Life is a habit.
I live every day
without consciously thinking about it,
planning it, or taking stock of what has been so far;
I stroke it gently, may be
I let it flow
but not often I feel a part of it.
I am not even there, it seems.
I am just eyes.
I have left living to a mind
that coordinates my activities fairly well.
Sometimes it gets troubled. It doesn’t sleep.
I watch it wrestle with parts of itself
I – the soul.
I may be asleep all day. I would not know.
I do not make decisions.
I watch others – the lives around me passing by.
I do remember faces of some of them.
But I don’t talk much.
I think talks are superfluous and unnecessary.
I’m afraid they might be seeing too.
So I don’t meet their eyes.
They might read the truth,
they might know my secrets,
they might see me.
See for all my foulness.
But that way I have always been scared
of being revealed then being judged –
on scandalously high standards of
beauty, skills, fairness, morality, intelligence, friendliness.
I don’t know.
Nobody ever told me really what the hell they really wanted,
the ugliness of pompous presumptuousness.
Everybody just knew that there are walls to be climbed –
Walls, that make me cringe.
walls that are closing in
they make me claustrophobic.
I push them sideways.
I, the soul, with no voice, only eyes.