BITCH BY THE BEACH

When the tides wash upon the sea and the sand ushers my message to the shores of foreign lands, I grace the beaches in early morning with the hope that I will hear the messages of fellow crazed, lonely, & phony artistes enslaved by their own presumed strengths; as perceived by the world.

I am neither shocked nor moved by the salty taste of the ocean’s waters. Science has us moving with the fact that diverse elements contribute toward the same but I’m stuck and sailing with the idea that the handful sands of people that cry by water points; lakes, rivers, ponds, seas and oceans all contribute to the salty taste.

I walk in to the open sea until the waters are neck high and I take a dive. I do not cringe upon the forceful entry of the waters in to my mouth.

The taste is not at all pleasant but I relish the feel. It feeds my soul, comforts me that I am not alone, raises my spirit and helps me conform back to my true being.

I yearn to not only immerse myself in it but to also drown and live a life of content.

Yes, we are one big family united by the gaseous ink bottles stashed in our heads under the notion that they’re forms of art.

We seclude ourselves and close out or exclude both those who pretend to care and those that care too not because we or they are selfish but because they do not care enough to break our seals.

We are easy to talk to, that’s why we talk to the world and not individuals. Why? It is because individuals have their own ideologies of how perfect & blessed we are.

Yet the outside world that has no immediate connection easily identifies the chink in our armours and seemingly care to the needed extent.

Walukana.