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i can't make it matter to me anymore

Even on those days I thought of penning or saying that I am at loss of words, I, in fact was not. I could express my loss of words in poetry. Deeply in love, weathered by pain; it is dishonest to say I was at a loss of words ever. But today there is throbbing idea inside of me waiting to implode.

Why word my reality at all? Is there any purpose to expression in a world such as this? Usually I feel quite sad about the absolute futility of having used words always in different ways and in favor of a world I nurtured. A world I may have pleaded occasionally to listen but always spoke personally to, to empower, to build, to support and to give.

Now I am not sad anymore. I just don’t see the point.

In quite a painful moment in my relationship with someone, I explained myself as ‘I live only in my words.’

A confession or a convincing of the words I gave in a powerful moment was what that was about and it was not curated, it’s just how I spoke. But today I am quite certain that knowing what I know, that specific sentence is quite literally the case.

For reasons confined to what makes me write this, I do not want to be objective about why I have observed that.

So yeah what am I but just words and what the words entertain, create, manifest, describe, denote, define, explain…

If those words are starting to become a reality of its own and the world has no reason strong enough to engage with me on it, much less understand it, why is there a reason for me to attempt to exchange. Things I hear, I have learnt to take impossible efforts to understand. I feel the need to be just, to serve, to be kind. By nature if not by choice. But that endeavor has gone beyond exhausting and futile. I am deeply bothered by trivial pointless existences. Humans exclusively and mosquitoes too maybe. But mosquitoes do not pretend to be something else. Humans do. No animal seem this carried away about their own existence. So much so that they are in over their heads.

I have touched on those bits several times so I am sick of it.

I am just tired. I am so tired.

I do not know what to do with my reality now. I have been taking it far away to protect myself. The little self I was taught to have to blend in, I think it was better when I had no clue I needed it. Well maybe not. It was empty living a life of just service. If you keep feeding they keep eating. People. When I was served food, my appetite died because I worried about the effort they took, whether there was enough for them even if I just had a spoon. I have met people who would have eaten me also and acted like I am still to blame.

But again it is not their problem. Today or maybe actually yesterday it occurred to me that it is not a coincidence.

I am still the odd one out. It was deliberate as much as it was not. There was comfort in being outside in that I can refuse to do what I do not want to or cannot. I did not take into account how people who do not understand will first stone me and then slander me before even making the smallest attempt.

That’s okay too. I am past that as well. But I am so tired.

I cannot manufacture meaning anymore. Why would I to struggle so much in this world? I do not want to belong anymore nor can anyone ever make me feel it. Again that is not some fucking appeal for pity. I am so exhausted.

Even these words, what are these, why?

I think I am also fake. I keep trying as if there is something incredible going to happen, as if I never learnt anything ever.

I cannot find any comfort anywhere or anything other than in what closely resembles being non existent and being so used to that state of being. It feels better to just be without being. I am tired of my yearnings. I don’t care if what I need is a bare minimum or whatever the fuck.

I was told I don’t like most things. It’s true. I was told I am too pessimistic and dark. It’s true. I was told, I make everything about me. Okay.

I am happily tired numb. I am lighter than I have ever been.

Wanting to connect is a lie. It’s just a worded construct. Everything is connected anyway for as long as eternity can mean. Wanting words is silly. Wanting attention in this day and age feels like a disgusting sin considering what people do for it. I don’t know what the fuck friendship or love or kinship actually is. It is not even transactional. It is more fleeting than the high of any substance. It is just like a photograph I suppose.

Once again this is about me for the first time. I do not care about anyone or anything changing. I don’t give a shit anymore. I cannot perform either. I don’t care if this will pass. Time heals blah blah, time does not exist.

What is anything?

P.S - reading about impending increase in fuel costs and scarcity of cooking gas. a war so far away you would think but here we are. Dinosaurs did not fuck this planet or each other as much as we humans do. Yet they are extinct.