Beginnings prose poem

Uploaded by Rebecca Nunns

The day I realised that I’m just like everyone else. Clarity.

I spent all my time thinking that I was different, unusual. [Apparently] I thought differently to everyone else. [I] Wanted, needed different things. Craved isolation. Solitude. Peace. Contentment. Simplicity overall. Fought the pre-programmed urges [resistance]. Risen above it all. Years of fighting. Fighting emotion. Hiding emotion. Addicted to becoming addicted. Filling emptiness, hopelessness, loneliness with the insignificancies that made me feel different. That make everyone different. In exactly the same way.

Every moment planned and thought out to extent. [Always] Knowing what would become reality and what would become despair. Though, most of the time, both. [Yeah] Everyone’s unique. Unique in whom and what they conform to. There are no loners. Even they belong. I must belong. Accept. Out of my head. Out of my mind maybe. There is no such thing as unique when it comes to humanity. I need to learn to enjoy my own company. I am capable of anything. If anything is not extraordinary, am I capable of nothing. [What is my] Potential? Potential to gain happiness. [Or] Normality. Is it wrong to strive for simplicity [?]. Why hide from and push away dreams? No matter how small [they are dreams] we grow up being told to reach for the stars. What if you [I] don’t want stars? [Primeval] Basic urges. Desires. A longing. Pushing away instinct. Neglecting my own ambition. Knowing I will never have what will make me happy makes me happy. Protecting myself. Unreachable [dreams]. Fooling myself. [Then] Becoming a fool. Separating fantasy from reality becomes impossible. Fantasy is all I have. For now.

The present. Feeling as if this could be the beginning. Knowing what could become. Reachable. Endless thoughts. Leading to the unknown. Bottomless. Futile. Should you know? Fate. Destiny. The end. Meaningless. Hollow. Inconsequential. Hope? You don’t trust yourself. Maybe fate and destiny are what you need. Your own hands haven’t gotten you anywhere closer thus far. Trust. But why now? It’s been too many years. Belief. The key. An answer. Decisions. Choices. Signs. You are the direction. Realisation. Clarity. Subconscious levels. You progress yourself. Maintain and develop. If shown the way, would you follow? To reach the vision? Utopia. Where does it end? When does it end? Do we ever get the explanation we want. Will we ever [?] Do we need it to continue[?] Validation. Purpose. Nature.

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Ode To A House That Harboured Beginnings And Ends

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Beloved houses die in essence, Beloved people in mass. These treasures seem to balance. Upon infinitesimal hours. For houses die subtle silent deaths, Like furtive fading seasons. Like shadows of dimming lengths, As the fugitive sun hastens. They die –