The Art of the Realist

I am my own art; aesthetically crafted not to feel. I believed I am more beautiful with the beliefs I carry and that is not your problem to fix.

I am my own reality and you need not to wake me with your own standard of reality and sense of living. I am fine the way I am, and this is not a comfort zone. Do not tell me to come out of my box because I never own a box.

Do not act as if you know everything about me, because you know nothing.

You know nothing about sleepless nights and hundreds of coffee-worthy thoughts when raindrops create indefinite noises on the roof and on dried cements of constructed railroads at night.

I had to think over and over how to react in order not to offend anyone with the way I speak and that is far from what comfort zone feels like.

I had to digest the words in order to figure out what feeling I should put that fits in your expectation and at the same time wouldn’t damage my guts when the bees decide to put a riot inside.

There were times when I feel like I’m too rational for my own benefit; and too much is too much that it causes a lot… a lot of everything.

To be honest, I do not know and couldn’t figure out what other words I should put in here. I’m not good at letting people understand. I am more of leaving the seeds just how it is supposed to, without water and the assurance that sunlight could reach it every sunrise the next mornings. I hope you get the gist. There are a lot of things that I couldn’t understand just by using only my intuitions and I would always… always resort to flashbacks, hoping for a sign of knowledgeable way to explain how people ruin people, with the words they could ingest because people chooses what they want to listen to or want to accept and reality as a whole will always be the one they would turn their backs on.

The world has turned into something our ancestors had fantasized before, and I blame the poets and philosophers of yesterdays for creating philosophers of today and confusing what it should be from what it actually is. The prior always comes first in days like today.

The world does not revolve on us and people get the illusion that we are actually the world’s axis to start with, but the stars will never mourn when it decides to explode and create genocide and remember we only had one race and nothing more nothing less. We are nothing compared to the asteroids of the universe. In fact! We are nothing compared to a white dwarf of the heavenly bodies and to think it is dead. What can a dead person make a difference to the universe?

Knowing how hopeful people are to construct an idealized world of their own, rules and boxes of different varieties of fiction, who am I but a speck that wouldn’t matter?

So don’t tell me to change my beliefs or how I should live my life because I don’t tell you about black holes and shooting stars. I don’t tell you about the dusts that melt after giving you a sight to see from where you are. I don’t ruin your fantasy, so don’t preach about my reality.