Designer Pandemoniums
Everything
ceases to exist
until we recognise it.
The reality of our reality is that
our interpretations invent
existence.
Everything we know
we only know through the eyes of
The Storyteller.
There is no
“fact”,
only how we see that fact.
Hence,
we cannot claim to
understand life.
Rather,
attempt to understand our incessant
misunderstanding.
“I wonder if technology will ever advance to the point where people adopt the ability to manipulate their innate, emotional identity with a filter? Imagine the day that Snapchat decides which personality traits are “undesirable”, and pairs that with the application’s current programmed definition of physical imperfection…”
End quote.
©haylesmaree
She was born with tragic power,
to spend days & weeks pseudo-prioritising;
calculating the probability of failure,
obsessing over the pure intentions
she was destined to allocate polluted time.
Irony couldn’t save her droplets of capacity
from emptying into a puddle of indecision,
that not even the most durable wallflower
could turn into bloom.
Nor could the pursuit of endless possibility
fill her with enough reassurance
to outbid the armies of distrust
who, bit by bit,
sold her power to her mind.
©haylesmaree
I have always felt I was born with magic
and palms nursing fear like limbs.
Acres of consequences,
catastrophes,
and power;
The responsibility of control.
Suppose we were all born afraid of
ourselves-
Just imagine,
the guilt and torture
of casting the wrong spell
… like harbouring the curse of inaction.
©haylesmaree
Is it set in stone
if you hold a hammer?
©haylesmaree
Proofread your essays
not your stories.
Do not stain your voice with red marker
to feel publishable.
Be a notebook
full
of mistakes
torn pages
pages out of order
so many words spoken imperfectly
on the perfect skin coloured parchment
of you.
©haylesmare
She was a storm in a teacup.
Fierce
and
Comforting.
Sip by sip
depending on the sip.
©haylesmaree
