the world is messy and i don't know what to do with that
i. the world is messy and i don't know what to do with that
estefaaano_writes
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ceaseless motion; indifferent becoming.
midst the center of it all have i stood,
a steadfast point,
leaning my heavy soul against all that might endure.
the soft give of passing days,
overwrit palimpsest of a man
i have once become and had not strength to keep.
do i possess constitution for this life?
strange configuration of suffering and light,
body presents but a dull visage
to its own existence.
a mind that turns upon itself; a fugue,
recursive, cloistered, lost,
drowning in its own depths.
knowing is the bitterest part of it.
knowledge of the wound,
the lacunae i have learnt by heart.
knowledge is not freedom.
a cell whose cold dimensions i have memorized,
cease naught from measuring,
a heavier way to be entombed.
i'm so tired of knowing.
of standing in the susurrus of my own ruin.
of carrying prudence as though carrying
mere sufficient reason to endure.
☁︎
❤️❤️❤️
ReplyDeleteWhat a beautiful ache of a poem.
ReplyDeleteThere’s something very intimate and haunted about this one.
ReplyDeleteI cannot get over 'an overwrit palimpsest of a man.' That line will live rent-free in my mind for months.
ReplyDeleteSo raw, so elegant, so real.
ReplyDeleteYou always ask if you have the constitution for this life, but just look at how much you've already survived.
ReplyDeleteThis poem feels like exhaustion turned into art.
ReplyDeletehonestly? stunning.
ReplyDeleteIt sucks that 'knowing is the bitterest part' for you, because your mind is one of the things I love most about you.
ReplyDeleteSeeing you call yourself a 'steadfast point' makes me want to hug you. You don't have to carry the weight of the universe just because you’re strong.
ReplyDeletesuch a strong collection. honestly impressed.
ReplyDeleteA masterpiece of contemporary melancholia. I need this on my bookshelf immediately.
ReplyDeleteThis feels like a text message you’d send at 3 AM when the world gets too loud. I’m glad you put it into poetry instead of keeping it locked up.
ReplyDeleteThis is heavy, but it feels like a necessary purging of thoughts.
ReplyDeleteI love how the poem rejects the cliché that wisdom brings peace. Here, wisdom is just a tape measure for your own tomb.
ReplyDeleteThis hit me so hard. The line about “knowledge is not freedom” is going to stay with me.
ReplyDeletea really powerful opening piece estefaaano_writes!
ReplyDeleteThe way you describe the 'mind that turns upon itself'—I’ve sat across from you at coffee and seen that exact look in your eyes.
ReplyDelete“knowledge is not freedom” is such a hard line. i keep rereading it.
ReplyDeleteso strong. so raw. so precise.
ReplyDeleteI can feel the physical exhaustion radiating off the page in the final stanza.
ReplyDeleteThe sibilance in 'standing in the susurrus of my own ruin' is auditory perfection.
ReplyDeleterepetition of 'knowledge' and 'knowing' builds a brilliant thematic trap.
ReplyDeleteIt speaks to the absolute exhaustion of trying to find logic in an indifferent universe.
ReplyDeleteThis captures the grief of losing past versions of yourself that you weren't strong enough to save.
ReplyDeleteAn exquisite, agonizing piece of literature.
ReplyDeleteIt’s rare to find a poem that articulates the burden of intelligence so without pretension.
ReplyDeleteThere is a quiet dignity in the despair presented here.
ReplyDeletea modern soliloquy on the futility of hyper-awareness.
ReplyDeleteI felt the claustrophobia of the mind so intensely through these verses.
ReplyDeleteThe ending line is simple but devastating after all the complex imagery that precedes it.
ReplyDeleteThe poem feels like an artifact dug up from a deeply introspective soul.
ReplyDeleteA devastatingly beautiful look at existential dread and cognitive fatigue.
ReplyDeleteYou aren't entombed yet. You’re still here writing.
ReplyDeleteIt hurts to read this, but I'm so grateful for your honesty.
ReplyDeletei felt this in my bones.
ReplyDeletethe emotional tone is so consistent and absorbing.
ReplyDeletethis is the kind of poem that makes you pause before you scroll.
ReplyDeletethe way you write suffering makes it feel almost architectural.
ReplyDeletei love how controlled the language is even while the feeling is unraveling.
ReplyDeletebeautiful work, seriously.
“i am so tired of knowing” — yes. That line feels like a whole mood.
ReplyDeleteGorgeous and devastating.
ReplyDeleteThe language is so rich, but the emotion still feels so naked. I loved this.
ReplyDeleteAbsolutely beautiful. The last lines are crushing.
ReplyDeleteYou carry prudence like a shield, but it looks like a heavy anchor here.
ReplyDeleteThe 'soft give of passing days' feels like you’re watching time slip right through your fingers.
ReplyDeleteEvery time you isolate yourself, I imagine you in that 'cloistered' space you wrote about here. Let us in.
ReplyDeleteThe 'strange configuration of suffering and light' sounds like a beautiful way to describe being human.
ReplyDeleteYou've been carrying way too much responsibility for things you can't control.
ReplyDeleteThe tension between 'ceaseless motion' and the 'steadfast point' sets an incredible existential stage right from the jump.
ReplyDeleteThis is the anthem for anyone who has ever been told they "think too much."
ReplyDeletethis moves seamlessly from the macrocosm of a messy world to the microcosm of a trapped mind.
ReplyDeleteAn incredible study of the burdens of consciousness.
DeleteTo carry prudence as an obligation rather than a virtue is such a profound psychological insight.
ReplyDeleteYou’ve always been the observer, the one who 'knows' everything about everyone else. I didn't realize how exhausting that was for you.
ReplyDeleteevery line feels earned.
ReplyDeletethat last stretch is gorgeous and sad and very human.
ReplyDeleteI read this twice because the first time just hurt too much in the best way.
ReplyDeleteThis feels like staring into your own thoughts and finding them staring back.
ReplyDeletethis feels like it was written from inside someone’s chest. in a good way.
ReplyDeletei’m obsessed with the title and the opening line.
ReplyDeleteThat line about standing in the 'susurrus of my own ruin' is so painfully you. You always find the most beautiful words for your darkest spaces.
ReplyDelete