UnadulteratedMe

Though, aren't all our versions somewhat impure?

[shakillathehun]

a thought

I can’t logically understand a person’s capacity to ignore another’s fault. It physically hurts seeing something plain as day, and watch yourself act against your own self-interest. Despite repeatedly telling yourself you know better, there you are, letting your insecurities sit pilot on your brain, or is it your heart? I can’t even tell anymore. Who’s really calling the shots? This supposed, healthy self-image you have of yourself? The version you wish you to be 24/7, the picture perfect happiness pyramid scheme you swear you’re scaling? Am I really on my way? I swear sometimes it just feels like I’m going around in circles confronting different masks of the same smirking obstructions. And if my ugly side is all that controls me, am I ever going to feel okay about being on my own?

[shakillathehun]

Hollow hearts

So scared of being seen for what they thought they were, They only presented what they’d liked about them best, He never pretended not to see her ugly side, But he never learned to love her in parts, And when the world had him believe he was made out of stone, She poured over him and molded him into something she said was art, He never cared for her description of his beauty, Her eyes had a way of blindsiding his every thought, Your mirror just reflects hollow hearts, Cause if you’d see yourself through my eyes, you’d see why I can’t pull apart, When I was happy just to be able to see you from afar, Now you’re here in my arms and I can’t stop, Cause some things are better to not have loved and lost. Though we swore we’d remember to push our hearts up our sleeves, We’ll never know until we let it slide across, Into the hands we’ve grown to let calm our doubts, Cause I’ll shield yours better I did my own, You know I’ve never been one for afterthoughts… Your mirror just reflects hollow hearts, Cause if you’d see yourself through my eyes, you’d see why I can’t pull apart, When I was happy just to be able to see you from afar, Now you’re here in my arms and I can’t stop, Cause some things are better to not have loved and lost.

[shakillathehun]

She says she’s the type who wouldn’t even know she was drowning, and even if she did, wouldn’t know if it was right to scream out for help.

Prisoners. Chained to the walls we build around ourselves, some are illusory, others are tangible, geographical, mental and of course, emotional. Goku, (my pet kitten) looked pretty startled today when he saw me open the door to my veranda, gawking at the outside world like it’s not even supposed to be there. He hasn’t known much life outside the five rooms of the house that he takes turns to sleep in, sure, he’s spent time ogling at birds behind windows, but he doesn’t know much about chasing them, the feel of grass under his paws. We confine ourselves to only that what we’re familiar with, and complain about the lack of life in our lives. We settle, for what we have, even though the prospect of what we could have is attainable, but the work to take us from point A to point B seems like a burden best to start on a tomorrow that never comes. So used to feeling what we’re feeling that we sway away the promise of something new, something better. And time, it flies, it’s foolish to think that it’ll hang around waiting for you to get your shit together, time will fly and you’ll stay the same. Life will pass and you will wonder where it went, cursing the person you were in the past, how they could care so little about the future you. We expel so much energy on the trivial things, that there’s nothing left to harness into growing. Everything changes, change with the course of time, or risk being the same and living in a world that continues to increasingly seem alien to you.

“How did I get here?”, He thought to himself as he looked into the eyes of a stranger in the mirror.

[shakillathehun]

Me before you,

It doesn't take a genius to notice, there's not a lot of happy on here. The only thing you see makes up your perception of what you believe to be all that there is. That's okay, you're not to blame. That doesn't make it any true though, one dimensional as it is. Come to think of it, I wouldn't call my own correct either, you'd except it to be, having lived my life and all. But my view is a little biased, tilted by the weight of everything I've ever felt, the things that have kept me up at night, the thoughts that have rattled my brain, the culmination of all my experiences that have led me to this exact moment. They all contribute to what I associate as right or wrong. Imperfect, it may be, but I'll still hold my perception (of me) over yours, or any other power on God's green (at least it used to be) earth. Coming back to the happy, fret not, it's there. It's just a little bit harder to document, considering, the fleeting moments that do come by, I would prefer to give them my undivided attention, frequent as they used to be, occasional as they are now. I'm afraid if I stop paying mind, they'll stop visiting all together. The negative, unlike it's much preferred antonym, has a nasty way of being not so fleeting. It seems to get stuck in the drenches of our soul, the pits of our stomach, the hollow of our minds. Always overshadowing, always aching, always questioning. It's almost all too easy, holding onto things like these, which logically speaking is utterly ridiculous, you'd expect to want to dispense such garbage as it comes, not recycle it into your nights to gargle up in your mornings. It's the good that we should reinvest into ourselves, and yet, why're we all so keen on chasing the absurd? I'll tell you why, maybe it’s the age, or the places we're geographically stuck in, or the holes we've dug and convinced ourselves we can't get out of. But we tend to tie our hopes and expectations to other people, unreliable people. Come on. Give them some room, they're hardly managing figuring themselves out, don't count on them to give you the time of day, day after day. Associate your feelings to the things within your control, refocus your faith into yourself, the things that matter to you. You wanna get out of the dirt? Get your hands dirty and get to work.

[shakillathehun]

Train tracks,

On goes the train, carrying within it’s precious cargo, all the things there are that make us. Our thoughts, emotions, conscience, our voice. Our bare existence. Fleeting, impossible to keep up with. And yet, so necessary. You’d see yourself fit to sit in the engine box of this machine, who else better suited? After all, being caged in the same parameters called a body since the moment of conception has earned you the right to exalt yourself to the status of master of your own thoughts. Wishing doesn’t make it any real though, we haven’t mastered anything, jumping from one doubt to the next insecurity, out of the wolves den, into the frying pan. Surviving with barely a breath to spare, we’re not leading this train, we’re straining to keep up, blink, and you’re dead. Left behind as a numb, mute, staggering, impassive entity.  We shouldn’t stray so far away from the tracks of our lives. Keep up, even if you feel like you can’t outrun a train.

[shakillathehun]

Utopia,

There’s much in life that isn’t accounted for. For the introverts out there, I’m one of you. For the extroverts, I’ve wished to be like you. We’re hardly perfect, a long way from it. There’s so much that could be improved on. Yet, going through life phases are stagnant cause we’re somehow stuck on the things that don’t amount to much. Disregarding all that that matters and more. Jeopardizing our future for the sake of temporary happiness. Think big picture, you’re letting things that add up to something fade away into the background, we all need a second to prioritize all that what really matters, so for our own sakes, let’s bare with the monotony of productivity, you'd know if you tired, it actually makes you feel really good about yourself. Wouldn’t it be nice to give a break to all the guilt that we live with? To reward ourselves with the fruits of our hard labor, we all have something to strive for, something that we’ve been meaning to do, but haven't gotten around to actually doing, let’s get to it, because the the tomorrow that all significant events are delayed to, will never get here if we don’t give it a chance. So give it a chance, Don’t let yourself be the obstacle standing in your own way.

[shakillathehun]

Echoes,

Here’s to the time spent untwisting the knots in our stomachs born out of adoration for those who couldn’t reciprocate it. For the infinite backspacing of texts where words couldn’t do justice to the urgency of our haphazard hearts. Through mediums where emotions have soared inwardly, feeling complete in our lonesome, fathoming fabrications fueled by our fickle minds. Relinquishing the right to your peace of mind over to someone who had no right to possess that power. Cheers.

Why do that to oneself?

Dependency, disregard it for the hopes of learning to stand erect without needing to lean on someone who can’t be trusted to break your fall.

[shakillathehun]

Music & Lyrics

There’s a number of things around us, we may cross them unnoticing time and time again. There’s beauty in everything, though we may not necessarily always have the right mindset to appreciate it. Crushed under the weight of so many burdens that one has to resort to prioritizing the things that should be paid any heed. How can anyone be expected to read between the lines when they’re blinded by the extremity of their responsibilities? I don’t blame you. I’m right there with you, most of the time. I hope coincidence allows for you to be able to relate to the seldom moments of peaceful serenity that I’m speaking of, as well. There’s variations to everyone’s definition of what nothing is. If you’d like to break it down to give less room to quantify something as nothing, it’s not all that hard to do. Staying still is possibly someone’s equivalent to doing nothing, only trouble is the disregard given to the mountains you can move within your mind, if dealt with with patience. A garden is only as good as it’s gardener, if left to it’s own devices, may be indistinguishable from a mess of our own making.

[shakillathehun]

ObliviousMe,

Undefined, unimaginable. Unrecognizable. Spectacular. Splendid. Sustenance. Resuscitate. Isn’t it nice to just let words form in your mouth and roll off your tongue? Anyway, During life, in the midst of fleeting moments and glimpses into things easily forgotten, it’s good to sometimes sit back and let life unfold as it should, play the observer, let the dice fall as they may, because all that time saved from being spent on talking, pretending, assuming, judging or second guessing, will clue you in into a level of perception otherwise missed out on. You’ll never know what you’ll learn about someone if you give them the courtesy of your attention, especially when they don’t think you have it. Let’s not however, misinterpret that as advocating creepy behavior. Seriously. No one wants to look up from their phone to find you trying to ogle your way into discovering the mysteries of their heart. Point being, we give away more then we realize, increasingly more when trying not to give away anything at all. At any given time, at any set pace, during every waking moment, we’re helplessly programmed to expel outwards only that what we’re familiar with, to be ourselves. So just look. Not to prey on the conclusions of our observations, but if you’re looking to be good to someone, it’s not that hard to lend a helping hand for all the troubles that someone can’t bring themselves to voice. It’s not that hard to make someone feel comfortable. Or at the very least, it’s not that hard to bother.

[shakillathehun]

There has to be more to life than what I've allowed myself to be content with.

[shakillathehun]

Subtleties, moderation, extremities.

It’s intriguing, all that we’re forced to do when called upon regarding matters of the heart. The most subtle of taps, triggering the touch of madness, a little wrestle with gravity and then setting in for the seemingly eternal fall. It hits us all differently I think, subjects us to things we assume are only privy to us, yet are obvious to anyone who hasn't been bit. Accentuating our inbuilt characteristics, some of us are screamers, they’re prone to reacting in big, loud, abrupt ways. Bold people. Some of us are witty, subconsciously seducing others by instilling tokens of their remembrance in our everyday lives. Others are more methodical, they’re thinkers. Subtly closing in with their quiet, thoughtful, thorough, carefully calculated ways, preferring to be masked in mystery. If you’re living by the rules of no regrets, or if you’re more inclined to being safe than sorry, it does not matter, because regardless of your precautions (or exclamations), your vulnerabilities are still hopelessly naked. Best dabble in the benefits of both variations, throw in a little timing. Fret later, for now, build up that arsenal.

[shakillathehun]

Waiting on that clarity:

Repeatedly I hear comments about how I should put my thoughts into words on a platform made available to the public, it’s flattering, though it implies that the clusterfuck of things floating around in the dimensions of my mind are things worth being documented, that’s the kind of pressure that would avert me from writing at all. It’s like fumbling with a make believe flask made out of your hands, the contents seeping through your fingers, frustrations setting in midway, until you’re left entirely uncertain of why you’d have thought so much of yourself at all. And yet? Perhaps the trouble of sifting through the labyrinth of thoughts, hoping to find expression through meaning is worthwhile.

[shakillathehun]

Joy

No,

I haven’t felt Joy like this before, And it’s possible that, I hadn’t breathed in love in, and out- in and out- in and out-

My ribs acted as a cage, to my wild heart, succumbing only to rage, on my own part.

Beautiful is a word kept,

for the rise, and fall, of her tidal chest. Not my shallow nest, Not my sunset, heartless, hollow, silhouette.

I’m prone to disappear, between my accusing index, and bruised thumb. But have found home, between her stroking index, and comforting thumb.

No, I haven’t felt Joy like this before.

I’ll never forget, I’ll always remember, No ghosts of past could stop me, from settling, in the only vacancy of her loving heart.

No sunrise will I have forgotten, or sunset will I have slept in, on the details, of our love. Not yet, not ever.

No,  I haven’t felt Joy like this before.

Abdullah Shakil

[shakillathehun]

Solitude, the ability to turn once felt loneliness into the guise of a constant companion.

[shakillathehun]

#NotThisAgain?

Okay so, on the topic of love. If we’re the sort of people who aren’t familiarized with the text on falling in love for dummies, if we’re used to being a little detached, if we haven’t grown old to wearing our hearts on our sleeve, is there a practical way to know when it’s happening? Maybe it’s not something that’s all that quantifiable. But still, is it the happiness they’re capable of bringing or the pain they’re capable of causing? Probably both. Would I do this for just about anyone? Am I thinking about you more often than not? Does a day spent attaining what you identify as happiness a day I’d call well spent? I think it’s relatively easy to tell, if we’re relatively willing to listen. (to ourselves)

[shakillathehun]

Cardiac

And if this core be pulsing a curse by the beat,

in your name it’d render itself futile for defeat,

burdens each throb and staggers it’s flow,

beat by beat, soothing, blow after blow.

Bandaged but blemished, stitched but rejected,

crippled yet beating, once pure streams, infected.

Hollow conquers wholesome, frenzy fuels inflicted,

purpose fashions itself a new title of conflicted.

Un-uttered undertakings unease and unwind.

the rhythmic thumping of a psychopathic mind,

like the unscrewing of a bulb, being pushed off track,

once healthy now drugged, red gives way to black

[shakillathehun]

Reminisce sometime

With clean consciences, they restlessly conspire, priests, family, the truthful and the liar. Far-fetched miracles of a Godly grace, placed within the palms of a created face.

An Eden displaced by a higher power, summoned by the parson from his cross-symboled tower, a heartfelt blessing from those of kin, surely secured sanctuary from my secret sins.

Her candid eyes glistened with promise, staring into an abyss, getting stared by an abyss, where pipe dreams and a broken heart fuse as one, and all previous hurt comes undone.

Where I see the perfection I was blinded to, Hear no dejection I had been confined to, Where I experience love I’ve been numb to, Taste no afflicted pain to be succumbed to.

Without the solace of which, I’d surely die, In my moment of truth, I live a lie, for my Eden is neighbored by surrounding hell, it engulfs me timidly by the sound of the bell.

Since a woman’s desire is hushed too soon, I’ll sell my soul, my will, I’ll swoon. Burn away, burn away.

Burn away the hate of a bruised bait, leave my love in it’s unconditional state burn away my memories, my body but not my heart, for it still loves, sadistic in it’s art.

Burned away, burned away. Pity me that my heart was too slow to accept, what my mind swiftly labelled as regret.