Showing posts with label personality disorder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label personality disorder. Show all posts

9/30/18

CONVERSATION WITH A STONE - Wisława Szymborska

I knock at the stone's front door.
“It's only me, let me come in.
I want to enter your insides,
have a look round,
breathe my fill of you.”

“Go away,” says the stone.       
“I'm shut tight.
Even if you break me to pieces,
we'll all still be closed.
You can grind us to sand,
we still won't let you in.”

I knock at the stone's front door.
“It's only me, let me come in.
I've come out of pure curiosity.
Only life can quench it.
I mean to stroll through your palace,
then go calling on a leaf, a drop of water.
I don't have much time.
My mortality should touch you.”

“I'm made of stone,” says the stone,
“and must therefore keep a straight face.
Go away.
I don't have the muscles to laugh.”

I knock at the stone's front door.
“It's only me, let me come in.
I hear you have great empty halls inside you,
unseen, their beauty in vain,
soundless, not echoing anyone's steps.
Admit you don't know them well yourself.”

“Great and empty, true enough,” says the stone,
“but there isn't any room.
Beautiful, perhaps, but not to the taste
of your poor senses.
You may get to know me, but you'll never know me through.
My whole surface is turned toward you,
all my insides turned away.”

I knock at the stone's front door.
“It's only me, let me come in.
I don't seek refuge for eternity.
I'm not unhappy.
I'm not homeless.
My world is worth returning to.
I'll enter and exit empty-handed.
And my proof I was there
will be only words,
which no one will believe.”

“You shall not enter,” says the stone.
“You lack the sense of taking part.
No other sense can make up for your missing sense of taking part.
Even sight heightened to become all-seeing
will do you no good without a sense of taking part.
You shall not enter, you have only a sense of what that sense
      should be,
only its seed, imagination.”

I knock at the stone's front door.
“It's only me, let me come in.
I haven't got two thousand centuries,
so let me come under your roof.”

“If you don't believe me,” says the stone,
“just ask the leaf, it will tell you the same.
Ask a drop of water, it will say what the leaf has said.
And, finally, ask a hair from your own head.
I am bursting with laughter, yes, laughter, vast laughter,
although I don't know how to laugh.”

I knock at the stone's front door.
“It's only me, let me come in.”

“I don't have a door,” says the stone.

10/2/16

Walking Around With A Broken Umbrella - Noor Hindi

Because sneezing my emotions onto the fibers of your
Kleenex isn’t working, I’ve spent my days punching

mailboxes, and taking victory laps around childhood
graveyards. I know you think I resemble a Sour Patch

Kid, that my thoughts are just silly string. Maybe my
brain twitches too much and maybe I was born inside

of a teardrop. I’m all passion. But to me, you are the sun
and I’m hanging my thoughts on a clothesline for you.

If I told you to disentangle our straw house, if I told you
that I feel like a puddle that is gliding towards a sewer,

what would you say? If I asked you to set fire to the world
using only the warmth of our hands, would you do it?

                                                   *

Yesterday, I became so angry that I ate a quesadilla. Then I
smashed my desk with a snow globe. I once cried for three

days about a purple butterfly kite that refused to fly. Weeks
later, I sobbed at our toaster for burning my optimism,

and when you called me unstable, I kicked our floor pantry
just to prove you right. It was inevitable. You would spit me

out as if I was a watermelon seed. You would ask me three
times a day how I felt about broken backspaces, but my eyes

were already decomposing. Days expired. I was the rotting Jack
O’ Lantern left outside our door. Every time you told me a

truth, I used a magnifying glass to find all of your potholed
lies. Eventually, I fell silent watching the image of you,

dad, melt like the icicles that later formed on our house
gutters. I tried to hold them once, but they only burned my hands.

7/11/16

"For some there is no music" - Henry Rollins

For some there is no music
No lights
No fire
No untamed madness that breathes life
There is work
Anguish
Frustration
Rage
Despair
A dullness that rings like wooden thunder

1/31/16

"My mind and I had a meeting, and we came to the conclusion that you're going to let us down." - Henry Rollins

My mind and I had a meeting, and we came to the conclusion that
you're going to let us down. We are here every minute of the day
getting ready for the let down. So when you push me away, I'll just
say ok, because we came to that conclusion a while ago. Like I said,
we were ready for the let down. If you're ever walking down the
way and you see me on the side of the road lying broken and scat-
tered, you keep walking right on by.