Patterns (Actuality and Angst #13)

I remember writing about what I saw around me and what I felt A LOT till 10th grade. 11th onwards I started turning my nightmares into poetry (I used to get a lot of them because of the recent life changes and everything). Eventually, the nightmare part of it just became a metaphor for demons and other unpleasant realities I saw around me during the day as well as the ones I happened to meet in my nightly dreams. That ended.
Lately I’ve been following a different method of writing (when I say method, I don’t really mean method. This is purely unintentional in nature and I realised it only tonight) where I get a sudden intuition that I NEED TO WRITE THIS DOWN but I don’t really know what it is that I want to write about. I navigate myself to the closest pen and paper/digital device and start with my word vomit. I still don’t have anything in particular in mind. I keep writing. Once I’m done, I sit back but I still don’t know what it is. I have a vague idea but I’m not really sure of anything – well, not sure enough to explain it in words to someone at least (maybe I can call this a subconscious poet-denial thing?) My poet-denial continues until I stumble across the same piece of writing in the future, read it again and think, “Bloody Hell, I’m a genius” (Hi5 if you said bloody hell like Ron Weasley because I did!) Kaboom! I suddenly know what it is that I tried to put into words.

There’s a pattern I follow
Of holding in until the clock strikes
And out comes all that
I’ve spent an era trying to swallow
For it’s not true until I say it
Until someone yells and begs
And screams and cries
Is it really a fight?
Until I’ve hit the reply button
And checked my phone
Eight hundred times
Until I’ve gradually moulded
Shaped and churned and
Distorted my own reality
Am I not playing around with my sight?
Making fun of hapless victims
And their pathetic plight
I’ll fall into poetry till
Words come to life
Speaking to me:
Are you even alive?
I might just say, but
It’s my vanity in disguise:
There’s a pattern I follow
Where I create patterns of my own
With words and habits and
Other permanent things like glue
I go back to them, after a day
Or may be a few, till they make sense
To me, and sometimes even you.


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