Poem: Seeking Motivation
The questioning of mortality - what can I achieve in my lifetime? While I live out those extensive elevated extraordinary desires that niggle within the cruxes of my brain. When one wakes up, blindly reaching to dismantle and eradicate the ominous repetitive alarm, that beacons the new day, how do you feel? Undoubtably the undeniable sense and adoring comfort of the sheets drawing you to prefer an unconscious existence, in which the body wallows in the resting position. What is the point? Permeates your thoughts. Why should you arise into the light of the day? If my existence seems to be opaque in depth - people’s words and love pass through me as the wind does on hill stops, brisk and abrasive. Who I am? Something in your mind, tactile in its membrane allowing you to judge and process your being against others. The ability and narrow minded perception that ones happiness innately relies on your worth, your economic fruitfulness, your neo-liberalist value. Happiness therefore being defined in ones bank account and outward success on paper. The sheets sound more alluring now. They will encapsulate you and your corpse, not letting this outward 21st century microcosm swallow your existence and true meaning. Where does this leave us? The ones less fortunate? Where the towers of pressure and soaring expectation projected through the digital sphere, allow our anxieties to stop our production. Or fall on hard times or are not born into endorsements and aristocratic adornment. Reality hits you like the first splash of water in the morning does trickling down your spine, as the alarm clocks piercing shrieks overtake your dreams of another realm. Perception, perspective and motivation, the tools in which to unravel these dark unsafe realms of mentality. Letting go of these unreasonable ideals society projects, remove them sharply and smoothly like the painful removal of a plaster. The pain of lost connections of what could be over in a second. Allowing you to concentrate the now on you. You are what you allow yourself to be. Realism is relative. 21st century microcosm.