The Final Reality

I’ve ploughed down every garden i have tried to grow.

After disease, i migh have lost control

For the only thing I have known was to perhaps

Trust Myself.

Other’s might have suggest that I trust their own

On the way’s they have known to trust themselves.

To each their own to Do this or Do that…

But to each their own perhaps i found

That i was the disease and the disease was mine alone.

That i was the poison of my own ivy league.

Never better but did you not know?
I do however know that in this world I’ve been alone.

As i have been told and as I have been brought up

There is no one else gon go get to got your back

When you fall you alone got to get on back up

By your own by your own self.

So yes to be suggested I do not trust so easily

This World or any Other Worldly Mystery

I doubt even now my own justified sense of self.

But, that is I.

That is why I must carry a justified sense of my own self worth.

I never allow any one or more to pity me or sit in grief

As I keep on hurting all those I chose to love.

Only to question the purpose itself

What are the lies on life to make me come alive to be livid

On how I choose or upon which i thought i chose

To Live My Life.

Alone in the eyes of everyone else.

Perhaps that the difference between the You’s and I – Self

Never mutter a word that I never cared for anyone else

For I have empathized too many times

Too many times

Have I tried

Never having tried to care for myself.

For perhaps I cared very much and too long

That everyone else is well

Well enough to put it past the past behind

The tales I’ve lived to tell.

After all, Are We Only Human

Caught up in our own fairytales.

There is never a perfect ending to which we’ve been told

About this world where we keep on pretending

That we might know exactly what we’re doing

Doing to live while living keeps happening.

There is no justified reasoning to all that we yell

It is my voice that carries that I am not well

Nor welcome beyond the hurt of my hell all dwelling upon

The Words

I blurt out these words and I hear them criticizing

What do you know?


I do not know.

That is it justified

Half the time

What am I doing?

Very tempermental and very sentimental

Over People.

Did you know?
I die a little bit each time I speak ill of once upon a time, my people.

Of them. Above them. Below them.
All around the way … I behold them.

Nary a wish of Ill will towards them

Just knowing that I think bigger thoughts about having known them.

Though I don’t owe them for having outgrown my own control of owning them.

For I only Own My Own OUTGROWN notions on everything I have known

About living with kin and once believing the kind of kinds of kindness around them

I know as though science fiction were fractions of known facts

About how much to be so exact to how much the universe can align to become known as noise and confusion.

Like a concussion confused to define the matter

The matter of facts defined by the matter that takes up most of the spacce

Within Minds.

Refining the definition of time space and illusion.

What we see think to hear pointed out reference

To whatever may be our individual beliefs.

Once I grow up I will leave it all behind me.

As strangers between Us.

The guilt and the pleasure

Living a life of leisure.

Without Any Pressure

Without Any Stress

That no one ever listened by re_definition

That perhaps was it worth the weight

To carry my Words, whichever placed in position.

Perhaps our only mission

Was to find ourselves a little less burdened

By every single minute to moment

From decades to seconds.

Every single time

I went missing.

Perhaps this the Why?
Behind all the difficulties I find

In trying to believe that there are people alive

Upon which I might just be able to infinity

Beyond Any Gods