And may the Buddha be my witness…
To the irritations that surround me.
A frustrated, 25 year old bloated ego, with so much she feels she has to prove, and yet lacking in any ability to prove a damn thing.
She exercises authority to the few who are paid to deal with it…an authority she acts entitled to, but the rest of the world refuses to give it her.
And may the Buddha by my witness…
To my seeing a bicycle outside the screen window…belonging to that disrespected employee; victim of unreasonable impatience from those for whom patience is a lost virtue.
He is a victim of a life being neglected, a life where no one cared.
But then I’m reminded of the first of summer, when he picked me up from the station…he proudly proclaimed that a hassle it was to study, brining no more than just stress to a student.
I realized he too has neglected himself, solidifying his worthlessness, long before anybody bestowed it upon him.
I stare a little longer at the Buddha that sits on a small chest on our living room floor…and I witness myself in a most pathetic state of solitude…sweat-drenched v-neck evident of the summer heat and a bothered mind.
I’m going off on other people when I feel more inadequate than they are…Friends I have a plenty, and yet alone is what I prefer to be…Loves have come and gone, denial is where I plead guilty…And family’s a double-edged sword…often irritation overshadowing blood.
The Buddha stares back at me…
Me being at peace because of suppression; skeletons overflowing a locked dark closet in my conscience; demons within me brewing.
I stare at the Buddha…
Jealous of his peace, jealous of his solitude…And yet I egg on the pain, apply salt to the scars…I am used to the pain, I am too comfortable being this version of me.
____________________________
4:21pm Sat 8 April 06
Clipboard, scratch paper, black Bic pen
To the irritations that surround me.
A frustrated, 25 year old bloated ego, with so much she feels she has to prove, and yet lacking in any ability to prove a damn thing.
She exercises authority to the few who are paid to deal with it…an authority she acts entitled to, but the rest of the world refuses to give it her.
And may the Buddha by my witness…
To my seeing a bicycle outside the screen window…belonging to that disrespected employee; victim of unreasonable impatience from those for whom patience is a lost virtue.
He is a victim of a life being neglected, a life where no one cared.
But then I’m reminded of the first of summer, when he picked me up from the station…he proudly proclaimed that a hassle it was to study, brining no more than just stress to a student.
I realized he too has neglected himself, solidifying his worthlessness, long before anybody bestowed it upon him.
I stare a little longer at the Buddha that sits on a small chest on our living room floor…and I witness myself in a most pathetic state of solitude…sweat-drenched v-neck evident of the summer heat and a bothered mind.
I’m going off on other people when I feel more inadequate than they are…Friends I have a plenty, and yet alone is what I prefer to be…Loves have come and gone, denial is where I plead guilty…And family’s a double-edged sword…often irritation overshadowing blood.
The Buddha stares back at me…
Me being at peace because of suppression; skeletons overflowing a locked dark closet in my conscience; demons within me brewing.
I stare at the Buddha…
Jealous of his peace, jealous of his solitude…And yet I egg on the pain, apply salt to the scars…I am used to the pain, I am too comfortable being this version of me.
____________________________
4:21pm Sat 8 April 06
Clipboard, scratch paper, black Bic pen
posted by M.V. at 3:47 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home