Dismal

Dismal, per the echoes of the thoughts’ ringing, not singing, blaring in my ear just what I need to perceive to remain resilient. About a trillion ideas overlapping in chaotic etiquettes, that of which are inconceivable. Hallucinating of diurnal and thinking of nocturnal, when the time converts to day and the disowned are no longer abandoned, but filched. Reserved for the avaricious to be even more malicious to individuals who merit something better than affliction. My personal pliability arises after the effects of my motivators’ earthquakes of soulful wishing. Not immaterial, but a being. Numerous actualities that ensure my striving to assist those in need despite my own complications. So many, pre-emptively deciding to collapse into the shadows of the faults they endure day-to-day. Slamming into tangible walls like a freight train on their own account, yet tumbling down on the intense impact like a fragile nursling. Parting the countless fragments that had shattered off of their bodies, and then proceeding to the subsequent barricade. Awaiting the moment they manage to locate an adequate pillar to crumble beneath the mass of the problems they have made in their own minds. Placing them there as if they had not one additional option. As maddening it is, it cannot be contained. Permanently will this predicament haunt my every single thought with dissatisfaction. My mind, riddled with irritation and frustration as a result of something so interminable yet extremely non-necessitated.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world

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