Stop Making Sense, poetry by @naquoya.

Day 30 of 100 for @d-pend's Poetry Challenge

Stop Making Sense

They could have been words on a page written in the boldest of blue ink, instead of a subconscious rendition of a digitalised conception- where the filter has acted to prevent meaning from making herself known. So I ponder, confused. And remind myself to stop playing this game with no rules.

Sub-atomic misperceptions all in alignment with the many stars that still don't know my name. Yet they sit on a chart misrepresenting themselves as I wallow in my foretold misfortunes. Is it to be believed? The day, the dream. The real that holds back with web like detail, and squashes my anger with shame and regret. And a letter to thank me for participating.

This is the game of life, where everybody gets a prize just for showing up, but never for making sense of the diatribe of a thousand lost voices all in a row. It's not meant to make sense, it's just meant to be lived, breathed, chopped up and dissected, inspected, under a microscope where life can be studied, confusion and all.

We've started exploring the cosmos. Why, to get as far from ourselves as we can? Yet every step we take there we are, staring back at ourselves as we flee to the stars. The very stars that foretold our fate. That knew we would build from the rubble of our own inner destruction and anxieties. As we clamour to reach our soul's great height.

Reading Notes: This poetry is new and written exclusively for the 100 Day Poetry Challenge, which is explained in more detail here and here.

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