Reviewing Art

Here's the answer to a question that you weren't even asking
There is no such thing as a perfect casting
For that book you adore that fills you with amour
When put on screen just leaves you wanting more

See this is the issue with our imagination
We fill in details and cracks with no hesitation
There are no seems, just seamless transitions
Which never even endeavours to require our recognition

Even right now, somehow, you are reading this in a certain way
The voice in your head acts with emotion, with disdain and dismay

And were I to read it to you, my way, in a voice of my own

It would not seek to replace the seed or tone your imagination has sown

There is no such thing as a correct way to experience art

But there is the first way, which left the imprint on our heart

Such that, when someone seeks to recreate that anew

It's just natural it wont be in the way that is personal to you.

I've done this before

I've done this before.

This day to day
Waking up in dismay
The repeat and replay
To all work and no pay

I've done this before.

I've done this before.

The eternal tired
The never inspired
My headache is fired
My nerves are wired

I've done this before.

I've done this before.

The ever-fake smile
And yet all the while
A face in denial
Of internal trial

I've done this before.

I've done this before.

You may know it too
And this to be true
What we've been through
Is never that new

We've done this before.

But what is it for?

That glimmer of change
Just out of range
Asks much in exchange
It may seem strange

I've seen it before.

I say nothing more

But that it's worth fighting for.

Break me

It's time that this world did not forsake me

No lie, it's tried, to bow down and break me
It fried me inside as it tried to bake me
Wanting to expose, but finding no fakery

It would never hold back
So I weathered attack
Of smacks front and back
That would've felled any hack

Though not framed in my favour

This game's to my flavour

The danger, I'll savour

'til I emerge slave or a savior

I arose unbound from the ground
Though my soul it did hound
Alive now I'm found
Crowned a man of renown

This Earth will strike again
It matters not when
For now as for then
I have not forgotten

This earth's not one to trust
I'll fight 'til I'm dust
Until I'm bones and rust
Just doing what I must

First World Problems

Your own experience of the world is not invalid.
The emotions you feel are very much real
There is no bubble that is more real than any other
No possible interference of anything but a real experience

It is not only they who have it worst who has a right to complain
Anyone can feel depression or anxiety or pain or PTSD
And yet, we must also, as always, acknowledge the inverse
We must be kind, not terse; whether or not our friend has it worse

See, when I look worldwide at the struggles other humans face
I can't help but feel bad for complaining about how I feel sad
As if the sheer resilience and courage so many manage to show
Means I should refrain from the response due to chemicals in my brain

I am not saying don't feel sorry for them. I'm not encouraging apathy
Go out and make a difference, join every indifference resistance
Merely saying that it's also ok for you to cry and laugh, if you need
You are always permitted to feel, that your experience is real.


Written to stand up to those who claim that only those who have it worst can complain.

Absolutely not written to those who cry when their favourite TV characters die. C'mon man.