How come the more we read, the blurrier our eyesight becomes? It’s almost like the more knowledge we receive…the more we see…the less we see.
I wonder why my life is so pixelated. I wonder how it is that I can get into HD clarity when I’m so old-fashioned.
I take my glasses off and I see the world in my own particular way…and I’m told that my eyes are wrong. My heart is wrong. Told that I should want to get laid and nothing more. Told that I shouldn’t cry because I’m a guy. Told that my thoughts and feelings don’t matter no matter how strong they may be.
For the first time in maybe forever, I am writing this with my own eyes. I am seeing through my own perception without any glass or gel-based filter. And I realize I can still read…not well, but it works. And I realize that there seems to be more depth to the world…and I realize that everything is more cohesive and more alike with peripheral vision being the same as what’s in front of me.
And if I strain real hard, I can see more like you. I can see more what the world is pretending to be. I need to trust myself somehow. How does one trust oneself when one has been told all one’s life that one is one and not right?
I wonder if I’ll curse in this poem. My mother got upset about that because she couldn’t read my work to her students. I don’t know if my work should be read to students. I don’t really know if my work should be read. I don’t really know if it’s work at all. I don’t really know anything at all.
I feel I must believe that I am right. But I’m not even sure what “right” means. I must learn what “right” means. Or is it what “right” means to me? Or is it what “right” means objectively?
My brain still swirls and it’s not the kind with vanilla and chocolate and sprinkles.
And I’m truly beginning to hate the sound of it…the sound of my brain. I’ve developed a style of thinking and it’s old-hat to me now. I would like some new thoughts. I would like a new proverbial voice.
And I can’t say I haven’t experienced new things…it’s just that they’ve only reinforced the old things.
And I can’t say that I’ve lost all hope. Because there are still freedoms to take advantage of…such as starting sentences with “And” and “Because”.
But I’m following the same fucking patterns (sorry Mom)! I can’t get out of the same fucking patterns. I can only see what I see, and it becomes less and less everyday. So I can only truly see what the world wants me to…and that becomes ever more clear.