divide - a poem
More poetry, god, it sucks that I'm flood-posting all these in one night, doesn't it? I should mention that most of these are being re-posted from my deviantArt, which I never use anymore.
Divide.
She was a real free thinker,
But I suppose I mean that in the loosest sense of the word,
She thought freely and without constraint.
Her ideas, they were unburdened by the shadow
Of modern society that lurked around every corner,
And at the heart of every major decision the world makes.
But she herself was held captive by the way she thought things ought to be
She needed to know the why of every little thing,
Every move, choice or flash of the eyes.
Even in herself,
For someone so apt to do irrational things in the space of an instant
Damn the consequences, she had a rather unhealthy fixation on the whys of the world.
I became convinced that beyond the self-medicating,
The brooding, and the radical ideas
It would be her compulsive, constant, harsh, and almost narcissistic analytical tendencies
That would get her killed one day,
Or kill her; neither would be out of the realm of possibility.
By no means a masochist, in actuality,
Most of those radical ideas that were so a part of her nature could eventually be dissected to their core to be promoting a society in the absence
Or at least attenuation of pain.
The way she carried herself,
However, something in her temperament,
Spoke of some inner Machiavellian streak
That she took great care to keep masked most all of the time
Lest her psyche get overrun.
Individuality was important to her, as was freedom of expression and freedom in actions. She scrutinized the world as a normal woman might scrutinize a melon
At the supermarket or a particularly puzzling piece of literature.
That’s what the world she lived in was to her,
I’m sure of it: a puzzlingly interchangeable display of humanity and ferality,
And the only reason she could entertain the angels in her head
That she called ideas for any length of time was to be detached and slightly distanced
From the everyday workings of the masses.
If you looked into her eyes for too long, you might get lost.
Divide.
She was a real free thinker,
But I suppose I mean that in the loosest sense of the word,
She thought freely and without constraint.
Her ideas, they were unburdened by the shadow
Of modern society that lurked around every corner,
And at the heart of every major decision the world makes.
But she herself was held captive by the way she thought things ought to be
She needed to know the why of every little thing,
Every move, choice or flash of the eyes.
Even in herself,
For someone so apt to do irrational things in the space of an instant
Damn the consequences, she had a rather unhealthy fixation on the whys of the world.
I became convinced that beyond the self-medicating,
The brooding, and the radical ideas
It would be her compulsive, constant, harsh, and almost narcissistic analytical tendencies
That would get her killed one day,
Or kill her; neither would be out of the realm of possibility.
By no means a masochist, in actuality,
Most of those radical ideas that were so a part of her nature could eventually be dissected to their core to be promoting a society in the absence
Or at least attenuation of pain.
The way she carried herself,
However, something in her temperament,
Spoke of some inner Machiavellian streak
That she took great care to keep masked most all of the time
Lest her psyche get overrun.
Individuality was important to her, as was freedom of expression and freedom in actions. She scrutinized the world as a normal woman might scrutinize a melon
At the supermarket or a particularly puzzling piece of literature.
That’s what the world she lived in was to her,
I’m sure of it: a puzzlingly interchangeable display of humanity and ferality,
And the only reason she could entertain the angels in her head
That she called ideas for any length of time was to be detached and slightly distanced
From the everyday workings of the masses.
If you looked into her eyes for too long, you might get lost.