i don’t care i don’t care i don’t care i barely even try to care i barely even think about it except to respond to respond ever briefly with some words with little meaning to poke situations to bring emotions out of others out of others into situations where i feel where i offer where i emote none. No emotion no connection no deep meaning nothing none. I see it they don’t see it I see it they must see it they see it eventually and probably feel hurt or maybe betrayed or maybe tricked or maybe reciprocated nothings and I guess it is tricky but why did they try why did they care why did they bother why why why? I don’t know I can’t answer I can only say that I don’t try I barely try I rarely seldom if ever try because I don’t care and why would I care why would I try why should I be sad to see them go? Small interactions with tiny people people I keep tiny because I keep them far away I keep them far away because I don’t want them any closer I don’t feel a draw I don’t feel those feelings that I feel I would have to feel if I wanted to turn a nothing into a sweet something: the alchemy of love of mutual intrigue that turns strangers into lovers into more than that much more. But I don’t feel it I don’t feel it I don’t feel it I don’t care and I respond I put out words out there out of politeness – no out of boredom out of self-interested intrigue out of the fascination of poking bears out of a need to see what will happen when I feel nothing and they feel something but they feel something based on the nothing I put out if there’s something somewhere at all. It’s a trick of the mind of the interpretation of thinking that response means closeness and ignoring that availability means desperation and a means of passing time. I pass time I pass time I watch it pass me by, and I respond out of habit out of need out of ways to pass the time to pass the time just passing time just watching it float by. I feel nothing for no one for no ones I have kept at the distance of my phone just one small text away but so far from meaning so far from emotion so far from caring so far from me. Does that make me anyword? No. It makes them make believe a possibility that I did my part I played my part in by showing up by responding to by doing nothing more. I go out of my way none of the time and I ask for much of the same. There must be such a lack of human connection facing kids these days, that they would cling to a half extended hand and assume it’s charmed to meet them.
‘Pride’ is (at simultaneous, but different times) the smile in the corner of an eye when appreciation is heard by well-meaning ears, and the refusal to compromise on a decision already past-decided as infallible fact. ‘Fate’ is an understanding of cause and effect. ‘Right’ is the opposite of ‘wrong’ and ‘left;’ ‘left’ is the opposite of ‘right’ and ‘stayed.’ ‘Poetry’ is a lesson gift-wrapped in metaphor. A ‘riddle’ is an inefficient question. ‘Parenting’ is the sadness one feels while watching her kittens choose to play with trash when they have real toys. ‘Nihilism’ is a circle that exists in no directions. ‘Loneliness’ is trying to be bearable enough to get grandfathered into people’s lives and not succeeding in over seven billion failures of various size and importance. ‘Equality’ is a theoretical goal; ‘equal opportunity’ is a practical goal. ‘Somethink’ is a briefly entertained thought. ‘But you have everything’ are words that should never found between quotation marks. ‘Interpreting’ is self-assured way of saying ‘misunderstanding.’
Last text message stamps that turn from time to day to date watching fiction fabricate where love profession became kiss-sealed fate. Determining if terminal velocity has been accelerated passed at a change in change in distance greater than gravity while existing unknowing with respect to and with no respect for
space. A little bit too tipsy to the point of topsy turning. A little bit too little: a tiny chunk: a minuscule nibble. A finger in to test the waters, the temperature of misplaced tea. The temperature of a tepid day with higher than bearable levels of humidity for individual hairs to stay put in organized chaos. Chaos so chaotic it can only be described by a law, the second one, it’s fundamental thermodynamic the heating the cooling trying to contain to construct to solidify the abstract into the concrete so concrete so rigid so indifferent unemotional.
His soft soliloquy reflects a pantomime shadow puppet playing with wind. A pretty piece of palindromey that ends where it begins. A filament of dewdrop fame holds hopelessness where poems breathe. She picked a phrase with well-chose words to force an end in life’s reprieve. Mishappiness malformed to taunt a tethered wingèd wonder. Breezeblocks burning bayside bridges as wayward ways turn go asunder. Carthage careens carcinogens, yet erudite elders ever linger. He picked a peck of pickled peppers, yet ten on two he counts his fingers. The punishment of pundits jettisoning just because, is the same as fancy feminists pushing papers, burning bras. I suppose you can articulate just how indifference feels, by skinning yourselves two by two and shrugging off your squeals. Clandestine cloistered communists are cloying to and fro, but Marx’s timid tipping point will be turning years ago. His soft soliloquy reflects repeated for arrhythmia affectless. The moon projecting painted scenes with dimly darkened arabesqueses. A misty mossy happenstance of creatures where they fall. The killer queen who stole her crown forewarned but not forestalled. Blink and blow and blind your beams: the sight is for the singeing. Sopping sipping flopping flipping: an open door not worth unhinging. Blue-battered burning bridges the echo is obtained concretely. An abstract rhyme with blood-schemed whisky that coats a love found indiscreetly. I clipped and clopped but still I found coalescing doe-eyed dreaming. Read forwards backwards side to side produced intrinsic hoped for unplanned theming.
Well-meaning metaphors turned tactless when read between split hairs.
Subjective language’s flimsy foundation: misobscured and hyperbeared.
A muse is blushing: intentions not unclouding down-pointed eyes.
A reader is bored: wordplay availing only undisguise.
Overcomplisimplifications: polar opposites’ portmanteau to a greater power
And here the writer thought she thought of all potential points of pseudofailure
Thoughts are words dissolved on tongues: chewed, swallowed, and digested in tiny little pieces. Internalized and singular: an understanding reached by one. Dialogue breaks barriers: building empathy brick by brick. Expanding points of views (when willingness allows). But language is limited: an attempt to find common currency. Always losing value due to flawed rates of exchange. Repetition is key: with synonyms shining differently-angled light. To get across unambiguous subtlety of some fundamental meaning. Forgetting is a tragedy. A lesson unlearned. A heart rebreaking. A thought dissolved on the tip of a tongue, that never got the chance to be unleashed.
The cadence of your voice when you’re pausing planning trying not to say what you’re not sure if you mean. The furrow of your brow as you try to turn feelings something primal something pure into language unadulterated unobscured. The words the sounds the ebbs and flows the release of tension the rise of tension while standing still standing just pausing for response. Waiting for interpretation my misinterpretation my wants my needs obscuring what you set out to define. My failures your failures the failure of words to describe to convey what’s floating freeform in two minds trying their best their very best to be one in understanding: to align.