Am The Fucking Confused

Status: Finished

Am The Fucking Confused

Status: Finished

Am The Fucking Confused Am The Fucking Confused

Poem by: Neekas

Genre: Poetry

Houses:

Poem by: Neekas

Details

Genre: Poetry

Houses:

Summary

Here's the deal. I was walking outside in the rain and I saw a huge oil tank driving fast on the street and I am this tempted to jump in front of it and shutter my fragile meat container in million pieces all over the place and release my soul forever finally. But I pity my peoples so can't do it. I sat down under a tree and wrote (carved lol) this on a paper. It's free poetry. Maybe not even poetry but text in the form of poetry. I just couldn't really bother giving it the rhyme suit and dissolve the brutality, ugliness, rage and rawness of the moment

Summary

Here's the deal. I was walking outside in the rain and I saw a huge oil tank driving fast on the street and I am this tempted to jump in front of it and shutter my fragile meat container in million pieces all over the place and release my soul forever finally. But I pity my peoples so can't do it. I sat down under a tree and wrote (carved lol) this on a paper. It's free poetry. Maybe not even poetry but text in the form of poetry. I just couldn't really bother giving it the rhyme suit and dissolve the brutality, ugliness, rage and rawness of the moment

Content

Submitted: October 22, 2012

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Content

Submitted: October 22, 2012

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AM THE FUCKING CONFUSED

Wouldn't you kill to get rid of your head for a day?
I'd do it. I'd do anything to get the wisdom of the headless life.
Maybe my soul is headless.
Maybe when my mother fucked my dad they were under a tree
and the naughty tree soul slipped out one crack and into another and jumped in me.
And I am a plant withought my roots now
Then a human naked of my limps.

I think some of us, we are noones
and become everyone in order to be someone.
I think some of us are fucking confused.
The everything-nothing breed constantly raped by our questions, always abused.
Because we are 50 cent sluts of question.
to stop asking is to have died.
But I would die for one answer.

Ask the blind to run his fingers on your face.
Would you be socked if he suddenly describes everything you saw?

Ask the deaf to press the side of his head on the ground.
Would you be impressed when he suddenly started humming
the symphony no man of hearing could ever compose?

Ask a man of no arms to feel a woden log with his eyes and he will.
Ask a man of no eyes to see the wooden log with his fingers and he will.
Ask a man of only nose to taste the log and he will.
Take his nose and ask him to smell the wind with his skin and he will.
Would that surprise you?

I'd do it all just to realy listen for once the beat.
The pounding heart of existance throbbing,
climbing up my body every step I slam my foot down.

If you are a tree, tell me if you know,
the way outside my concrete package so I can let it go
and spread my antennas above and under me,
broadcasting questions blind and deaf and stuffed and mute
in absolute concentration.
Maybe like that the wind that carries a seed might find the chance to slip though a crack into my hollow brain
,safe of any disturbances, cross the room and finaly die out, drop the seed of the answer tree on the dirt of endless questions
and let it grow up and birth the crop of answers.

Tell me tree, am I even gonna
Am I ever gonna see farther withought my eyes?
Am I ever gonna listen clearer withought my ears?
Am I ever gonna feel better withought my body?
Am I ever gonna smell color withought my nose?
Am I ever going to find who I am if I escape this box?
Am I ever gonna get my self outside?
Will I ever know...
or are we all in the end trapped only
in a small dorm of a much bigger doom outside of it
filled with questions and no replies?

Who the fuck am I
Or who am I supposed to be
Because I don't know anything.


 


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