look up ^


in the beginning, was division.
in the beginning, there were, are trees.
all trees are different.
but the roots sometimes touch

it's sad how one can slowly eliminate the people who you once thought understood you.
one by one, you cross out the names
(I bet I've been crossed out too)

in that case, we will always be alone,
except that somehow, we are actually tied in ways unknown, unseen, hidden.
that is implicit in the struggle to be.
perhaps, (just probably), all we have are expressions of a same theme.
but let's be more specific.

who you think are naturally your best friends, buddies, beings of the same kind (of soft spots), may turn out to know you the least.
Enemies, in fact, the best enemies who stand against everything you fight for, may in a perverse or ironic way, be exactly everything that you are, and believe in.

I may have forgotten how to dance (with words?);
I may have forgotten how to make good friends;
But I certainly make the best enemies
because I believe, the swerve, the anti-thesis of everything the other posits,
is my way of engaging in a lifetime of questioning what is implicit in the division of self, of everyone around us, and the final; the end, the blood flushed across our faces, which marks us.

if my words do offend, do not pardon me
but try as you might, come to questions of your own
it is an odd way to be,
but one can never learn to love, if they don't know how to hate
that is the only thing, if I should leave a mark in this world, that I want to leave.
that of ugly beautiful.
i hate myself.