Bound hands drop

there are tools to assist.
thoughts borne of
stubbornness and pride,
dismiss benefit,
nullifying potentiality.
self-reliance chosen
as a meager crutch
of repetition.
weakness beholds judgement
for aid,
whose redundant recourse
unnecessarily spins doubt and distress.
unclench fists are better
at grasping things.

Consuming the production of sameness

i’m drowning in redundancy.
luckily i still breath.
to breathe is repetitious,
but i cannot do without.
i hold my breath,
only to submit to necessity.
i can’t resist long enough,
and i don’t see why i would.
i don’t think it beneficial,
at least not now.
this involuntary action
is the summation of my being.
i repeat what i am to
be what i am.
to change the nature of my will
runs counter to my self.
how can i change,
while remaining the same?