regularisperfect

dump of poems:

I don’t hear much nowadays,
All I hear are my
Grandma’s words,
Every word she’s ever blessed me with the knowledge
And opportunity with
Being able to hear.

I don’t feel much;
Just the times people hugged me;
The times where I was able to hear the
Heartbeat of another,
And sit there in amazement,
Like a child,
Forgetting any adult responsibility,
Because at the end of the day,
We don’t progress into the real life phase
Just due to age
And a simple streak of birthdays
We are all just progressing
To the costume phase of life,
Where most pretend,
And make the majority of their decisions out of
Fear,
Not love.

//

Am I depressed, again?
Is that why I’m laying down,
And sleeping in,
As much as my dog, Suva?

Do I really have friends,
Or just associates?
I can count on one hand how many
People I can call once,
And can 100% guarantee that
They’ll pick up.

Are these anti-depressants
Really working?
Or are they just numbing
My emotions?

Is love real?
Are these moments that I feel,
Where the conversation flows
Endlessly,
And for once,
I feel at peace with someone,
And feel like I could
Talk to them about anything,
Real, or just in my head?

What does it mean to be
A 22 year old?
To me, it means that you make a lot
Of mistakes,
And fall flat on your face
More times than you can count,
And laugh a little bit,
And smile a great deal,
Even when it’s not ideal,
And keep it moving,
Because there’ll always be
A better day ahead.
It can’t possibly get worse than this,
Right?

//

Ambition
Is
Easy to
Come by,
What’s difficult to
See in an everyday person,
However,
Is action,
Execution,
And dedication.
A lot of people talk,
A lot of people babble,
But most of their words
Are flimsy
And mean absolutely
Nothing.
-
a regular person

//

At times when I’m angry,
Or having little faith,
I place myself in the shoes of
My Grandma;
I see everything she views;
I can sense her worries;
I can hear her prayers at night
That are muttered and delivered
Behind a chain of ghastly coughs that
No matter where she seeks shelter in,
Only get worse as the calendar pages flip.

//

Everything
And everyone is fragmented
In the underground scene,
And that really
Depresses me.

I attribute it to
Silly egos
That collide,
And the even sillier
Philosophies
That are spread,
As well as baseless rumors,
That aren’t grounded in fact
And truth,
But hatred
And jealousy.

I’d like to bring change,
Make it brighter,
Inspire those who
Believe that their
Dreams aren’t possible,
And help them realize that
It very much is.

In any decision I make,
I always think of four scenarios:
The first one, I think about my
Suicide attempts,
And my scrapped getaway plans,
And my lowest bouts
With clinical depression;
The second, I think about how hard
My Grandma worked,
How she had 3 jobs at the same time,
And hardly got by,
And was only able to feed her entire family
Off of bully beef,
Spam,
And whatever else that was
Extremely processed;
The third, I think about how my
Grandpa left a dream life in
Jamaica,
Where he owned a movie theatre,
Was able to
Provide for his family,
As well as strangers and friends,
And traded it all in
To become a taxi driver
For 40 years,
All in chase of the
American dream,
Of a better life for his children;
The fourth,
I remember the day my
Mom showed me her art book from
High school…
I’d never seen her face light up
Like that before.

As she scrolled through each page,
Revealing a new series of
Beautiful drawings
That were half complete,
Full of sketches and doodles,
But completely mesmerizing and
Full of potential,
I saw what I wanted to do,
I saw what I had to do:
I was given the opportunity
And privilege to pursue
My Mom’s dream for her—
To be able to chase
What she couldn’t even fathom,
She didn’t get the chance to,
Because she had to be
Realistic,
After all who looks foreign,
And is able to enter the art world
As a career?

Very few.

Depression,
Depression,
Depression…
Oh, how you
Never cease to fade away.

You land me in bed for hours on end,
Stuck in constant thought loops,
Wishing for all my memory to be erased,
And for all time to stand still.

You place me in a position where
Several missed calls fill up
On my phone, and
Hundreds of unanswered text messages flood
The notification center.

I wish you would disappear,
Instead you follow me around like a ghost,
Hopping on airplanes with me,
Public transit,
And walk behind me everywhere I go,
As if I’m an infected character in
“It Follows.”

You’re faceless and look like a ghoul;
You’re like the gum that lies on the bottom of my
Dirty chuck taylors that I’ve
Had for a good 4 years now,
And are beaten to oblivion,
And have permanent green pea residue from
Gavin’s scrapped January music video.

I’ve gotten used to you,
You lie dormant like a parasite.

I accept the fact that till the day I pass,
This will remain,
Because after all,
It is clinical,
And I’ll have to take two pills everyday to somewhat control
You.

A normal life sounds nice,
One where my brain was normal,
And wasn’t so unbalanced,
And one where I could be more comfortable in my skin,
And not have my voice quiver any time I have to speak in front of
More than one person.

Other than my monthly refills,
The only other things that help are telling stories,
Writing,
And getting the privilege to pursue art for a living.

I wouldn’t really say I'm making much of a living;
I have about 500 dollars in my account at the moment;

But for some reason,
I’m ten times happier than I was when I had
Tens of thousands of dollars in it,
So maybe,
Just maybe,
I’m doing something right.

//

I will meet plenty of people in this world;
I will unwillingly be put next to fraudulent artists and hollow human beings who are
Incredibly apathetic,
Lack any sense of actual work ethic,
Have the bonus of white privilege,
And the additional advantage of wealth,
And there is nothing I can do,
But grow used to that fact.

Work so hard,
That you can’t fail,
Because there’s no one who particularly looks like you in this predominantly
White atmosphere,
And there should be more of you,
So why not pursue your dreams,
To help plant the idea in another’s head later on in life,
When you’re long gone, and the only things on
Earth that are left-over from you are:
A) grave
B) tombstone
C) casket + casket outfit
D) dead-hair
E) remaining jewelry left on person
F) your art

regular
is
perfect
for
you &
me.

regularisperfect®