Self-objectified endings

i objectified myself
the moment i
touched myself.
i don’t need your
assumption when
i’ve made mine.

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Ambiguity used

using the same words
to say different things,
what do you mean?
the dictionary lacks
a personality of
unique being.
contain and
compartmentalize
thoughts ignores
the naturalness
of life’s fluidity.

Thinking of doing

do or think
what comes first?
i thought of doing something
but i can’t control my heart
or my lungs
so what is driving?
control is a misplaced reaction
to an essential chaos
i’m glad for my bodily functions
for whose thoughts subsist
life continues without thought
for those who think
detach from the whole
unity persists beyond a singularity
that tries to be more

My mind is an ashtray

looking down the
barrel of futility,
scurrying those
of achievement.
negation of being,
present complexity,
counters our ancestors.
i accept the debris
of that disposed.
treasure found amonsgt
the discarded.
gold shines upon the eyes
of those who see.
i walk blind,
generally,
but specific light,
illuminating what’s been missed.
this luster emanates a bias brilliance
my intellect cannot fathom.
i speak what i feel,
yet what i feel
does not always speak.

Crapping myself for civility

ever shit your pants?
i’m sure you have.
well, have you ever done such
a thing as an adult in control?
obviously, at this moment, i was not.
i graduated to underwear from diapers,
it seems to me that i needed more practice.
i was in the process of relieving myself of some gas,
when what followed, moisture.
no, it wasn’t just really warm,
it was in fact shit.
how could this happen?
did my body trick me?
i think i got careless.
on a positive note,
it reaffirms my belief that
i am an animal.
if it weren’t for this restrictive clothes,
i could be free to be me.
of course, that’s not civilized.
but war, torture and hate,
those don’t scream civility.
at least i know i can clean myself up.
other people, well, it’s up to themselves.

Wiping my gas

i can wipe my ass,
masterfully i might add,
with toilet paper,
but when it comes to
regular blank paper,
i’m blocked.
it’s like artist’s constipation.
i don’t want to continue to wipe
if it’s just going to leave me raw.
i don’t mind some things raw,
but my ass is not one of them.
there’s only so much shit
one can push until
it’s all just gas.