The following poem was written in the spring of 2013, which was the lead up to creating my graduation film. I explored concepts that I had never previously done that had heavily impacted my life. I thought these words were going to flow into the film, but not before long, this poem took on it's own identity.
The wayward ways a soul can go
Are things we want to explain
To theirs and our own.
Some find a familiar and some just don't
Find the difference between being told and feeling alone.
Some just find themselves left in the void.
Empty, becomes emptier, heavier and grey.
They can’t avoid the sinking feeling of dismay.
No matter how much I tell myself to stop feeling this way.
I wanna be as free as the spirits of those who left
Prolonging to live my pain with each attempt.
Breathe a lot of air hoping my soul will exhale with it too,
Steal it from me if you want, I’ll care less when I’m through
With the spiral of darkness—but clinging to obsession
A real desire to change misery to resurrection.
Because death alone is not perfection
Which is what everything needs to be—given attention.
Good is never good enough, no exception.
Countering could be and must be with his depression.
You think that you could just forget it—easily
And it might’ve done wonders in the vast expanse—memory,
And you repeat these motions every single unending day,
To find out that you’re still unhappy.
Everything, from a step to a smile,
Takes effort that comes from walking miles
To go before I sleep
In the woods, lovely, dark & deep
Less about frustration,
And more of being forgotten.
Finding a way to leave—all clean,
Without dropping them a baggage downtrodden.
Always thinking my problems aren’t significant.
Almost convinced it’s comfortable being quiet.
Oh he’s just sad again… oh I guess I am.
Over and over—compliments of etiquette.
How can this work
When self-guilt and hate stands in the way of change
Left and right blaming, not a single one ashamed.
Internalizing the pain
So it doesn’t effect others
But the pain will remain
And will just be forgotten
When there’s everything else left
To accommodate for
Living didn’t qualify—foreign to a standard.
Continuing to live, and to put himself through
Was never seen as a statement untrue.
Kept asking could, neither did understand,
Before their idealisms told him his ‘can'
Or just a bucket if you will,
Before kicking’ it got a lil’ too real.
Could have been sent a ‘do'
Or a what-you-love
Or any form of question
Or a statement
That let him know
That they were with him
That there was more
That they wanted to say
That they hadn’t before
Known his pain.
They left him with a label
That he couldn’t handle
Never raised his voice
Never called no one
For his life to have meaning.
Poor little fellow.
Giving up, giving in, not even 10 candles.
Because a moment came
When he felt no connection
And separation anxiety's
A cycling drum
That bangs on your door
Whenever it wants--
Except when it breaks down
And takes over your life
For days or months
Years pass but of course
They won’t always tell you
If they’ve had enough.
Not when there was no one to tell him
That it’s worth it—it’s tough.
That you should be good to yourself,
Because you deserve it.
What you feel is real,
There’s a way to find yourself
Among life’s resources.
Whatever you have,
It’s definitely a curse.
And you must weather the storm.
But the forces are different
When the edges of your existence,
Can even be adorned.
There’s an endless journey of finding more
And you can appreciate it when you find
That no one else
Will get to have our persistence.
Fight for your existence, because sometimes it’s a war.
But in the end—your journey of sizing up how amazing you are.