From the Mind of a Subject

I'm tired of being the subject of your blogs
Hidden messages and repetitions of how I blatantly disregard you
Yet you cannot say my name.
I'm tired of being the subject on your matters
Because face to face you're smiling and you're nodding
But when you put finger to keyboard, you then state your case.
Talk to me.
Address me.
Stop putting me out there -
a man with no place of defense because your followers do not know me but judge me
F*** them.
When it's me and you, it's real.
But then your over-thinking becomes overbearing and you ruin what I hold dear to me.
If your blogs would match your words I would have no reason to stare at you awkwardly.
Supposedly,
It's your mouth that ruins the messages because when it's just thought and output you speak it so clearly.
Maybe you should just try to understand me better instead of putting me - no! - caging me in this box where you would like to label me but when the label doesn't fit the description you're staring at me with tears in yours eyes.
I have to let you walk away because when you're staring with tears neither you or I are thinking clearly.
Dearly Anandi,
You stain my feelings for you day by day when you destruct what we have taken our time to construct;
And that's not fair.
I'm tired of being the subject of your blogs.
Your objectification insults me.
Just talk to me.

I Miss You

I missed you today.
I opened my eyes and saw someone looking back at me
Made me avert my glance because I did not recognize this stranger staring at me
Staring at me with squinted eyes and an awkward gaze
So I walked away
But when I turned to the side
I thought I saw you again
So I looked, but it was only this same stranger, looking back at me
with no words to say
Sadness overshadowed me and taunted me with imaginary replicas of you that followed me
Replaying in my mind over and over, that stranger watching me
But he looked so much like you
Whomever he was, he wasn't you
Because you would never let me walk away from you
Or from us.
I don't like strangers.
The audacity of this man to wear your face and flaunt your cologne
Only to see the look upon my face
And to watch me walk away

I missed you today.

I opened my eyes and saw someone looking back at me

Made me avert my glance because I did not recognize this stranger staring at me

But he looked so much like you

Whomever he was, he wasn't you

Because you would never let me walk away from you

Or from us.

I don't like strangers.

See You...

Stopped by to see you today
to see if I could scratch your head to listen for your thoughts...
... brush my face against yours,
like a cat showing its affection.

I wanted to see you today
to see that smile walk across your face
like something that you would want to hide but could never...
... to see your eyes avoid mine because if you looked at me you would see my own, searching,
trying to understand your soul
though, ha... all your windows are closed anyway.

I'm happy I didn't see you today.
As your soul attracts my own
It unfairly categorizes me with the minds in your collections
And seeing you only makes my eyes want to see you more -
today, tomorrow, and always.
And that's not fair.

Thank you for not being there.

Dear Anandi,

Stop texting while drinking. Better yet, stop drinking. It doesn't seem very Zen like. It's not. Control your actions with logic and emotion, not just emotion. You're using the alcohol as an excuse to be honest about your feelings when really... you don't get drunk easily. Haha. So who are you trying to fool? Because you know better.

Keep reading Zen lady. Keep focused but don't focus on your slips; be aware of them. Don't get caught up in your good moments either, lest you forget that you can slip. Take your own advice to Make IT Zen. Your IT at this moment is self-control from all aspects.

Namaste,
Your Sane Self

There is no Contradiction... You're just one-sided

To the Love of My Age 26,

You say that after reading my work you would never believe that I am the same person that you know. I even listened and followed your words so directly like an icicle refusing to fall off a tree that I believed every word and noted myself as the "walking contradiction". Kudos to you "Soulful Speaker" but you can wipe your ass now cause I'm done smelling your shit. I am not a contradiction but a full individual who acknowledges her thoughts and is learning how to recognize how those thoughts fit into her world. When I express my emotions as it refers to love or inner thoughts,you appreciate the passion within the words... question... do you know Passion to be just from one direction? I am a passionate being when it comes to everything that I do, write, or preach. I do not contradict myself. I contradict the thoughts you had of me. And that my Love, is not my problem.

Ream of Thoughts

Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be His name, but hollow is my heart. vast expressions by untimely deaths of little pieces to my heart and soul crumble before me in the midst of affected smiles; I can't stand it. I am overwhelmed by the grief you and I have caused to circulate within my veins so carelessly discarded as if our ties mean nothing to you. and they don't. obviously. I can hear your nonchalant protests that only magnify my anger towards your jaded complacence - why can't I ever write about anything happy? - does it sound the same? dissatisfied with the outcome though I was the one who created the script. How can pretense hurt? this script can't work anymore. I'd prefer to re-write your character into one that wants to and would and could be there the way I selfishly would prefer designed. but we are not Pen and Paper. Humans are a bit more complicated than puppets on a stage. I have to leave this performance. I just wish it didn't have to hurt doing it. Cut the strings for me? But be gentle. These bonds pinch at my skin and peels off layers of my being and yet the pain makes me feel alive; it makes me FEEL. Confusing pain for sentiment is distractingly a point of idiocy. His will be done Because as I write my own script, I show my lacking abilities to grasp a realistic concept. Because if God gave me the script and said "Re-write it," I'd write you back in it hoping for a different outcome each time no matter how many scraps of paper it would take. I'm more than certain that there is a universe out there where that script actually exists as a reality. I'm more than certain of it. Somewhere out there, there is a world with bright, golden-yellow skies, where there is no need to work but people do it anyway because it makes them happy and so we'd have clean parks and home gardens where we planted our fruits, vegetables, and weed. Drinks in the purple moonlight shared by lovers whose only desire is to please the other, You and I, pregnant with child, in love, Professors of Philosophy, again a profession by choice not forced by society, money, or politics - just driven by love and passion. Mata deau sono hi made --- "Until the day we meet again" my fellow writer in that universe - His will be done.

Black Cherry

kindled passions thought of. as misunderstandings raise emotions not logic. rare to define itself within a box that is determined to not exist. i am the invisible touch against your skin. my eyes are the ones you see when you close your own against darkness. but i do not exist. your touch, the catalyst to my inner being. enticing and hurtful all at once. i am your black cherry. longing to be on your lips. only to nourish your soul, your very inner core, but. vows to you are meaningless and actions keep you skeptical. even though my stem shows outwardly. you do not believe in me. let me be the juice that waters your mouth, let my curves be the ones you hold in your palms. let my nerves be the ones to tickle your thoughts. I want to be your muse, instead all i have done is amuse you with my black cherry, filled with your barren seed