error, the belief that you know what someone else thinks or feels. Furthermore, you make an assumption and then act on it without any solid evidence. This can cause problems in any relationship.
Often what people see in others is a reflection of their own thoughts and feelings. If you think you’re an idiot, you’re more prone to think others think the same thing about you. If you see everything as a competition, you’ll assume everyone else is competing with you. I don’t need to mention how much this pisses me off.
The other time I told someone I was depressed and they said “I know how you feel”, No, you don’t. What, you think I find comfort in numbers? You think just because I know someone else is going through something similar it will make everything alright? Ridiculous. That’s the equivalent of saying going to prison is nice because you’ll be surrounded by other prisoners.
Listen, I don’t care if you think I think nothing of you. I’m too caught up in trying not to off myself every night without having to doctor your perceptions of me.
I’m sorry I can’t listen to your long-winded explanation of things I already know or find inconsequential. I’m distracted by thoughts of how the other night I held a knife close to my wrist for an inexplicable amount of time.
I’m sorry you think I keep things from you because I’m afraid you’ll judge. I’m sorry you can’t see past being a presumptuous and manipulative bastard to listen when I say I don’t trust you or anyone else. Want to hear my secrets? Be my therapist.
*sigh*
Sometimes, dear reader. Sometimes, it’s just better to listen.
