Epiphany.

Discovering parts of me buried beneath years of neglect, dust covered heart rusty from disrespect. Empty for so long though I acted like I was full, spreading myself too thin, it's no surprise my soul craves attention. My ego prevented me from seeing the truth, facts that were as clear as starry nights in the country sky. Narcissistic exterior that refused to let me progress, excuses became the barriers that convoluted my fortress. I was the shepherd to a flock of sheep that were really scapegoats, blindly leading the blind, accountability could have been my antidote. Claimed to have no expectations but the demon inside me that would not be exorcised demanded forgiveness for its infatuation with lies. I pulled the veil further over my eyes and filled my ears with cotton that made me immune to others' pleas to be heard and not forgotten. Ignorance was so much easier than acceptance, I avoided every lesson that could have been my blessing. Escape became the only option that I considered, as any attempt to face the harshness of my existence had me embittered. Blame became the flames that ravaged my reason and I the skilled arsonist whose self-worth suffered third degree burns from his own treason. Death by firing squad armed with silver bullets would have even failed to penetrate the facade that I wore like a cure. I acted unconsciously always on edge and ready to attack, more than the most explosive chemicals in an unstable lab. I must accept my past now so that my present does not also slip through my fingers like sand. I will never taste a drop of success unless I address the remnants of the reality that I have repressed. No promises to please, inaction is my archnemesis. I will rescue my spirit and save it from the entity by which it has been possessed. It's time to remove the layers of bandages and learn to love the wounds now that I am naked and undressed.

Darkness.

There is a darkness inside me deeper than the Grand Canyon,
it yearns to be filled though almost nothing can.
Empty it remains, devoid of colour.
I know it's not a phase, this is who I've become.

Fell for everything, now nothing could make me stand.
Invested in it all, only to feel so second-hand.
Used by everyone, like the Earth stripped of its natural resources.
Blamed for all the heartbreak as though I am the apocalypse's horsemen.

Break ups and divorces filed under my name,
though all I really want is to feel the same.
My love is poison, the holy grail of death.
My sadness, an ocean, you cannot measure its depth.

Each whispered word becomes another promise that can't be kept.
I just want peace and happiness though my darkness will not permit it.
I am so lonely, the most deserted places even have more visitors.
My heart is stony, yet still brittle enough to easily break.

Harder and harder I search for a friend,
the quicker it becomes obvious that I was made to want for nothing.
Darkness is what defines me now as I wade in my own pool of gloom,
dreary as I write dear diary, right before I'm consumed by fear.

My cries for help unattended, so I sit and wait in vain,
anxiety overwhelms me as I let the darkness overpower me again.
Everything turns to black, as though ebony can only prevail.
Help me help myself and release the anchor weighing me down so that my ship can freely sail.

Misogyny.

Incongruent, incandescent, impolite as he took all he desired and then decided to reject it, slipping away into the night.  Such is the plight of our female counterparts sold into marriage like objects to be bargained with.  Females: though our mothers, sisters, daughters and nieces are solely seen for their beauty or measured by their usefulness.  This is patriarchal poison at play, whose toxins remain in society to this very day, as though the women that birth us are somehow weak and should be the cause for our own decay.  Centuries of subjugation have resulted in gender roles and norms that are as inconceivable as ogres and trolls.  Through conditioning at every level, girls grow into insecure women convinced that they are the devil.  Held hostage by semen which can only be supplied by male demons, at their behest; surprise, we suddenly become heathens.  In my ideal world, women would have the only power to decide their rights not the victims of misogyny disguised as religious doctrine.  The suffragettes accomplished some although chauvinists still hold the reins and write the laws, as they guffaw from the seats in city halls around the world, as though they can have any say in abortions or female reproductive organs.  Since the beginning of time man has had its hands in every purse, his voice heard whilst women were forced to whisper.  I demand an end to the injustice, imbalance will only continue if we do nothing and let it and then it will completely wreck us.

Baggage.

Sensitive to my environment, each change affects me like a sonic boom.
Try as I may to remain unchanged, I long to be as undetectable as a chameleon camouflaged to fit the background noise within a room.
Adaptability can be a gracious gift or a cancerous curse dependent on its antecedents.
Tension can be a landmine that exploded inside my head, the slightest exposure to it contains enough damage to poison me with lead and eradicate a lifetime of bliss.

Happiness is now only a fantasy as I have become destroyed by my apathy.
Sympathetic to others' needs though my own seem second-hand.
Misery is now the only magic carpet which I can ride through my wasteland.
Denial darkens every dream that I once had, now life is filled with despair.

Mind over matter cannot be achieved from thoughts that are comprised of idle chatter.
Anxiety eats at me as though my body is an incarcerated person's last lonely meal.
I arrived at the limit to your love, your heart became an empty vessel that refused to deliver leaving me unhindered.
I forgive you, all, a thousand times over knowing that it makes you smile though there is little room for me to remain inspired.

I forgive though every calculated move is remembered for an eternity; somehow each wound stubbornly insists on staying opened acting as a reminder that I was once broken.
My own empathy engulfs me and can sometimes be debilitating, my bleeding heart is endearing only when it's not revolting.
Each noise clamours inside me like atomic bombs and missiles dropped on me from unseen armies when I am really just desperate for silence.
As irritable as a sleeping dog barraged with children hounding it with rocks, when I blast off there's no bringing me back down to Earth.

I crave calmness like it is the antidote to the traffic jam terrorism that tries to stop me from staying afloat.
Each crash contains enough chaos to send me reeling again.
I spin aimlessly unknowing when I will stop but aware that it will destroy my sanity.
Every collision with its whiplash is accompanied with enough gasoline to create explosions that would be felt around the globe.

Every tremor can set me off as I am suddenly nearly drowned in tears from my created waterfalls.
I wear my abuse like a tattoo, one I never acquired on my own but cannot be removed.
This tattoo controls my life as I am reminded of it at the most inopportune times.
The devil's mark of scarlet letters would've been better preferred instead of this stain on my soul that can even make the worst of beautiful weather.

To discuss it or even allude to it makes me feel weak, like I seek pity yet this still remains the skyline of my humble city.
So I suffer in silence so as to not attract attention or be labelled as weak, although my mind contains many alleyways and streets that will never be seen or brought to light.
Darkness is their sole protection, some secrets, if repeated could make dynasties collapse and shut out the sun's light.

Paradise.

My love is taller than the Burj in Dubai
My love is wider than the great Mount Sinai
My love is older than China's Great Wall
My love is stronger than diamonds in Sierra Leone

Yet it's never enough;
you always ask for more.
Why does it have to be so tough?
Just believe in us so we can soar.

My love is more pious than the Sistine Chapel
My love is more hopeful than the prayers of a small child
My love is more courageous than the Trojan warriors
My love is more unconditional than all the mothers' in the world

Yet it still makes you question us;
as if we are much too weak and not enough.
Why do you take my truth as lies?
I'm yours, you're mine.  Like Paradise.

My love is taller than the Empire State
My love is stronger than the Golden Gate
My love is wiser than Egypt's Sphinx
My love is harder to climb than Everest

Yet you leaped over my love in a single bound
My awe has sealed our destinies now.
The lost garden of Eden is found
I'm yours, you're mine.  Like Paradise.

Au Naturel.

The way you love me is as natural to me as the symphony of my heartbeat.
As effortless as the ease with which your breath lulls me to sleep.
Passionate as the tempestuous tropical breeze,
your touch alone is enough to bring me crashing down to my knees
like the hungry oceans water shores playfully with samples of their seas.
I am always satisfied although my greed begs for you to return to me.
As natural as the birds and the bees, without your pollen my world would appear diseased.
Flowers bloom testament to your love's effects
as I can simply close my eyes and envision your fingers caressing my neck.
More natural than the oxygen we inhale from trees,
you take me back to the land before time when all was sweet.
Dehydrated in your absence, only your return can slake my thirst.
Your love is more natural to me than the sun rising in the east,
I can feel the sweet taboo of its heat
and I just want to burn from you in the west
until you set inside my arms, making our day complete.
As natural as the majestic mountain ranges spread throughout the Earth,
your love is strong enough to add value to my worth.
You are my rock, though you believe you are much too soft.
The only support I crave is from your hands entwined with mine
and from the feel of your lips pressed against my own.
Only more natural than our love is the insurmountable bliss
that is unleashed when you electrify me with the bliss
that resides within your perfect kiss.

Dirty Thirty: Revisited.

Each new day brings me closer to the dirty thirty, as I cannot help but reflect on the way it was supposed to be.  Expectation is truly the root of all heartache, with each failed expectation, one's heart is more susceptible to breaking.  

I could have been a doctor, traveling the world and bringing smiles and cures or even a lawyer, arguing for what is right and sometimes even wrong; I now cringe as I think of the prestige of it all.  

Instead, I am just a contender; my heart and head stronger than the muscles that line the bodies of any professional wrestler.  

My confidence propels me to new heights every single day.  Sometimes I falter and believe the voices in my head that tell me that I could never do better; those are the days that corrode me from the inside out.  

My ambition turns to rust - slowly - as I die another death with every hour that works against me like the poorly oiled gears in life's curious machine.  I run harder to catch myself, count to ten and try again, each breath requires incredible effort as though I am the land that has no command over the mountains that weigh it down and make it tremble. 

 I could have been a pilot, flying fancy free, feeling powerful navigating airplanes and jets over seas, as I reunite friends and family.  

But here I am instead, a boy whose life's path was led astray by his own dismay; my journey different yet still others often find no harm in questioning my ambition, being confused by my drive, like wondering why I am not the same will change the istagnant  sadness in my eyes.  

My battle is mine, this cross is my own to bear yet it becomes unfair when human nature has turned us into competitors waging wars with swords that become sharper the more that they compare.  

The damage already done, all we can do is pray; now that we are conditioned to condemn our fellow humans with labels which cause their self-worth to decay.  Rotting now is the hope that once lived, the faith in humanity scoured by the evil that exists.  

Time and again, I am forced to recall how much worse it could have been, humbled that somehow, I still have it all.  With every basic need of mine being met, I wonder who I am to complain about the uneasy restlessness that disparages my brain.  

My mind was once so pure and devoid of this self-doubt, I was long able to silence others' discouraging shouts; I believed in myself, knowing that I was the master of my domain and then it hit me again, like a derailed passenger train.  Now, I hungrily cling to even the faintest glimmer of hope; desperate for my story to be told as one of triumph and not revolt. 

Closer to thirty, yet useless by society's standards though I know the truth and realize I am more of a man than most.  

I have come eye to eye with death and laughed right  in its face, built myself up from ground zero and made an exultant return to grace.  

Richer than the wealthiest men alive, from the experiences that have added wrinkles in the corners of my eyes, like notches in watches that measure passing time.  

With time, comes healing, responsibility and wisdom, despite the trials I have endured and the seemingly little that I have accomplished, I know that I am far from loathsome.  

Dirty thirty inches closer daily but I know that I am growing; one look at me, and the world will see that I am positively glowing

Fear & Loathing in Toronto.

Fear steals sleep like a thief in the night as it strives to rob us of our security.  It condemns us to a lifetime imprisoned by questions of whether we are worthy; our own insecurities the ruthless wardens that deprive us of our identity.  Worry, like a blade sharpened by time prevails over the strength of mankind, though it should be held accountable and indicted for the stress that is its greatest crime.  Risks were taken throughout history by Genghis Khan and other conquerors of yore, but now our leaders are engaged in wars that solely result in remorse.  Conflicts are concealed in all of our false utterances, driven by the apprehension that the truth is a disturbance that should be restricted to our own internal monologues.  Ulterior motives litter the landscapes of our interactions resulting in sadness tainted by all the things we should and could have said.  Unsurety gnaws at our resolves as we become increasingly indecisive, our inner voices silenced as though insight is a force that we should fight with.  Paranoia is a poison that preys on us through infection; plotting against us armed with anxiety, which often unleashes a fury more terrifying than dragons.  Its fiery breath a terror plot more fearsome than the deadliest weapon of mass destruction.  As we become further consumed by our own embellished imperfections, through gritted teeth we disregard that we are blessed.  Fear, a fierce but critical and fatal disease, equipped with the strength to make us fall to our knees.  Cowardice gained the confidence to invade all of the continents, more densely populated than the courage that could conquer it.  Free-will rendered obsolete as humanity has collapsed under the weight of ignorance, our collective reins now held by false notions of democracy, which tightens its grip upon its leash around our necks composed of hypocrisy.  Fear, the greatest tyrant reigns over us as we look over our shoulders terrorized by the unknown.  Alarms blare when we are threatened, with greater power the more we feel we stand to lose, as we remain unaware that our own fortunes are the breeding grounds for guilty consciences.  Yet still we are often quick to deny that this path was ours to choose.  Fear, the most skilled opponent, once mastered does not need to be a mystery.  I renege on my promise to be afraid, fear will no longer get the best of me, I refuse to live without being alive, as I am reclaiming my right to be happy.

Distinct.

Belittled for so long by my own bitterness, each step in the right direction led me right to failure's dreary doorstep.  Success kept me at bay, its no vacancy sign was a thorn in my side every time.  Through comparing myself to every other living creature, the contrast too strong to handle; so I trembled, giving in to my fears of inadequacy instead.  I tried, strived, then thrived for so long in vain as I refused to acknowledge the demons that denied me of my rest.  Bereft, each right turn was all that I had left.  Rock bottom blues of mine had become my only friends in the most difficult of times, as I cried for salvation and begged for relief, each feeble attempt was never met with reprieve.  Life became a wizard that charmed me with the many tricks hidden inside its sleeves as I became hypnotized by all the ways that I could be detrimental to me.  Like Snow White's wicked queen, I sought out to eradicate all of my own beauty.  Poisons and spells, elixirs and pills all conspired against me making me ill.  Jaded as I convinced myself that waking up was the hardest part, that somehow each day was a battle as I forgot to focus on the bigger picture; the masterpiece that I could have been although I would not put in the effort needed to get better.  Suddenly, it all became too much.  I desperately reached for the gasoline that would enrage my fire, naively believing that it was what would put out the flames that fed on my fears and were satiated with my sorrow.  I had enough and filed a restraining order against the part of me that prayed for death.  My weakness resided inside of me all along, and just needed to be acknowledged.  I had to finally accept that I was all that was making me sick; I was the cause of it and the effect was making me derelict.  My pain, although immense, was still not enough to make me end as it became clear as perfect vision that all I needed was to mend by becoming my own best friend.  I pulled up my sleeves, hopefully for the last time, and promised to conquer my own infatuation with defeat.  I became a martyr for my own cause, choosing to die instead of continuing to live propelled by the lie that I was okay when I was reeling with hurt and confused as I could not see that it was solely I that was to blame.  I will rise, stronger as I do, always better than the last version of myself that I shed like snakeskin in the Sahara.  I will persevere, prevail like the tigers forced to relocate because of mankind but continue to fight to stay alive.  No, I will not become endangered although I have tried too many times to make myself extinct.  On the very brink of rescue as I thank God above for giving me another chance to clearly think about the many ways I am beautiful; I count my blessings, once again, for I have been reminded that I am distinct.